Free Woman on Top by Deborah Schwartz

over to me.
    “I’m always home alone while Brad is off traveling. It gets lonely as you can imagine,” Catherine whispered.
    “Do you work?” I whispered back.
    “No, I’ve never worked. And now I’m suffering from depression. The meds help but Brad seems to be enjoying the view from the top and I’m languishing in the basement.”
    Dinner was pleasant enough until Brad appeared to have reached his limit on alcohol.
    “Somehow Brad and I seem to be going in different directions. He’s traveling, happy, and we….we honestly only have sex like once every six months at most. I wonder.” she whispered to me in one ear which allowed me to overhear Brad telling Len what sounded like a joke when I heard him use the ‘n’ word.
    Len, whom I had never known to be a racist, let it slide. But I just couldn’t, could I? Would Len literally kick my chair out from under me at the table if I said something, even something simple like I didn’t appreciate that kind of humor?
    I squirmed and fidgeted, trying to gag myself wondering whether the two glasses of wine I consumed would dictate my behavior. Was I supposed to accept the comments, because Brad was one of Len’s best friends, because I was becoming part of a world where women don’t make waves, or because I was just plain scared of Len?
    Struggling through dinner and wondering what to do. Picturing the possibilities and the consequences. How punitive could Len be? At least I was sitting on a banquette this time.
    But the worst part of it all, in the end I never said a word. I went home disappointed in myself. Lonely and desperately trying to fit into Len’s world, I began to wonder at what price that would be. Did I have the potential to be one of these women enjoying their husband’s riches and silently enduring the rest? Was I envious of these women or did I abhor them? Was ignorance bliss? The one thing I knew for certain - I was not one of them.
    Sarah flew in from California just in time for me to unload on her. We had agreed to meet for lunch and now hugged each other tightly.
    We’d known each other since we were six. Sarah was all of five feet tall, short wavy hair, big blue eyes, and a large smile. Whenever I ran away from my family when I was growing up, it took about three hundred yards to get to Sarah’s building. And my mother knew exactly where I had escaped to. But Sarah’s apartment provided a refuge and Sarah did the same three hundred yards in reverse when she needed to run away. We lived in standard two bedroom apartments, each shared a bedroom with our brother, had parents who both worked, and we went to the same schools and summer camps.
    Sarah became a social worker and married for the first time in her forties to a California man. She often returned to New York to see her family who still lived in her childhood apartment.
    Now one of the people who knew me best was sitting across from me in a small crowded restaurant on Bleecker Street in the West Village.
    “Hi sweetie. How are you?” Sarah said.
    “I’m so happy you’re here. Just looking at your face provides continuity in my life.”
    “Len’s not behaving?”
    “Well, maybe you can psychobabble this man for me.”
    Sarah sighed deeply and then let out a loud laugh.
    “For you, and only you, my friend, I’m going to put on my demi-therapy hat and psychobabble both you and Len.”
    The look on Sarah’s face changed. The girl I knew in elementary school assumed her professional profile.
    “You know we were brought up in households where our brothers sucked all the air out of the room and we got no attention. Your mother worked all the time, her career was her world, your father was wonderful but had a serious heart condition from the time you were three, and your brother? A total mess. How old was he when he started seeing a psychiatrist, nine? So you used to go into your half of that divided bedroom, read books and tune out all of them,” Sarah sighed.
    “I definitely