the bathtub.” The doctor says, “I’ve read the report—”
“Not read. Just blue.”
“—patient tried to drown herself in the bath. How does that make you feel?”
“Give the chart to my grandfather. When it’s returned it will read, in a nice Garamond or Bodoni, ‘—patience tried.’ Because doctor, this making a mortal love me is tasking business and I’m running out of time. So I tried to drown myself. I want to go back to the ocean. That way I thought Jude could continue living. But you all ruined it.” That’s what I tell the doctor and he looks surprised by my answer. “I’m from the ocean,” I add to clarify my position. The doctor writes that down. He gets up to leave and watches me from the door, and I think he understands me because in a few days, when the hospital finds out that my mother lied about us having health insurance, with some pamphlets and some pills the doctor gave me, I am sent home.
DANGEROSE
At home I am ashamed. They all think I was trying to kill myself, so I walk around sheepishly. I try to be helpful and quiet.
While I was in the hospital our basement flooded with two feet of water. It happens all the time, as our sump pump is nearly as old as the house and tired. So when I get home I go down into the cellar carrying a tiny dinghy constructed of corrugated fiberglass. My father made it for me when I was a little girl and despite being a rough and tiny craft, it is still seaworthy. I row over to the fuse box to turn off all the power in the house before the flood reaches the fuses. I am trying to be helpful. I float for a bit in the dark basement. Overhead I can see dusty cobwebs and ceiling joists. The boat rocks some and I could almost fall asleep down here but I don’t. I don’t want to scare my mother again. I row back to the bottom of the staircase and climb up into the sunlight.
I try to talk to my neighbors concerning the flood, but I can see that I make them nervous now also. It seems all the neighbors also think I tried to drown myself in the bathtub. Still I tell them, “Our basement is flooded. Do you think this is the end?” At first they think I mean because of the terrorists. So I say, “No. Do you think the ocean is coming for us? Well, not me, but you?”
They shake their heads as if to say, “Poor child,” but all they really say is, “Huh. That’s strange,” or they say, “You went to high school. You figure it out.”
So I call Jude. He is glad I am home from the hospital. “Listen,” I tell him and I put the telephone up to the cellar door so he can hear the shore lapping beneath our living room floorboards. “What does it mean?” I ask him.
“I don’t know,” he says and then, “How are you doing? Really?” So I hang up.
I go upstairs to ask my mother. She has been crying. She says she doesn’t know what to do with me, and so I don’t ask her about the flooding.
I ask my grandfather but he is very old. He sets down the plate of dictionary he’s been typesetting.
“What?” he asks, pretending he can’t hear me.
“The water! In the basement!”
“What?”
“Forget it,” I say.
“Look what I wrote this morning” he says and shoves a plate of type in front of me.
danger – A charming, young lady named Dangerose once yielded to the importunities of Damase, the Lord of Asnieres; defying the curses of Thigh, 37th Bishop of Mans, they lived in love together. One day as the Lord was crossing a stream, a violent storm arose, stricken by lightening and overwhelmed by the waters, the wicked Damase was half-burned, half-drowned, and passed to perdition. The distraught Dangerose threw herself at the Bishop’s feet in penitence; she lived thereafter in strict retirement. But her story spread far; and whenever anything drew peril after it, the French said, “Ceci sent la Dangerose.”
“You just made that up,” I say.
“I did not.”
“Then you copied it.” My grandfather tucks his chin to pretend he is hurt, but
“Not read. Just blue.”
“—patient tried to drown herself in the bath. How does that make you feel?”
“Give the chart to my grandfather. When it’s returned it will read, in a nice Garamond or Bodoni, ‘—patience tried.’ Because doctor, this making a mortal love me is tasking business and I’m running out of time. So I tried to drown myself. I want to go back to the ocean. That way I thought Jude could continue living. But you all ruined it.” That’s what I tell the doctor and he looks surprised by my answer. “I’m from the ocean,” I add to clarify my position. The doctor writes that down. He gets up to leave and watches me from the door, and I think he understands me because in a few days, when the hospital finds out that my mother lied about us having health insurance, with some pamphlets and some pills the doctor gave me, I am sent home.
DANGEROSE
At home I am ashamed. They all think I was trying to kill myself, so I walk around sheepishly. I try to be helpful and quiet.
While I was in the hospital our basement flooded with two feet of water. It happens all the time, as our sump pump is nearly as old as the house and tired. So when I get home I go down into the cellar carrying a tiny dinghy constructed of corrugated fiberglass. My father made it for me when I was a little girl and despite being a rough and tiny craft, it is still seaworthy. I row over to the fuse box to turn off all the power in the house before the flood reaches the fuses. I am trying to be helpful. I float for a bit in the dark basement. Overhead I can see dusty cobwebs and ceiling joists. The boat rocks some and I could almost fall asleep down here but I don’t. I don’t want to scare my mother again. I row back to the bottom of the staircase and climb up into the sunlight.
I try to talk to my neighbors concerning the flood, but I can see that I make them nervous now also. It seems all the neighbors also think I tried to drown myself in the bathtub. Still I tell them, “Our basement is flooded. Do you think this is the end?” At first they think I mean because of the terrorists. So I say, “No. Do you think the ocean is coming for us? Well, not me, but you?”
They shake their heads as if to say, “Poor child,” but all they really say is, “Huh. That’s strange,” or they say, “You went to high school. You figure it out.”
So I call Jude. He is glad I am home from the hospital. “Listen,” I tell him and I put the telephone up to the cellar door so he can hear the shore lapping beneath our living room floorboards. “What does it mean?” I ask him.
“I don’t know,” he says and then, “How are you doing? Really?” So I hang up.
I go upstairs to ask my mother. She has been crying. She says she doesn’t know what to do with me, and so I don’t ask her about the flooding.
I ask my grandfather but he is very old. He sets down the plate of dictionary he’s been typesetting.
“What?” he asks, pretending he can’t hear me.
“The water! In the basement!”
“What?”
“Forget it,” I say.
“Look what I wrote this morning” he says and shoves a plate of type in front of me.
danger – A charming, young lady named Dangerose once yielded to the importunities of Damase, the Lord of Asnieres; defying the curses of Thigh, 37th Bishop of Mans, they lived in love together. One day as the Lord was crossing a stream, a violent storm arose, stricken by lightening and overwhelmed by the waters, the wicked Damase was half-burned, half-drowned, and passed to perdition. The distraught Dangerose threw herself at the Bishop’s feet in penitence; she lived thereafter in strict retirement. But her story spread far; and whenever anything drew peril after it, the French said, “Ceci sent la Dangerose.”
“You just made that up,” I say.
“I did not.”
“Then you copied it.” My grandfather tucks his chin to pretend he is hurt, but
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