On Asking For It

By Mae McDermott, Edited by Audrey Ryer

“Untitled” by Andrew Lackland

I begged for a mess the second I balanced the bottle of diffuser oil on the shelf’s ledge—what did I think would happen? The sticks sat in the bottle, humming a tune and waiting to be tipped over. It takes one small nudge of Critical Theory Since Plato to send the hot oil spilling. The smell billows from the bottle’s narrow opening, chlorine and Christmas. The oil leaps into my sweater, creeps inside my laptop, grows warts on the plastic of the printer, a slick film between myself and all the things I’ve ruined. I’ve always been like this: nail polish on keyboards, black acrylic paint on my bedroom carpet, an uncovered glass beside a photograph. I caught a whiff of trouble the moment I placed that bottle—and still part of me said, Let’s see how ugly things can get.