they pulled my hair at charm school.
they
stole my guestbook during
rolecall.
proper etiquette has been waxed off but not waxed on, so sue me, + MAY 10 . 2003 = 152
+ s a t ur d a y. the back porch at the 70�s house proves to be the perfect place to hide out with my new notebook and short stories by Andrea Lee (whose book Interesting Women I bought solely because The Boston Globe compared her to Susan Minot. The first, I believe, to be compared to S.M. ). The back porch is a veritable wasteland of warped decking & abandoned chairs. One, overturned & suffering from rain damage, screams Late 60�s with its print of enormous brown & yellow blooms. Another, is a once white lawn chair that has since turned a sick green-blue bottom-of-an-empty-swimming-pool color. A bright blue camp chair holds a seat full of water, nails poke their heads out of boards, citronella wax is frozen in a slow motion crawl. The view: a bowl of a lawn, an empty shed (room for a few goats or one shetland pony or a boy named Pervis, who, true story!, actually lived there for two weeks after vacating NYC due to stomach ailments). I hide out for almost an hour before I am discovered by Noam & Sarah & their two dogs. Sarah, with a tiny pretty scar under her left eye, and Noam, with his CurlyCurly hair, will entertain me & make me laugh , but also, make me tired. Later, there will be a house full of people & skewers of grilled vegetables & strawberry shortcake. A raucous good time, surely. But, me, feeling ornery & restless & private will have succumbed to a nap (Ben�s room being another perfect place to hide out) , which will last far too long , yield curious InstructionalFighting (think:KarateKid but with an Edge) dreams & a real-yet-mirage-like-boyfriend who slips into bed at 1am and asks: what happ e ne d?
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