Discussion in 'Blogs' started by jjl, Aug 6, 2016.
she had a rubber soul
Are you ready to talk yet?
Would it do any good?
Do I want to hear what you have to say?
Would you ever listen to me?
It was the summer of the secret sauce.
I just turned 18 that June. My girlfriends and I all worked for the Krispy Kreme donut shop that year. Karen was just back from her freshman year and Sarah was starting at a trade academy in the fall. With almost a decade of college looming ahead of me, this would be the last summer we would know, free of adult fears and responsibility.
Our only job this summer would be to earn money, have fun and keep out of harm's way.
Karen's father was some kind of General, and away in Germany for the summer. I had always imagined Karen's mother was dead, I was too polite to ask. But by the end of summer, Karen would confide in us both, that her mother had abandoned both husband and child.
Karen's father had this Narc-housekeeper, that had been with them since Karen's first menses. None of us could stand her, so we solved the problem by moving into the gloomy guest house. The old biddy wouldn't go near the place since Karen had fooled her into thinking it haunted.
It was though.
But Karen just wanted a peaceful place, free of prying eyes, where a 14-year-old girl could have herself a smoke, uninterrupted.
I wish you could have heard Karen tell the story of what she did to that old bitch.
But none of us will ever hear that story again, at least, not the way she told it.
Are you ready to share your secret yet?
Have you figured mine out?
You couldn't possibly.
I am only just discovering some of it myself.
"I got a job!" I try to sound upbeat when I say this into the payphone receiver. I turn my back to the hot street full of people and early summer evening traffic.
I whisper into the phone, "It's not a very nice place."
My boyfriend Neil groans and asks, "Not that place on 28th and 8th Ave?"
I nod, even though he can't see me. I am standing on the hot sidewalk in a one-piece bathing suit and high heels.
"Yes," I admit finally.
"Call me when you get home tonight," he says disgustedly. Then he hangs up.
I shrug. After a week of no work and a day and a half with no food, I can't afford to pass on this position.
Yesterday I spent my last subway token to see my boyfriend downtown. I was hoping he would feed me.
My roommates were out of food to filch.
I ask Jeremy for a pen, paper and envelope, the moment we arrived at his place.
Now I understand.
You must have been as shocked getting that picture, as I was by you, when we first met.
I tri-folded the sheet of paper and stuffed it into the envelope. I licked the seal shut and turned it over to address the other side.
I lifted pen to paper but was halted by a realization:
I had no idea where to send it.
Separate names with a comma.