front of it. Every inch of the card was fi lled with tiny writing. Participles dangled into margins, sentences curled around stamps. It must have been fi ve hundred words. I began reading it as I mounted the stairs.
Right away I could tell something was wrong. The tiny words ran their circuitous route down the card, forming sentences, then paragraphs, but there were no cumulus clouds, no fi elds of wheat, no lovely incantations. This was not our language. These were only words. Regular words.
Electives
Lulu was not the same when she returned from cheerleading camp in Vermont. She spoke without blinking and squinting, and her words were antimatter. She was distant and cheerless and she’d started smoking cigarettes.
September 1, 1984
Yesterday was the worst day of my life until today. Today Lulu acted like I was a total stranger. She wouldn’t tell me about Vermont. She wouldn’t tell me about anything. She won’t even look at me. Maybe she knows about the bras, or about me humping her pillow. Maybe she even knows about me sucking her nipples.
I was determined not to annoy Lulu. But in the end I was weak.
One evening when Lulu snuck out for a smoke, I followed her, and fell into stride with her along the shadow-dappled sidewalk in the direction of Joslyn Park.
“Do you hate me?” I said.
“Of course not. I could never hate you. I’m just not myself anymore.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not a matter of why. It’s just a bad case of the way it is. It’s nothing personal, William. It’s just that if I were you, I wouldn’t count on me anymore. Not like you used to.”
“What do you mean?”
Lulu puffed on her cigarette. I could tell she felt my eyes staring holes into her. She looked off in the other direction. “I mean, I don’t think I can be the same kind of friend to you anymore.”
“And what kind of friend is that?”
“I just want to be more like, I don’t know, I guess, like a sister, you know?”
I was eerily silent.
She stopped along the sidewalk. “What’s so wrong with that?”
I kept walking.
Lulu hurried to catch up, and threw her cigarette into the gutter. “Well?”
“Well, what? What am I supposed to say to that? I don’t even know what it means.” I was practically foaming at the mouth. “You’re acting all weird and distant and you won’t tell me why,” I growled.
“It’s like you’re trying to give me this whole breakup speech, and you won’t even tell me what I did.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“Then what’s so wrong with me?” I picked up my pace and focused my sullen gaze straight ahead.
Lulu stopped again. “Nothing,” she said softly. “Nothing’s wrong with you. It’s me, William.”
Some dark cloud had settled on our household. There was a palpable tension between Big Bill and Willow, and Lulu and Big Bill, and Lulu and Willow. In short, between Lulu and everybody. It fi lled the dining room like bats. It hovered about the kitchen like a cloud of mosquitoes. Even meat could not appease it. It was a force of gravity that compacted words before they were ever uttered, a force so strong not even the twins were impervious to it. There was no farting at the dinner table. No wrestling in the stairwell.
I was so full of dread, so helpless and uninformed, that I actually looked to Big Bill for guidance. I caught him as he was packing his gym bag, a strapped canvas sausage that lay on the bed.
“Dad, what happened?”
“What do you mean, Tiger?”
“To Lulu.”
He started rummaging through his sausage bag. “Oh, just girl stuff. We’ve been over this already at least three times. You know how they are. Probably jilted by some polo player.”
“It’s not that. Something’s wrong.”
“Look, Tiger, teenage girls are moody. I wouldn’t read too much into any of this.”
“What should I do?”
“Nothing,” he snapped, but softened immediately. “Nothing.”
He set his massive hand on my
Right away I could tell something was wrong. The tiny words ran their circuitous route down the card, forming sentences, then paragraphs, but there were no cumulus clouds, no fi elds of wheat, no lovely incantations. This was not our language. These were only words. Regular words.
Electives
Lulu was not the same when she returned from cheerleading camp in Vermont. She spoke without blinking and squinting, and her words were antimatter. She was distant and cheerless and she’d started smoking cigarettes.
September 1, 1984
Yesterday was the worst day of my life until today. Today Lulu acted like I was a total stranger. She wouldn’t tell me about Vermont. She wouldn’t tell me about anything. She won’t even look at me. Maybe she knows about the bras, or about me humping her pillow. Maybe she even knows about me sucking her nipples.
I was determined not to annoy Lulu. But in the end I was weak.
One evening when Lulu snuck out for a smoke, I followed her, and fell into stride with her along the shadow-dappled sidewalk in the direction of Joslyn Park.
“Do you hate me?” I said.
“Of course not. I could never hate you. I’m just not myself anymore.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not a matter of why. It’s just a bad case of the way it is. It’s nothing personal, William. It’s just that if I were you, I wouldn’t count on me anymore. Not like you used to.”
“What do you mean?”
Lulu puffed on her cigarette. I could tell she felt my eyes staring holes into her. She looked off in the other direction. “I mean, I don’t think I can be the same kind of friend to you anymore.”
“And what kind of friend is that?”
“I just want to be more like, I don’t know, I guess, like a sister, you know?”
I was eerily silent.
She stopped along the sidewalk. “What’s so wrong with that?”
I kept walking.
Lulu hurried to catch up, and threw her cigarette into the gutter. “Well?”
“Well, what? What am I supposed to say to that? I don’t even know what it means.” I was practically foaming at the mouth. “You’re acting all weird and distant and you won’t tell me why,” I growled.
“It’s like you’re trying to give me this whole breakup speech, and you won’t even tell me what I did.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“Then what’s so wrong with me?” I picked up my pace and focused my sullen gaze straight ahead.
Lulu stopped again. “Nothing,” she said softly. “Nothing’s wrong with you. It’s me, William.”
Some dark cloud had settled on our household. There was a palpable tension between Big Bill and Willow, and Lulu and Big Bill, and Lulu and Willow. In short, between Lulu and everybody. It fi lled the dining room like bats. It hovered about the kitchen like a cloud of mosquitoes. Even meat could not appease it. It was a force of gravity that compacted words before they were ever uttered, a force so strong not even the twins were impervious to it. There was no farting at the dinner table. No wrestling in the stairwell.
I was so full of dread, so helpless and uninformed, that I actually looked to Big Bill for guidance. I caught him as he was packing his gym bag, a strapped canvas sausage that lay on the bed.
“Dad, what happened?”
“What do you mean, Tiger?”
“To Lulu.”
He started rummaging through his sausage bag. “Oh, just girl stuff. We’ve been over this already at least three times. You know how they are. Probably jilted by some polo player.”
“It’s not that. Something’s wrong.”
“Look, Tiger, teenage girls are moody. I wouldn’t read too much into any of this.”
“What should I do?”
“Nothing,” he snapped, but softened immediately. “Nothing.”
He set his massive hand on my
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