I was thirteen at the time, maybe fourteen; I'm not entirely sure. My parents were looking for a suitor for me. It was rather old-fashioned, considering the area we lived in. Pulling me out of school was a frequent topic of discussion, one I adamantly rejected but one that was brought up a lot nonetheless. Every day was a cycle of discussion, evaluation, and argument. That day was no different. My mother talked about this wonderful "boy," aged twenty-four, who had a steady job as an accountant over dinner. I was about to throw up in my mouth. "Why aren't you contributing anything to the conversation? This is your future we're talking about," she would say, as if she didn't know my future was nothing short of dishonorable slavery. Glaring at her from across the table was not one of my proudest moments. I heard a click from the front door, and my eyes drifted to the old grandfather clock in the hallway. My father strode over to the table and sat down with a large thud. Pleasantries were exchanged, and my mother and I shared a look—the look that alerted us both not to make any noise, for it was time for Father to quietly eat his meal. The once frustrating but lively atmosphere was overtaken by a tense silence, like a rubber band stretched to the point of snapping. The only sounds were the teapot on the stove, the chewing of the bread being violently eaten by my father, who knew what had aggravated him today, and the silent scratching of my fork on the plate. I had lost my appetite and politely excused myself to attend to the laundry. Sitting on my knees next to the laundry basket, I turned on the gaslight and struck a match to light it. After blowing it out, I took the dirty laundry and dunked it in and out of the pot of water.
In and out. The mechanical motion made it easy to lose focus, and before I knew it, I was alone with my thoughts. My mind drifted to the newspaper I saw today. "The Republic," it read: "A state in which political power rests with the people." "The people." The entire population not limited by race or gender—could decide who governed the country, not simply because someone came from a certain bloodline. Women's voting was suggested earlier that year, and I almost decided to make that day my birthday. Yes, women would vote, men would vote, and everyone would choose how to govern this country. Maybe after that, I would also gain the right to decide whom to marry. I would marry someone I loved all my life, someone whose job I wouldn't care about; I wouldn't have to slave away my life because someone puts food on the table. I could put my own food on my own table. And—oh look, the laundry is done. I hung all the clothes on the rack outside and took a moment to admire the ink-black sky. Stars were littered throughout the darkness, like little pieces of glitter that you just can't bear to clean up. The brightest speck was a globe in the outer part of space. Was that a part of our world, too? Waning gibbous—that was the phase it was in. But in my eyes, it was a crescent; it had to be. No matter the phase, today was the day of the crescent, the brightest crescent in the night sky. A distant whisper caressed my ears, and I perked up to understand what it was saying: "Gentlemen, tomorrow we announce the Republic..."