eyebrows and messing with your hair and all. It’s kind of like weeding.”
Kathleen turned around and gave me her “Are you for real?” look: eyes bugged out, mouth open, head shaking. We both burst out laughing. But I thought what I’d said was true: in Kathleen’s world, appearance mattered more than almost anything. Her weight, her clothes, the shape of her eyebrows — these were matters of obsessive concern. In my world, other things mattered more than appearance, I thought, somewhat smugly.
Kathleen turned back to the mirror. “Tonight will be special,” she said. “My horoscope said today is a red-letter day for me.”
“Friday is green, not red.” I said it without thinking.
Kathleen gave me another bug-eyed look, but I said quickly, “I didn’t know you read horoscopes.”
“They’re the only thing worth reading in the daily paper,” she said. “But I bet people like you prefer the editorials.”
I didn’t want to tell her the truth: at my house, no one read the daily paper. We didn’t even have a subscription.
By the time we were ready to go to Ryan’s house, the buzzing in my head had returned, and my stomach was churning. “I don’t feel right,” I told Kathleen.
She looked hard at me, and sick though I felt, I had to admire the thick tangle of her eyelashes and the impressive height of her hair.
“You can’t miss the game tonight. We’re all going out on quests,” she said. “You need to eat something,”
The thought of eating sent me straight to the McGarritt bathroom to vomit. When I’d finished, and rinsed my face and mouth, Kathleen burst in without knocking.
“What is it, Ari?” she said. “Is it lupus?”
In her eyes I saw concern, even love. “I really don’t know,” I said.
But in a way I was lying. I had a strong hunch about the source of the problem. I’d forgotten to bring along my bottle of tonic. “May I borrow a toothbrush?”
Michael met us in the hallway outside the bathroom, a quizzical look on his face. He’d left the door to his room open, and a monotonous voice was singing, “This world is full of fools. And I must be one…”
Michael and Kathleen had an argument about whether I should stay at the McGarritts’ or go to Ryan’s house.
I settled it. “I want to go home.” I felt like a fool.
Kathleen’s face fell. “You’ll miss the quests.”
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “But I won’t be any fun to be around if I’m sick.”
A car horn honked outside. Kathleen’s friends had arrived to drive her to Ryan’s.
“Go on, have fun,” I said. “Bite someone for me.”
Michael drove me home. As usual, he was quiet. After a while, he said, “What’s wrong with you, Ari?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “My stomach tends to be delicate, I suppose.”
“Do you have lupus?”
“I don’t know.” I was sick of the words, and of the mosquito-like drone in my head.
“Have you been tested?”
“Yes,” I said. “The results were inconclusive.” I was looking out the car window at the trees, gleaming with ice, and the icicles hanging from the eaves of houses. In a few weeks Christmas lights would be strung everywhere. Another ritual that I won’t participate in , I thought with some bitterness.
Michael pulled the car to the curb and parked. Then he reached for me, and without thinking I went into his arms. Something happened, something electric, and then came an explosion of emotion.
Yes, I know that explosion isn’t the right word. Why is it so hard to write about feelings?
All that matters here is to say it was my first real appreciation of our bodies. I recall at one point pulling back and looking at Michael in the streetlight, his neck so pale and strong-looking, and feeling the urge to burrow into him, to disappear in him. Does that make sense?
Yet part of me remained disengaged, watching as our hands and mouths went crazy. Then I heard my own voice say, calmly, “I don’t intend to lose my virginity in
Kathleen turned around and gave me her “Are you for real?” look: eyes bugged out, mouth open, head shaking. We both burst out laughing. But I thought what I’d said was true: in Kathleen’s world, appearance mattered more than almost anything. Her weight, her clothes, the shape of her eyebrows — these were matters of obsessive concern. In my world, other things mattered more than appearance, I thought, somewhat smugly.
Kathleen turned back to the mirror. “Tonight will be special,” she said. “My horoscope said today is a red-letter day for me.”
“Friday is green, not red.” I said it without thinking.
Kathleen gave me another bug-eyed look, but I said quickly, “I didn’t know you read horoscopes.”
“They’re the only thing worth reading in the daily paper,” she said. “But I bet people like you prefer the editorials.”
I didn’t want to tell her the truth: at my house, no one read the daily paper. We didn’t even have a subscription.
By the time we were ready to go to Ryan’s house, the buzzing in my head had returned, and my stomach was churning. “I don’t feel right,” I told Kathleen.
She looked hard at me, and sick though I felt, I had to admire the thick tangle of her eyelashes and the impressive height of her hair.
“You can’t miss the game tonight. We’re all going out on quests,” she said. “You need to eat something,”
The thought of eating sent me straight to the McGarritt bathroom to vomit. When I’d finished, and rinsed my face and mouth, Kathleen burst in without knocking.
“What is it, Ari?” she said. “Is it lupus?”
In her eyes I saw concern, even love. “I really don’t know,” I said.
But in a way I was lying. I had a strong hunch about the source of the problem. I’d forgotten to bring along my bottle of tonic. “May I borrow a toothbrush?”
Michael met us in the hallway outside the bathroom, a quizzical look on his face. He’d left the door to his room open, and a monotonous voice was singing, “This world is full of fools. And I must be one…”
Michael and Kathleen had an argument about whether I should stay at the McGarritts’ or go to Ryan’s house.
I settled it. “I want to go home.” I felt like a fool.
Kathleen’s face fell. “You’ll miss the quests.”
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “But I won’t be any fun to be around if I’m sick.”
A car horn honked outside. Kathleen’s friends had arrived to drive her to Ryan’s.
“Go on, have fun,” I said. “Bite someone for me.”
Michael drove me home. As usual, he was quiet. After a while, he said, “What’s wrong with you, Ari?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “My stomach tends to be delicate, I suppose.”
“Do you have lupus?”
“I don’t know.” I was sick of the words, and of the mosquito-like drone in my head.
“Have you been tested?”
“Yes,” I said. “The results were inconclusive.” I was looking out the car window at the trees, gleaming with ice, and the icicles hanging from the eaves of houses. In a few weeks Christmas lights would be strung everywhere. Another ritual that I won’t participate in , I thought with some bitterness.
Michael pulled the car to the curb and parked. Then he reached for me, and without thinking I went into his arms. Something happened, something electric, and then came an explosion of emotion.
Yes, I know that explosion isn’t the right word. Why is it so hard to write about feelings?
All that matters here is to say it was my first real appreciation of our bodies. I recall at one point pulling back and looking at Michael in the streetlight, his neck so pale and strong-looking, and feeling the urge to burrow into him, to disappear in him. Does that make sense?
Yet part of me remained disengaged, watching as our hands and mouths went crazy. Then I heard my own voice say, calmly, “I don’t intend to lose my virginity in
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