disorder or something.”
“Haven’t you asked your dad about it?”
“My dad’s rich,” said Sissy. Not only was this apropos of nothing, but she’d already told him this shortly after they’d negotiated his fee. “Do you want to know why?” asked Sissy. Mason figured it had something to do with him being a famous poet. “Lattack,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s for getting rid of lice.”
“And what? Your dad invented it?”
“Nope. He just wrote them an ad.”
“And …”
“You don’t remember.”
Mason shrugged.
Sissy seemed excited. “Oh, this is good,” she said. “He came up with dozens of slogans and catchphrases—but it was all too confusing, or self-aware or just plain creepy. Lice is a tough sell.”
“I guess so.”
“So, finally, at like meeting number six with the guys from the company, he threw up his hands and said, ‘I don’t know!
Lattack. It kills the buggers dead!’”
“Holy shit!”
“Yeah. Yeah! You remember it now?”
“It kills the buggers dead!”
“It kills the buggers dead!” It was nice, in a strange way, to see Sissy engaged in something. Mason wanted to keep it going.
“That was huge!” he said. “It was like
I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!
Your dad made all his money just from that?”
“That, then
Chase. It cleans teeth white … AmiCard. It makes your money rich….”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“I figure I could take over the business. I’ve got a bunch of them. Check it out:
Gin. It gets you good drunk fast.”
Mason laughed and took a sip of his coffee.
“Coffee!”
she said.
“It fills you full of beans.”
“That’s pretty good.”
“You try one!”
“I dunno … Okay, how about this:
Ex-Lax. It gets rid of all the shit.”
Sissy held up her hand and tilted it—like it was almost good, but not. “The trick is not to just be super obvious. It’s got to be redundant, too. Like
Ex-Lax: You can shit out all the shit.”
“Yeah. I see what you mean.”
Sissy beamed. “I got another one.
Trojan. It keeps the unborn out.”
“Or should it be in?” said Mason.
“What?”
“Depending who you’re marketing to …”
“Oh yeah!” said Sissy. She blushed then started to giggle.
“Trojan. It keeps the unborn right where you want’ ’em!”
Sissy laughed so hard she almost fell off the bench and Mason had to grab her, then he was laughing, too.
“Sissy …,” he said, as they regained their breath.
“What.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
She looked down for a moment at her large round knees. When she lifted her head the joy was nowhere to be seen—just anger flooding from her eyes.
“Fuck you, man,” she said. “You already took the fucking money!”
“No, I know …”
“I swear: if you get stupid like this, I’ll fuck you up. I will
fuck you up!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Just fuck off, man … I mean it.”
Mason put down the coffee. Sissy got to her feet, then turned and began to climb the hill, staggering up like she was bearing the weight of a wounded comrade.
13. Sometimes I feel like more than one person.
14. Given the choice, I would buy a dress with patterns on it.
Sissy’s Letter—Take Two
There are too many of you.
Hundreds of pretty girls who started giggling once they’d passed me by.
Two thousand peers who called me “‘Circle.”
A half-dozen skinny equestrians who fell into the sawdust laughing when I couldn’t mount a horse.
Bus drivers, doctors, store clerks, pot dealers and people walking on the beach, who looked at me then looked away.
But for God’s sake, you’re thinking, not everyone is such an asshole!
And that’s true. But also this: in almost twenty-five years, the instances of kindness, fun and caring have been so rare that I can’t wait for any more of them—or rather, I refuse to fucking wait. And this too: I can’t help noticing that those nicest to me are always the beaten-down buggers with nothing left to lose. I
“Haven’t you asked your dad about it?”
“My dad’s rich,” said Sissy. Not only was this apropos of nothing, but she’d already told him this shortly after they’d negotiated his fee. “Do you want to know why?” asked Sissy. Mason figured it had something to do with him being a famous poet. “Lattack,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s for getting rid of lice.”
“And what? Your dad invented it?”
“Nope. He just wrote them an ad.”
“And …”
“You don’t remember.”
Mason shrugged.
Sissy seemed excited. “Oh, this is good,” she said. “He came up with dozens of slogans and catchphrases—but it was all too confusing, or self-aware or just plain creepy. Lice is a tough sell.”
“I guess so.”
“So, finally, at like meeting number six with the guys from the company, he threw up his hands and said, ‘I don’t know!
Lattack. It kills the buggers dead!’”
“Holy shit!”
“Yeah. Yeah! You remember it now?”
“It kills the buggers dead!”
“It kills the buggers dead!” It was nice, in a strange way, to see Sissy engaged in something. Mason wanted to keep it going.
“That was huge!” he said. “It was like
I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!
Your dad made all his money just from that?”
“That, then
Chase. It cleans teeth white … AmiCard. It makes your money rich….”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“I figure I could take over the business. I’ve got a bunch of them. Check it out:
Gin. It gets you good drunk fast.”
Mason laughed and took a sip of his coffee.
“Coffee!”
she said.
“It fills you full of beans.”
“That’s pretty good.”
“You try one!”
“I dunno … Okay, how about this:
Ex-Lax. It gets rid of all the shit.”
Sissy held up her hand and tilted it—like it was almost good, but not. “The trick is not to just be super obvious. It’s got to be redundant, too. Like
Ex-Lax: You can shit out all the shit.”
“Yeah. I see what you mean.”
Sissy beamed. “I got another one.
Trojan. It keeps the unborn out.”
“Or should it be in?” said Mason.
“What?”
“Depending who you’re marketing to …”
“Oh yeah!” said Sissy. She blushed then started to giggle.
“Trojan. It keeps the unborn right where you want’ ’em!”
Sissy laughed so hard she almost fell off the bench and Mason had to grab her, then he was laughing, too.
“Sissy …,” he said, as they regained their breath.
“What.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
She looked down for a moment at her large round knees. When she lifted her head the joy was nowhere to be seen—just anger flooding from her eyes.
“Fuck you, man,” she said. “You already took the fucking money!”
“No, I know …”
“I swear: if you get stupid like this, I’ll fuck you up. I will
fuck you up!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Just fuck off, man … I mean it.”
Mason put down the coffee. Sissy got to her feet, then turned and began to climb the hill, staggering up like she was bearing the weight of a wounded comrade.
13. Sometimes I feel like more than one person.
14. Given the choice, I would buy a dress with patterns on it.
Sissy’s Letter—Take Two
There are too many of you.
Hundreds of pretty girls who started giggling once they’d passed me by.
Two thousand peers who called me “‘Circle.”
A half-dozen skinny equestrians who fell into the sawdust laughing when I couldn’t mount a horse.
Bus drivers, doctors, store clerks, pot dealers and people walking on the beach, who looked at me then looked away.
But for God’s sake, you’re thinking, not everyone is such an asshole!
And that’s true. But also this: in almost twenty-five years, the instances of kindness, fun and caring have been so rare that I can’t wait for any more of them—or rather, I refuse to fucking wait. And this too: I can’t help noticing that those nicest to me are always the beaten-down buggers with nothing left to lose. I
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