another three months, in a way it was like she’d already gone. The incident that had bound us together now felt like the end of something, a chapter that for her might be titled “The Life Before My Real Life Began.”
I missed the pizza after she’d left, but more than that I missed her, missed having someone naive enough to believe in me. When she returned she’d be just like the other friends who’d moved on, the ones who flew home for Christmas and made you feel like a loser. Not that they tried to. Sure, they’d mention their celebrity sightings, the art shows and opportunities in their exciting new cities, but always there would come that moment when their talk turned back to Raleigh and how much they supposedly missed it. “Because the people, my God,” they’d say. “And you can get such good spaces here—an apartment for, what do you pay, David, one fifty a month?”
A person needed savings in order to move, but more than that he needed gumption. The mink I’d returned that day in Washington would not have helped me get out of North Carolina. With the money I could have sold it for, I’d have undoubtedly stayed just where I was, living meagerly from week to week and inventing other excuses for myself. It did not escape my attention that while modeling for the drawing class I was both literally and figuratively standing still. It was a position I’d hold for another three years, a long time when you’re going nowhere, and an interminable one when you’re going nowhere fast.
Just a Quick E-mail
Hey, Robin,
Just a quick e-mail to thank you for the wedding gift, or “wedding gift certificate, ” I guess I should say. Two free pizzas—how thoughtful of you. And how generous: any toppings we want!
Maybe you hadn’t heard that I’d registered at Tumbridge & Colchester. Last June, I think it was, just before we announced the engagement. Not that the pizzas didn’t come in handy; they did, though in a slightly indirect way. Unlike you, who’re so wonderfully unconcerned with what other people think, I’m a bit vain, especially when it comes to my figure. That being the case, I used the certificates to feed our workmen, who are currently building a small addition. I know you thought our house was big enough already. “Tara meets DressBarn” was how I heard you so cleverly describe it at the wedding. “I mean, really,” you said. “How much room do two people need?”
Or did you say, “Two thin people”? What with the band playing and everyone in the world shouting their congratulations, it was a little hard to hear. Just like it is at our ever-expanding house—the workers all hammering away! What they’ve done is tear down the wall between the kitchen and the breakfast nook. That’ll give us room for a walk-in silverware drawer and this new sixteen-burner stove I’ve been eyeing. Plus it will allow us to expand the counter space, put in a second dishwasher, and install an electric millstone for grinding blue corn. (Homemade tortillas, anyone?) Then we’re going to enclose that useless deck, insulate it, and create a separate dining room for when we go Asian. This will eliminate that ramp you’re so fond of, but it’s not like we see you all that often and I don’t think it will kill you to crawl up a half dozen stairs. As a matter of fact, as long as they’re clean, I actually think it might be good for you.
Seeing as we’re on this subject, Robin, is it right to insist on all this special treatment? More than that, is it healthy? It’s been almost a year since the car accident. Don’t you think it’s time you moved on with your life? Do I need to remind you of all my injuries: the dislocated shoulder, the practically broken wrist that still tingles when I do something strenuous like whisk in damp weather? On top of that, it took me days to wash your blood out of my hair. The admitting nurse put me down as a redhead—that’s how bad it was—your left front tooth
I missed the pizza after she’d left, but more than that I missed her, missed having someone naive enough to believe in me. When she returned she’d be just like the other friends who’d moved on, the ones who flew home for Christmas and made you feel like a loser. Not that they tried to. Sure, they’d mention their celebrity sightings, the art shows and opportunities in their exciting new cities, but always there would come that moment when their talk turned back to Raleigh and how much they supposedly missed it. “Because the people, my God,” they’d say. “And you can get such good spaces here—an apartment for, what do you pay, David, one fifty a month?”
A person needed savings in order to move, but more than that he needed gumption. The mink I’d returned that day in Washington would not have helped me get out of North Carolina. With the money I could have sold it for, I’d have undoubtedly stayed just where I was, living meagerly from week to week and inventing other excuses for myself. It did not escape my attention that while modeling for the drawing class I was both literally and figuratively standing still. It was a position I’d hold for another three years, a long time when you’re going nowhere, and an interminable one when you’re going nowhere fast.
Just a Quick E-mail
Hey, Robin,
Just a quick e-mail to thank you for the wedding gift, or “wedding gift certificate, ” I guess I should say. Two free pizzas—how thoughtful of you. And how generous: any toppings we want!
Maybe you hadn’t heard that I’d registered at Tumbridge & Colchester. Last June, I think it was, just before we announced the engagement. Not that the pizzas didn’t come in handy; they did, though in a slightly indirect way. Unlike you, who’re so wonderfully unconcerned with what other people think, I’m a bit vain, especially when it comes to my figure. That being the case, I used the certificates to feed our workmen, who are currently building a small addition. I know you thought our house was big enough already. “Tara meets DressBarn” was how I heard you so cleverly describe it at the wedding. “I mean, really,” you said. “How much room do two people need?”
Or did you say, “Two thin people”? What with the band playing and everyone in the world shouting their congratulations, it was a little hard to hear. Just like it is at our ever-expanding house—the workers all hammering away! What they’ve done is tear down the wall between the kitchen and the breakfast nook. That’ll give us room for a walk-in silverware drawer and this new sixteen-burner stove I’ve been eyeing. Plus it will allow us to expand the counter space, put in a second dishwasher, and install an electric millstone for grinding blue corn. (Homemade tortillas, anyone?) Then we’re going to enclose that useless deck, insulate it, and create a separate dining room for when we go Asian. This will eliminate that ramp you’re so fond of, but it’s not like we see you all that often and I don’t think it will kill you to crawl up a half dozen stairs. As a matter of fact, as long as they’re clean, I actually think it might be good for you.
Seeing as we’re on this subject, Robin, is it right to insist on all this special treatment? More than that, is it healthy? It’s been almost a year since the car accident. Don’t you think it’s time you moved on with your life? Do I need to remind you of all my injuries: the dislocated shoulder, the practically broken wrist that still tingles when I do something strenuous like whisk in damp weather? On top of that, it took me days to wash your blood out of my hair. The admitting nurse put me down as a redhead—that’s how bad it was—your left front tooth
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