Cult-proof

Photo by Maddy Weiss on Unsplash

Anna May is the shaky thing between two trees. She’s walking a tightrope in the mountains. She’s wearing a safety harness and a helmet and there’s a net beneath her feet. Still, Anna May is scared and she tells her team leader as much.

“That’s the point,” he replies. She’s on a work retreat, and the work is animal rights. “You need to feel fear, because the animals we’re working to protect feel afraid all the time.” Shame blooms in Anna May’s chest, heating her from the inside out.

Later, Anna May and her coworkers will be asked to walk barefoot across a stretch of hot coals.

“You need to feel pain because the animals are in constant pain.” They will be asked to go spelunking, claustrophobic or not, because, “If you all think this is bad, imagine life in a gestation crate.” They will be asked to share their traumas in a group therapy session, because, “Practicing trust and vulnerability reminds us of the vulnerable animals who are trusting us to free them.” They will be asked to watch graphic footage of factory farms and slaughterhouses and animal testing, because, “Ignorance isn’t an option for the animals.” They will be asked not to visit their families for Thanksgiving, because, “Complacency is complicity” and “We’re your family.” 

Anna May will fly east for Thanksgiving anyway, and it will cost her. She will find herself jobless by Valentine’s Day. A few weeks later, her former coworkers will stop answering her calls. They’ll unfollow her on social media. They won’t answer her texts or emails. 

She’ll move back east and get a job as a veterinarian receptionist. She’ll buy a plot of cheap land and a modular home. She’ll feed every stray cat and dog that crosses her path. She’ll fill her barn with pigs and horses whose only jobs are to thrive. She’ll adopt rabbits and shower them with affection. She’ll bring home parakeets that preen on her shoulders while she reads. She’ll tend to chickens who are only cooped up when hungry things prowl the dark. 

One day, from the comfort of a porch swing she’ll paint herself, Anna May — a dog at her feet and a cat on her lap — will pierce a peaceful lull: “I thought I was cult-proof.”