LYSSA STRATA, a Feminist Comedy for the Frustrated
Read an exclusive excerpt from the new book LYSSA STRATA by Martti Nelson! It’ll make your hair shinier.
Chapter 1
Lyssa Strata pushed up her glasses and prepared to say the words “birth control” to the entirely male Athena, Massachusetts Town Council, the average age of which was 80. It would’ve been higher if not for her stepfather, Councilman Daniel Park, who, at 42, brought the average from “nursing home” up to “Viagraville.” The last time most of these men needed birth control, it had come in the form of a chastity belt.
“People — er, gentlemen — of the Town Council,” Lyssa began. “We’ve heard you promise for decades that you’ll eliminate Athena’s centuries-old, degrading laws pertaining to women, yet nothing changes. The statute outlawing birth cont — ”
“Young woman!” wheezed Councilman Thomas Pickle, aged 89.
She waited for more.
Pickle coughed up something so alarming, Lyssa feared he’d be the second Council member to die on the bench this year. But he merely sucked on his dentures and glared at her wateringly. At least she’d grabbed his mummified attention. Most of the time, glances swept right past her to settle on something flashier, like an empty sidewalk.
“As I was saying…” Lyssa swallowed a sigh. “Statute 4–1 from 1829 outlaws birth control, marital aids, and red panti — er, underthings — ”
“Except for pirates!” This from Councilman Thomas Mayweather, aged 91.
Lyssa forced a smile. “Yes. Pirates are allowed to wear red knickers, but I am not. You’re probably afraid my flat butt will become too powerful if clad in scarlet.” She snorted a laugh.
Crickets.
Ohhh-kay. Nothing like referencing one’s own backside on the official record. She should have given some pirate facts instead. Taken as a whole, they possessed more rights than she did in Athena.
“We can’t see your posterior in that dress,” said Mayweather. “But I enjoy its modesty.”
Lyssa spread the skirt of her reproduction Puritan dress circa 1657. She figured she’d get more attention in the getup after many failed pleadings before the Council regarding birth control laws, witch laws, and laws against dancing; maybe she should’ve dressed as a character from Footloose…
“Er, thank you. To continue…just for saying these things aloud today, it’s legal for you to throw me in the stocks, as if I were some miscreant bawd. Not to mention the laundry list of other horrible rules prohibiting women’s freedom.”
“They’re not enforced, Missy,” began Councilman John Warren, aged 92. “Now you seem well behaved…flat-chested, but it’s nice to see a female dressed properly for once.”
Lyssa’s neck hairs felt her mother stand behind her without so much as turning her head.
Moms said in a cool voice, “John Warren, you may address my daughter as Ms. Strata.”
“I’ve got it, Moms.” Lyssa flashed a smile her way. She didn’t need her mommy to help. Lyssa was a confident, bold woman who could take on the world single-handedly!
Ha ha, no, she sagged while swallowing the nausea in her throat. Lyssa detested public speaking almost as much as having to enforce late fees at the library. She was much more of a “love > war” kind of person. Or at least a “hiding with books > anything else” one.
“My chest has nothing to do with my objection to these laws, Mr. Warren. Although,” Lyssa groaned, “a woman with under a C-cup technically enjoys fewer voting rights in Athena.”
“Hear! Hear!” said John Warren.
Lyssa’s jaw set to one side…although he could have been remarking upon his deafness.
Misty, Lyssa’s co-librarian and best friend, hurried to the podium. “Misty Meadows, my lords, with something to add — ”
Pickle perked, his breath rattling to and fro.
“No, I am not Misty Meadows the porn star. I merely wanted to say that big-titted ladies also object to these laws. Especially the vibrator one, because come on!”
The thread of Lyssa’s carefully crafted speech went straight down the toilet. This always happened — she could never effect change because no one took her seriously. She spluttered for a moment, and then fell back onto facts. Facts were beautiful friends who never cared about the size of her boobs. “Shall I name some other things prohibited for women in Athena?”
“No,” John Warren said.
“It was a rhetorical question.” Daniel’s crow’s feet fanned when he grinned and waved her to go ahead.
Lyssa smiled back, grateful for one ally on the Council. He’d married her widowed mom four years ago and was the first man of color ever elected.
She said, “Women are not allowed to congregate in groups of more than four, else they will be declared a coven and treated to the town’s witch laws, which are extensive and involve quite a few nude punishments. Which confuses me vis-à-vis the red underwear thing. Public nudity is okay but a red bra is not? How about pink? Pink was the only color women were allowed to wear for a couple of months in 1954. Women are permitted to drive, but not park cars. I guess once we start driving, we have to drive forever. Straight off a cliff, Thelma-and-Louise style, amIright?”
Misty snorted, her blonde hair bobbing. She took a baggie of popcorn from her purse and commenced munching.
“Women can be jailed for sneezing in the square.” Pure, feminine rage straightened Lyssa’s spine. “We are not allowed to read the newspaper or spell words in public. That is garbage. D-R-E-C-K, garbage. And, upon a poor fiscal year, the oldest spinster is required to be run out of town at the end of a musket.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?” asked John Mayweather. “Because — ” he referred to a leather-bound tome beside him — “you’re 26, not even in the top ten oldest spinsters!”
Daniel’s head fell into his hand.
Lyssa’s stomach churned, fit to make the one pound of the butter she was legally required to produce every fortnight. She stretched to her tallest, five entire feet high, and said in her loudest voice, “Sirs, these laws are a disgrace. Our beautiful town of Athena gets featured in a Buzzfeed quiz about the most backwards embarrassments in America every other month. Enough of your broken promises — repeal these degrading laws immediately for the sake of fully half the town, else be dragged as the knaves you are!”
“Speak up, honey!” said a man from a couple of rows behind her.
Misty jumped to her feet, her mouth full of popcorn. “Repeal the fucking misogynist laws, you old bats!”
Pickle banged his entirely ceremonial gavel. “You are not allowed to use such language in this room, Missy!”
“Misty,” she corrected.
“The porn star?” asked the guy from two rows back.
For a moment, Lyssa knew vision tinged with red — the lava inside her, held at bay only by her omnipresent respect for rules and procedure. She’d been trying for years to sweep every antiquated and discriminatory town law into the dustbin of shameful history. They didn’t merely oppress women; each racial minority received their own disgusting rules in Athena. She’d tried petitions (illegal for women), speeches (illegal for unmarried women), and letters to the editor (illegal for women and people of color). Nothing.
Lyssa shriveled into surrender. Like always. She ached. She ached in the pit of her soul, and a pathetic laugh escaped her. A better woman could convince them. Someone fierce and ferocious and fuchsia. Not a dork in a pilgrim dress. Lyssa tried to be that hot pink woman, longed for it with every cell. When she closed her eyes at night, she dreamed of starting her whole self over again. Still a librarian, of course, but a bolder one. Like a librarian in Hollywood! She bet the drunks they rousted from the building at the end of the night probably had been child stars.
Pickle cleared his throat, making her start.
Her shoulders fell while she muttered, “As always, thank you so much for the respect and dignity you’ve offered me, gentlemen. I’m now going to dunk my head in a toilet, which is probably required of any single female redhead.”
She snatched her purse from the floor, slung it over her shoulder, and stalked from the building, her breath running from her in resentful puffs. Footfalls behind told her Moms had followed and, at the gazebo out front, she turned to see Misty also running up.
“I thought your speech was smart, baby.” Moms swept her into a gentle hug. “Many have failed with these bumpkin old men. We’ve had the same Town Council since before you were born. Except for Danny.” Eunice Van Howten-Strata-Chambers-Park sighed like a schoolgirl over her younger husband. She was so named because in Athena, women were required to take their husband’s name…no matter how many husbands they’d tried on. Nobody enforced the rule, but Lyssa thought Moms just enjoyed flashing her scorecard. The most-married woman in Athena history was Victoriana Nielson-Nelson-Bottoms-van der Hoot-Nelson-Cruggins-Shonenhoffer-Browne-Butt. She was convicted of multiple murders in 1922.
Lyssa shook her head, too angry to form actual out-loud words. Angry at the Council. But mostly screaming in her head at herself for being so pathetic. She should have filibustered! Or…or…started a sit-in protest! Or…
The Town Council had never seated a woman. Never. Lyssa balled her fists and plopped onto one of the unfeeling gazebo benches. Quite a few women had run, but all were defeated, the prevailing attitude being “don’t vote for a woman just because she’s a woman!” As if the men hadn’t been doing the same thing for centuries. An entirely male Council in this day and age was not an accident. The best part? After elections, the losing female candidates get chased from Athena during an exuberant celebration wherein they are dunked in apple cider and spanked by the winner of the Town Council seat. This practice was stopped in 1982.
“Moms,” Lyssa began, “you should run for the empty seat. Everyone knows you, and they love Daniel. Now, anyways.” When he’d announced his candidacy, rumors of him instituting Sharia Law ran rampant. What that had to do with a Korean guy who operated a plant nursery, nobody could seem to articulate.
“I have no interest in bathing in old man smell or settling parking disputes. There’s a reason my husbands are younger.” Moms sniffed and popped a peppermint. “But I agree — we ladies should run a candidate for the open seat. Maybe Misty. The men would vote for her because they’d think she’s the porn star.” Moms wound an arm around Misty’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. Misty blinked her giant blue eyes in contemplation.
“Porn star or not,” Lyssa muttered, “the Council could only improve. I imagine the other Misty Meadows also wants vibrators to be legal.”
LYSSA STRATA is out now! Get your sex strike on (and maybe a little light witchcraft) @ the Humorist Books shop: tinyurl.com/lyssastrata or at Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/amazonlyssa.
Martti Nelson is an author from Los Angeles who is codependent with her husband and cat, as is only right. Check her out at MarttiNelson.com
