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Why the Silhouette?

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Avijeet Das

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“Before I could let myself drift too far into that feeling, the brittle hiss of small-town gossip floated from a couple tables over. 'Did you hear what that man said? Something about selling?' 'I did. And if Honey is back to sell Bea's place after all this time...well, that is a damn shame. I know Bea would be rolling over in her grave if she could hear it.' 'She's an outsider now, anyway. Barely ever came back. I doubt she cares about this place the way Bea did.' My spine went tight before I started wiping at the same clean table, pretending I was too focused to hear them. It wasn't fair. They didn't know her. They didn't see the way Honey had teared up last night when she looked over pictures from Bea's closet. They never heard the way she'd whispered Bea's name like it hurt. They didn't see her truly trying to find her place in a town she barely remembered but still carried inside her like a bruise. Sometimes, small towns rarely cared about truth. They cared about narrative. And once a narrative caught fire, it was almost impossible to put out.”

GossipSmall Towns
Book:Peaches and Honey
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“I was too smart and that made people uncomfortable--most folks where we've lived our whole lives don't trust too much intelligence in a woman. There is also the problem of my eyes--they don't hide anything. If I don't care for a person, my eyes make it plain. I don't care for most. Folks are generally comfortable with the small lies they tell each other. They don't know what to do with someone like me, who mostly doesn't bother with small lies.”

WomenIntelligenceEyesSmall Towns
Book:Difficult Women
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“The town draws a veil over certain events. This is a small community where everyone knows that sometimes the contract to forget is as important as any promise to remember. Children can grow up having no knowledge of the indiscretion of their father in his youth or the illegitimate sibling who lives fifty miles away and bears another man’s name. History is that which is agreed upon by mutual consent. That’s how life goes on; protected by the silence that anaesthetises shame.”

Small TownsThe Nature Of History
Book:The Light Between Oceans
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