She gets all the press, the young one, the second wife.
Perhaps the poor girl deserves it, in a way. He ruined her life.
Oh Adam, taste this.
She could just imagine.
Not that she missed him, or the garden. All she’d wanted was a partner, someone to share the pleasures, the creativity, the discoveries. All he’d wanted was a supplicant.
She’d even tried to teach him to fuck properly, to please a woman, to share.
It takes too long, he’d whined, with you on top.
Yet, his story was the very foundation of the world, at the root of everything people thought, said and did. Meanwhile, hers could fit on the back of a postcard.
History’s built on the tale of a poster child for immaturity and his adolescent bride.
Some say it’s a tale of warning. Others say it’s about growing up, leaving helplessness behind.
But there’s always more than one version. The truth is in the center, the points of view like points on a compass or map. Sanctifying just one, excluding all others, is a sin of omission passed from father to son. Decisions are made, societies organized, lives destroyed or lost.
What we worship is telling and often sad, yet it’s a choice. We can choose again, choose better.
We can change the world from flat to round.
It’s that easy, and that difficult.
It’s not too late.