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Writer's pictureCameron Fowler

Eve

Do you think… that if Eve knew what would happen—what all women would be subjected to. Do you think she would’ve done it? If she knew how we would bleed. How we would be hunted, enslaved, murdered, bred, taken—would she have still listened to that snake?


Was he handsome? Did he speak smoothly with a silvered tongue? Did he promise her the world would be hers if she would just take a bite? And even if he did, why would she feel the need? The burning desire to be in charge? Was Adam stupid? Was he rude? Abrasive? Unkind? Abusive? Negligent? What about Eve’s life made her feel like there was more that she wanted?


If she heard the slap of my ex’s hand against my cheek ring out into the stillness of the dead of night in our apartment, would she have still taken that bite? If she ran with me, away from the man that tried to run me over because I did not react positively to his catcalls, would she have had breath enough to take that bite? Or when my daughter lay dying in my arms because she did the right thing, she left, she said “no”, would Eve have dried her eyes and then, with tears still wet on the back of her hand, taken that bite?


Does she know? Does she know that in her rebellion she sentenced us all? Does she know that because she ruined Adam’s life his sons would always stand on the necks of her daughters? Does she know that no matter how hard we work we will always be treated as if we were the ones who personally took that bite? Does she know that no matter how much his sons claim to love her daughters we will always live in fear of having to pay the ultimate price for her transgressions?


If she does know, do you think she cries for us—with us? Maybe she sees what we go through. Maybe she hears us cry out and question the heavens in anguish—she might even answer softly that it is her fault. You think it’s wrong for me to blame her, don’t you? You might be right. But… and maybe I wouldn't blame her if she sat and held my hand as my own mother lay dying in a hospital bed because of my step father, or shielded me from their hands at my first frat party, or told me not to walk the aisle to my own source of pain and unhappiness… every time I trace back the source of oppression against us it leads to that damned tree, with that damned snake, convincing her to damn us all.


Cain might have killed Abel but Sarai will always have to fear being given over to Pharaoh by her husband. Lot might have chosen to live in Sodom but it was his wife who was turned into a pillar of salt. David might have saved Israel from Goliath but it was Bathsheba whose honor was tainted and husband was murdered because of David’s inability to control his lust. Jesus might have saved humanity but it was Mary who had to watch him grow up and love him as a mother does all with the knowledge he was being raised to die.


Eve might have tasted the sweetness of that first bite but we will always be cursed to live with the bitter aftertaste.



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