little dance.
But everything was so instantly, remarkably different. I was shocked. Literally incapable of comprehending what I’d seen. I felt stabbed, like the air was forced out of my chest, and I looked at him aghast, hurt, shut behind walls. It was unfathomable to me. The game didn’t matter. The stakes were so low. There was no part of me that would—could—ever consider doing what he did. But it was so easy for him. The easiest thing. And that, I realized, had been there all along.
I’ve wondered sometimes if things would have turned out differently if I hadn’t seen him turn the die. If I’d lingered a few more seconds on Noah’s bearded laugh or taken a sip of my drink. Or if I’d chosen to say something. Stand up, wide-eyed, and make the public accusation. Embarrass him, force him to grovel in front of his darling and her cohorts.
But the articulation of his crime would have been meaningless; he would never have understood just how deeply that tiny turn of his wrist had pierced me. Just how utterly I’d been reduced. Mocked. Betrayed.
I didn’t say much for the rest of the night. Sat stiff in my chair and even stiller in our bed when he stroked me. He asked me if something was wrong just before we fell asleep but it didn’t seem worth it.
“Are you still upset about Olivia?” I nearly laughed. Olivia was nothing, I wanted to say. It was a carnival. That’s all.
I woke up at sunrise to a dead-low tide, placed my skirts and flats in neat piles inside my bag, padded down the staircase, and walked out the door into the now crisp Cape Cod air. The drive to New York felt short and I didn’t stop until I reached the city and walked in the door and padded up the staircase and turned off my phone to sleep for a long, long time.
* * *
I remember trying to explain to my mother why the Yahtzee was so essential but she didn’t understand. We were getting lunch on Bleecker and I was trying to convince her I was doing okay. She’d driven up from Pennsylvania but all I let us talk about was my sister’s sister-in-law and the Oscar nominations. It was pouring rain but it stopped by the time she paid the check and the restaurant’s awning dripped outside the window. We had plans to spend the afternoon at the Met but the prospect seemed unbearably exhausting. I imagined myself holding a brochure and walking from room to gigantic room with waning focus. I’d read descriptions on marble walls and realize I’d stopped comprehending. I’d begin to look for benches. I’d become dehydrated. Outside, the sun would blare and crowds of people would wait, sunburned, to get inside. I’d want to go home and sink into bed or at least sit down for more than two minutes. But I wouldn’t be able to. And it would hurt me. Frustrate me. The waiter came back to pick up the check and a cupcake passed by with a sparkler candle flicking.
Cha-cha-cha, I thought. Cha-cha-cha, cha-cha-cha.
In years to come he would whisper it at parties as the cake paraded by or mouth it across a restaurant table at a sibling’s birthday dinner. On our wedding night, Danny winked at me when the cake came out and we both knew what he was thinking. My mother always said how amazing it is that things seem so absolute when you’re young. But the sand slides down in chutes until the dune craters are all full. Inevitable, the magazines write, and we shake our heads with somber nostalgia for the grass and its crickets. We always will.
The Emerald City
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Jun 16, 2003 at 10:56 PM
Subject: melting! (the Green Zone hit 108°)
Laura darling,
I stopped carrying my gun today. To be honest, we don’t really need them. It’s like we’re all inventing our adventure—crawling through the Baghdad gardens like the seeds are mines, like the bruised pears might blow our damn legs off. Wolf still carries his M-9 on the boulevard, belting it to cargos like his comic book idols. (The
But everything was so instantly, remarkably different. I was shocked. Literally incapable of comprehending what I’d seen. I felt stabbed, like the air was forced out of my chest, and I looked at him aghast, hurt, shut behind walls. It was unfathomable to me. The game didn’t matter. The stakes were so low. There was no part of me that would—could—ever consider doing what he did. But it was so easy for him. The easiest thing. And that, I realized, had been there all along.
I’ve wondered sometimes if things would have turned out differently if I hadn’t seen him turn the die. If I’d lingered a few more seconds on Noah’s bearded laugh or taken a sip of my drink. Or if I’d chosen to say something. Stand up, wide-eyed, and make the public accusation. Embarrass him, force him to grovel in front of his darling and her cohorts.
But the articulation of his crime would have been meaningless; he would never have understood just how deeply that tiny turn of his wrist had pierced me. Just how utterly I’d been reduced. Mocked. Betrayed.
I didn’t say much for the rest of the night. Sat stiff in my chair and even stiller in our bed when he stroked me. He asked me if something was wrong just before we fell asleep but it didn’t seem worth it.
“Are you still upset about Olivia?” I nearly laughed. Olivia was nothing, I wanted to say. It was a carnival. That’s all.
I woke up at sunrise to a dead-low tide, placed my skirts and flats in neat piles inside my bag, padded down the staircase, and walked out the door into the now crisp Cape Cod air. The drive to New York felt short and I didn’t stop until I reached the city and walked in the door and padded up the staircase and turned off my phone to sleep for a long, long time.
* * *
I remember trying to explain to my mother why the Yahtzee was so essential but she didn’t understand. We were getting lunch on Bleecker and I was trying to convince her I was doing okay. She’d driven up from Pennsylvania but all I let us talk about was my sister’s sister-in-law and the Oscar nominations. It was pouring rain but it stopped by the time she paid the check and the restaurant’s awning dripped outside the window. We had plans to spend the afternoon at the Met but the prospect seemed unbearably exhausting. I imagined myself holding a brochure and walking from room to gigantic room with waning focus. I’d read descriptions on marble walls and realize I’d stopped comprehending. I’d begin to look for benches. I’d become dehydrated. Outside, the sun would blare and crowds of people would wait, sunburned, to get inside. I’d want to go home and sink into bed or at least sit down for more than two minutes. But I wouldn’t be able to. And it would hurt me. Frustrate me. The waiter came back to pick up the check and a cupcake passed by with a sparkler candle flicking.
Cha-cha-cha, I thought. Cha-cha-cha, cha-cha-cha.
In years to come he would whisper it at parties as the cake paraded by or mouth it across a restaurant table at a sibling’s birthday dinner. On our wedding night, Danny winked at me when the cake came out and we both knew what he was thinking. My mother always said how amazing it is that things seem so absolute when you’re young. But the sand slides down in chutes until the dune craters are all full. Inevitable, the magazines write, and we shake our heads with somber nostalgia for the grass and its crickets. We always will.
The Emerald City
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Jun 16, 2003 at 10:56 PM
Subject: melting! (the Green Zone hit 108°)
Laura darling,
I stopped carrying my gun today. To be honest, we don’t really need them. It’s like we’re all inventing our adventure—crawling through the Baghdad gardens like the seeds are mines, like the bruised pears might blow our damn legs off. Wolf still carries his M-9 on the boulevard, belting it to cargos like his comic book idols. (The
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