Lyssa Strata: A Comedy for the Frustrated

By Martti Nelson

A small-town librarian finds her voice and kicks some misogynist butt in the process.

Inspired by the classical Greek comedy, Lysistrata, librarian Lyssa Strata has long begged the Town Council of Athena, Massachusetts to repeal its disgusting, old, misogynist, and racist laws, but the Council, an all-male entity for

• Language: English
• Publisher: HUMORIST MEDIA
• Release date: Apr 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954158054

Book preview

Chapter One:

§ 4-1 Immoral Female Items

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.

They started walking toward their respective houses—Moms to her two-story Georgian, Misty to her Victorian, and Lyssa to the apartment she adored tucked above the library. The early October air popped just enough for a girl to need a coat, but not yet gloves. She didn’t require a jacket in this dress, however. It was a summer frock, useful in temperatures down to ten below zero.

Fireplaces around them gave off delicious aromas of fall and smoke, enveloping Lyssa in cozy. Cozy except for the turmoil in her heart.

The only man currently running for the vacant Council seat was Richard Browne V, descended directly from the founders of the town. He paraded around, chest puffed like his head, entitled to waltz into his birthright as an elder at 41. His father served on the Council. His grandfather, great-grandfather, on and on. The seat had molded to the weird, horizontal butts the Browne men sported.

As they walked, Moms transferred her snuggling from Misty to Lyssa and Misty. They’d been fast friends ever since the first grade, when they’d both been not-picked for recess games.

Misty said, It’ll be okay, Lyssa. Your speech was amazing! The dress, not so much.

Lyssa looked down. What’s wrong with it? It’s so accurate and scratchy.

Misty!

Bill, Misty’s husband, caught up to them, his face florid from running. Misty, what the hell was that in there? You can’t call the Council old bats! They’re my customers. Pickle is redoing his shed before winter, and he always needs extra hardware because he tends to throw stuff when things go south.

Misty pressed her eyelids closed and cocked one hip at an angle of pure annoyance. Lyssa knew she delighted in being ranked below Bill’s hardware store for the 4000th time in their brief marriage. Her BFF said, They are old bats. That Council chamber smells like a guano-filled cave.

Lyssa snickered, her laughter chasing back the words of rebuke always crowding her mouth in Bill’s presence. Misty had married Bill Meadows six months ago in a whirlwind pregnancy scare/amazing sex haze that had turned out to be overinflated on both counts. Nighty night, Misty. Lyssa gave her a hug, knowing Bill would want to take her home.

Which he did, complaining about Pickle’s shed’s prospects the whole way.

The fork in Main Street separated Lyssa and her mother. Come to Ladies’ BINGO Night at the senior center tomorrow, Moms implored. Bring Misty. We can bitch about tonight and spike the punch.

Sure. Love you, Moms. Lyssa waved and meandered toward the library.

The buildings downtown stood in matching white paint with Kelly green trim. Neat rows of pristine soldiers, some as old as 1709. Athena was the perfect small town—clean, no crime, little poverty. Tended toward equality in theory, but underneath ran an undercurrent of let the men take care of things. After all, the town prospered! Tourists came, the apple crop abounded, the cider flowed—and oh, by the way, women who change their hair color are legally defined as sirens and shall be shunned until the next new moon.

Well, darn it, Lyssa felt the need to dye her hair. Metaphorically. She sported natural red hair—bright auburn—and wasn’t about to destroy her best feature.

A longing to stir a little trouble in her cauldron overtook her. Literally, since she owned quite a few historical cauldrons. She’d spend BINGO contemplating which woman would be the perfect candidate to run for the Town Council seat. Someone talented at speaking. Bold. Confident enough to make history.

If she couldn’t find anyone, at least she’d get drunk, because those BINGO women did not fool around.

Lyssa Red Against png

The ladies of Athena, Massachusetts cherished a secret.

The gents were pleased when the women toddled off to the Athena Senior Center twice a month to engage in a boring game of BINGO. Much playing of poker at home and farting with abandon happened while the geese met. But the ganders didn’t know that Ladies’ BINGO Night was the rip-roaringest time in three counties.

Lyssa settled at a table with Misty and Joan Soong, a friend of theirs who owned Whoanuts, the town’s best and only donut shop. After cleaning her glasses, Lyssa spread her BINGO cards before her with great relish at the view. They didn’t play with numbers or anything of the sort.

They played with body parts.

On each square was printed a man’s body part—get five in a row, and you were quite the lucky gal. Of course, with the size of the free space, they were all lucky gals. And when two of the town’s women, Barb and Grace, came out and got married, the senior ladies had a fine time making BINGO cards available for them (or anyone) with more appealing, feminine features.

Left pec! called Patience Dare at her podium. Or left boob. Either one’s a winner! Patience was one of the Dare triplets who, at 80, were the most famous triplets the town had ever produced. Athena was the Northeast’s triplet capital—probably something to do with cider mill runoff.

Ugh! Misty groaned. I need right boob. Misty was egalitarian when it came to love and BINGO. Of course, sometimes you can’t tell the difference. Except these are pointing to the side like a flight attendant indicating the exit rows. She grabbed her own right boob. Mine do that, too!

Lyssa needed right everything—this BINGO card was the closest she’d gotten to a man in a year. Small towns were tough hunting in the dating game. The man she attempted to piece together tonight was a beautiful African-American gentleman with awe-inspiring thighs. She swallowed, lest she fog her glasses.

Here we go! Mom plopped four cups onto the table. I added rum to the fruit punch. Now we won’t mind when we lose.

Better to drown our sorrows in. Because I see few options for the Town Council here. Lyssa had been studying the room. It’s not that Athena lacked for smart, capable women—far from it—but she knew everyone well…and doubted they would want to take up the heavy mantle against 400 years of history.

The Dare triplets were too busy reigning over the senior center to run. Mrs. Cummings, who owned the grocery, was a convicted art forger from her youth. The art on the walls of the grocery store was spectacular, though, as if painted by Rembrandt himself.

Lyssa took a sip of punch. Yikes! She fought to pass it down her throat.

What is in this? Joan asked with a gasp. It tastes like a wino gave birth to a fire demon.

Moms grabbed her own cup to taste. Whoa. Maybe…tequila? She leaned back and hollered to the next row. Temperance Dare! You spike the punch?

Blue hair rose to peek at them. Of course I did! What the hell did you put in it, Eunice?

Moms lifted her shoulders in her best oops. Something that doesn’t go with tequila.

Oh, no, groaned Lyssa. Not your peanut-butter-and-jelly rum?

She pursed her lips. Just drink some more. It’ll taste good at some point.

Misty emerged from her bag with enough bite-sized chocolate bars to choke even the most ambitious Trick-or-Treater. Wash it down with these. Candy bars go well with tequila and rum.

Six-pack abs! Patience screamed, her coke-bottle glasses glinting in the fluorescent light.

BINGO! Misty rose, a chocolate bar hanging from her lips. Yay me! She ran off to prove her victory.

Lyssa took another drink of the vile concoction. It splashed into her belly like a stalactite crashing to the cave floor. You need to run for Council, Moms. You could win; the town doctor harbors secrets. Nobody will want to cross you.

Moms pointed. Now that is unethical. And true. But I’m not running, I told you. How about you, Joan?

The donut queen scoffed. Hell, no. I saw what Daniel went through. Some in this town would rather burn it to the ground than have two Asians in charge. I’ve got a business and bills to pay.

Ugh. Lyssa wanted to cry, knowing Joan was absolutely right. I can’t blame you. It’ll be tough enough running a white woman.

Moms sucked on a candy and nodded. She adjusted herself in her seat to peer around. Agnes wouldn’t win. Alice couldn’t debate worth a crap. Mary B., no. Mary P., no. Other Mary B., no—we’d probably end up with more laws against women if she was there. Kelli is out, of course." Kelli Darling-Browne was the other candidate’s wife. She didn’t attend BINGO night because nobody trusted her enough to tell her about it.

Kelli had also made a starring turn as Lyssa’s personal bully throughout kindergarten. And junior-high. Andhigh school. The horrible blonde nightmare with the nasally singing voice that everyone pretended was so freaking great was a monster, full stop. No wonder she’d married a blackguard like Browne.

Moms drained her cup and stood. I know what to do. There’s really no other option.

With that, she walked toward the front, where Patience turned the BINGO drum. The two ladies chatted; Patience waved Moms toward the microphone.

Moms said, Happy BINGO night, ladies! If you’ve been drinking the punch, please don’t drive, okay? Most of you live within a mile, anyway.

The crowd tittered in a tipsy way. Lyssa, Misty, and Joan exchanged a giggle and toasted their cups.

She continued, Some of us have been chatting, and we feel it’s time—long past time—we had a lady on the Town Council. We need to put our backs into it to elect someone besides Richard Browne, not only because it’s been a boy basement for too long, but also because the guy is a massive jerk.

Titters gave way to disgruntled nods. Browne was rich as Croesus, bullied his way through life, and practically held the town hostage as the main employer at the orchard and cider mill. The man paid almost no business taxes because he always threatened to shutter both if forced to pay like the plebes.

In 1947, Athena lowered the cider mill’s taxes to one percent. The town made up for the money lost by fining women for cursing in public. They raised thousands of dollars, mostly from women immediately breaking the law upon hearing of it.

I’ve been thinking about who to run. Moms grabbed the mic and paced the stage. Maybe you have, too. It’s got to be someone with energy, brains, and a good heart.

The ladies tore their eyes from their sexy BINGO and sat at rapt attention. Clearly, Lyssa was not the only one sick of the status quo. Her tummy tickled with joy. And tequila-rum.

I may be biased, Moms said, but I think we should run my girl, Lyssa.

The floor fell from under Lyssa. Her head snapped up to find the assemblage staring as if she were a shocking Tweet. What the what? Her cheeks began burning around the time the room started smiling. Moms burst into a grin, clearly pleased with herself, the witch. Lyssa froze in terror, and horror, and she kind of needed to poop all of a sudden.

Patience Dare said, "I think Lyssa would