An Open Letter

Author’s Note: The following contains some if few or some more spoilers for the Handmaid’s Tale, any season applies. This also contains some sensitive information and I hope you will read carefully.

Dear Jorge,

I’m writing this letter to you as a matter of principle. You said some pretty hurtful things about my beloved Clayton, for whom my life is going to probably revolve, I don’t quite know. Clayton has treated me with nothing but loyalty and respect, but you think you can tell me he’s the fool. Here are a few things that made me cringe when I saw your last messages to me.

  1. This is the big thing. You said Clayton gets off on the handmaid hierarchy thing, as though I am not Beth, but ofClayton. That is not true. He does not roll with commander types such as Jason or Wes or anyone else who would reportedly want to hurt me and Clayton altogether. Clayton has been nothing but a friend and a genuine caring person toward me, no hierarchy has been seen in this. What’s weird is that he caught me red handed watching the show, the handmaid’s Tale to be exact, and he asked me why I watch such things. He pointed to my own mental health, I just have to say this. It’s a warning, it’s a foreshadowing of what could be to come if we all don’t stand up and shout back at the commander types, the white supremacists, and the fools who don’t see the truth in all this. I watched a documentary about Atwood, Margaret Atwood, the book’s author, and she did lots of homework before she wrote the first words in the book. As any author should do the same. IF it weren’t for folks like Atwood, I don’t know where we’d be.
  2. You say that Clayton is a fool, but he said you were the fool. You dudes better stay away from each other, I guess. My brothers would have killed each other in their bunks, but this kind of fighting is worse. I don’t like a lot of conflict.
  3. You say I’ll have a right to die on a hill. Well, at least my name is my name, my body is mine, and if I give this thing a name, the name is assigned at birth and such. My name is Elizabeth Ann Taurasi, it will never become Mrs. Steven Rudy, get the song reference.
  4. You ditched my commitment ceremony with Trenton, which makes me so sick. Why you did this, I’ll never fucking understand. Don’t ditch your friends when you say you’re gonna do something for them.
  5. You really need to give the Handmaid hierarchy a damn rest, fool. You really don’t get what these women will represent in a future life and Clayton knows this gets me riled up more than anything, he deeply caring about my mental health doesn’t bother me.
  6. You also tried to not understand me because of my mental health, and you blamed me for any breakups that could occur. You broke code with me when you were all, I’d rather be single than deal with someone who yells. Bullshit, if I don’t scream at a guy who wants to throw his dick in the wrong direction, I have every right to. I don’t want to have any pain while doing such things, so if a supremacist of any kind comes knocking, I’ll just throw him out the door with a few things. I would force all the white supremacists who want to egg themselves on to parade outside naked, and I’d write their crimes on their chests even with the hair hiding some of it, just wait till I get my hands on tattooing equipment. I should laugh sarcastically because these people don’t think we’re people, and that includes myself, Clayton,and Trenton, my beloved partner.
  7. You disgrace humanity with a belief that I am being used. It is my right to be either a sex object or not a sex object, and I’m not a sex object. From what I understand, sex objects can be found in the fictionalized hamlet of Fat Lip, Arizona, blame that on Blake. Fat Lip is a place where you get a big fat swollen lip, probably where you were punched in the face because you violated some rule or something. In other words, don’t mess with me or you’ll take that trip to Fat Lip, Arizona, and you’ll have lips the size of Hollywood girls’ lips and you’ll also have some chapping and maybe a few drops of Jupiter running down your shirt. Just don’t accuse my beloveds of using me, and no, Trenton and Clayton would not dare mistreat me.

If you want me back, here’s what you do:

  1. Worship me as your queen. Duh. Well, okay, not that extreme. But you must put a picture of me in your mind, in your living room, and remember that when you fool around, I’m watching. I’m so watching you.
  2. Bow to Clayton when you see him and say to him, “I’m sorry I’ve been the fool. I’m the dumbass who decided to accuse you of using the Queen as a maid.” Perhaps he will tell you that you’ve been foolish, you’ve been stupid, or both.
  3. Stop making me look bad and get the fuck off of other people’s pages who dislike or hate myself, Trenton, or Clayton. We are done with all the foolishness, and I don’t want my vacations and other things ruined. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Beth

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