who specialized in Afghan studies. Why not take a few classes? He had plenty of time during the day, and he could always study at work. He’d love to study at work.
“What is this?” his mother asked when she saw the class schedule.
“Something that I thought I’d put in my backpack.” He took the brochure from her hands. “Seriously, Mom, what are you doing in my bag? Are you steaming open my mail, too?”
“You don’t get any mail.” She folded her arms. You could never be offended or dismayed with her—she always beat you to it. “I was checking your bag for dirty dishes,” she said. “Do those papers mean that you’re going back to school?”
“Not immediately.” The fall semester had already started.
“I don’t know how I feel about that, Lincoln. I’m starting to think you might have a problem. With school.”
“I’ve never had a problem with school,” he said, knowing how lame that sounded, knowing that refusing to take part in the conversation wasn’t the same as avoiding it.
“You know what I mean,” she said. She wagged a dirty spoon at him. “A problem. Like those women who get addicted to plastic surgery. They keep going back and going back, trying to look better until there is no more better. Like they can’t look better because they don’t even look like themselves anymore. And then it’s just about looking different, I think. I saw this woman in a magazine who looked just like a cat. Like a cat of prey, a big cat. Have you ever seen her? She has a lot of money. I think she might be from Austria.”
“No,” he said.
“Well, she looks very unhappy.”
“Okay,” he said quietly, shoving the schedule back into his backpack.
“Okay?”
“You don’t want me to go back to school, or have plastic surgery to make myself look like a cat. Okay, I get it. So noted.”
“And you don’t want me to open your backpack …”
“I really don’t.”
“Fine,” she said, walking back to the kitchen. “So noted.”
THE COURIER HAD begun holding weekly Millennium Preparedness meetings. All the department heads had to attend, including Greg, who was expected to give a readiness report at each one. He usually came back from these meetings looking red-faced and hypertensive.
“I don’t know what they expect of me, Lincoln. I’m one man. The publisher thinks I should have seen this Y2K thing coming. Last week, he yelled at me for sending all our old Selectrics to churches in El Salvador. Even though the board gave me a plaque for that three years ago. It’s hanging in my den …I think I just talked them into buying backup generators.”
Lincoln tried to tell Greg, again, that he really didn’t think anything bad was going to happen on New Year’s Eve. Even if the coding failed, Lincoln said, which it probably wouldn’t, the computers wouldn’t get confused and self-destruct. “ Logan’s Run isn’t real,” he said.
“Then why do I feel too old for this shit?” Greg asked.
That made Lincoln laugh. If he worked days, with Greg, he might not spend so much time thinking about quitting.
CHAPTER 23
From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
To: Beth Fremont
Sent: Tues, 10/12/1999 9:27 AM
Subject: Another nice story.
The way you were complaining last week, I had lowered my expectations. But look at you—front page, above the fold. Giant picture, nice lead, nice ending. I especially like the quote from that protester: “If the Taj Mahal had been built on 84th and Dodge, they’d tear it down for parking.”
<>
1. Stop, you’re too nice. You’re like my mother or something.
2. That protester was very cute. Lovely red hair. A pharmacy student, no less. (Now I sound like my mother.) We had a very nice conversation about the way this city worships good parking. I said that eventually, we’ll tear down every building of interest and just run shuttles to Des Moines and Denver. We’ll have a parking-based economy. He thought that was very funny, I
“What is this?” his mother asked when she saw the class schedule.
“Something that I thought I’d put in my backpack.” He took the brochure from her hands. “Seriously, Mom, what are you doing in my bag? Are you steaming open my mail, too?”
“You don’t get any mail.” She folded her arms. You could never be offended or dismayed with her—she always beat you to it. “I was checking your bag for dirty dishes,” she said. “Do those papers mean that you’re going back to school?”
“Not immediately.” The fall semester had already started.
“I don’t know how I feel about that, Lincoln. I’m starting to think you might have a problem. With school.”
“I’ve never had a problem with school,” he said, knowing how lame that sounded, knowing that refusing to take part in the conversation wasn’t the same as avoiding it.
“You know what I mean,” she said. She wagged a dirty spoon at him. “A problem. Like those women who get addicted to plastic surgery. They keep going back and going back, trying to look better until there is no more better. Like they can’t look better because they don’t even look like themselves anymore. And then it’s just about looking different, I think. I saw this woman in a magazine who looked just like a cat. Like a cat of prey, a big cat. Have you ever seen her? She has a lot of money. I think she might be from Austria.”
“No,” he said.
“Well, she looks very unhappy.”
“Okay,” he said quietly, shoving the schedule back into his backpack.
“Okay?”
“You don’t want me to go back to school, or have plastic surgery to make myself look like a cat. Okay, I get it. So noted.”
“And you don’t want me to open your backpack …”
“I really don’t.”
“Fine,” she said, walking back to the kitchen. “So noted.”
THE COURIER HAD begun holding weekly Millennium Preparedness meetings. All the department heads had to attend, including Greg, who was expected to give a readiness report at each one. He usually came back from these meetings looking red-faced and hypertensive.
“I don’t know what they expect of me, Lincoln. I’m one man. The publisher thinks I should have seen this Y2K thing coming. Last week, he yelled at me for sending all our old Selectrics to churches in El Salvador. Even though the board gave me a plaque for that three years ago. It’s hanging in my den …I think I just talked them into buying backup generators.”
Lincoln tried to tell Greg, again, that he really didn’t think anything bad was going to happen on New Year’s Eve. Even if the coding failed, Lincoln said, which it probably wouldn’t, the computers wouldn’t get confused and self-destruct. “ Logan’s Run isn’t real,” he said.
“Then why do I feel too old for this shit?” Greg asked.
That made Lincoln laugh. If he worked days, with Greg, he might not spend so much time thinking about quitting.
CHAPTER 23
From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
To: Beth Fremont
Sent: Tues, 10/12/1999 9:27 AM
Subject: Another nice story.
The way you were complaining last week, I had lowered my expectations. But look at you—front page, above the fold. Giant picture, nice lead, nice ending. I especially like the quote from that protester: “If the Taj Mahal had been built on 84th and Dodge, they’d tear it down for parking.”
<
1. Stop, you’re too nice. You’re like my mother or something.
2. That protester was very cute. Lovely red hair. A pharmacy student, no less. (Now I sound like my mother.) We had a very nice conversation about the way this city worships good parking. I said that eventually, we’ll tear down every building of interest and just run shuttles to Des Moines and Denver. We’ll have a parking-based economy. He thought that was very funny, I
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