She was preoccupied by the story and what it could mean. First, she didn’t like the part where God stole a rib from Adam (while he was sleeping, by the way) and then made a woman out of it. Wasn’t that a violation of Adam’s person?
She imagined her own child.
Granted, she hadn’t formed them out of dust, so the situation was a little bit different. But if she could steal a part of them while they slept and make a present out of it, if she could form a teddy bear from a single hair, a swing set from a fingernail, would she? And where would it stop? Would she take a finger to create a cat or dog? And would her child thank her?
What would they give up for a best friend? Or - what was the woman called - an helpmeet? Would her child sacrifice a rib willingly? An appendix? The skin of their buttocks? An ear?
Bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh, Adam calls the woman before naming her. And she saw the appeal. Two people connected by blood and bone. A family in some new bodily sense of the word.
But the part of the story that made her the most uneasy wasn’t the invasive taking of the rib. It was when God gave the woman to Adam as a present.
She thought back to the day of her own marriage, her veil lifting like wrapping paper, revealing her: a gift to her husband. She wasn’t created from one of his ribs, clearly, so were they still bones of each other’s bones? Were they flesh of each other’s flesh? And what did it mean that only Adam lost a rib, and not one of his sons ever did?
Maybe it wouldn’t bother her so much if her husband, like Adam, had given up a part of himself for her, if he had to make a sacrifice of some kind. Now that she started thinking about it, she felt entitled to one. If she were to be a present to him, then he would have to give her something.
The heart was an obvious choice, and metaphorically, shouldn’t it already be hers? But she wasn’t sure she wanted to hold such an essential part of him. That would come with a lot of responsibility. By that logic the brain was also out, and the spine, the lungs, the liver. Maybe an eye? She thought. Or one hand? He wouldn’t die if he lost those.
She relaxed. Perhaps God had it right. A rib would be sufficient. The rib nearest the heart.
About the Author
Voice of Eucatastrophe is pretty sure the world is coming to an end, but chooses to believe the ending will be a good one. She spends most of her time reading books, reminding kids to be kind, and paying attention to the weather. You can find more of her writing at chanelearl.com or on Instagram @chanels.stories.