all.”
I let out a strangled moan. “Stop. Thinness isn’t a goal. Or a virtue. Or a sign of beauty. It’s just thinness.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re thin.”
“Not as thin as those women,” I said. “But you don’t hear me complaining about it.”
“It’s the kids’ fault. I had a flat stomach before I had them.”
“Yeah. They really weren’t worth it, were they?”
“Shut up,” she said, but at least it got her off the subject.
5.
M y mother had been dragging me to the Autumn Festival every year for as long as I could remember. The only time I missed it
was the fall of my freshman year of college. But since I got pregnant later that year and moved back home that summer, I was
around for the next festival—only that time I had an infant Noah with me.
I didn’t want to go that year, but Mom insisted.
Her smile was a little brittle that day, but she held her headhigh. My teenage pregnancy gave her something to be strong about, and she liked to be strong. As soon as we arrived, she snatched
Noah out of my arms and carried him around the entire field, introducing him to all her fellow board members and declaring
over and over again that the whole family was deliriously happy to have him in our lives. While she showed him off like Baby
Simba, I found a place to sit in the shade and thought about how I was right back where I’d started, living in my parents’
house and going to the Autumn Festival because my mother wanted me to—the things I thought I’d left behind forever when I
went off to college. And I had only myself to blame.
It helped when she brought Noah back to me to nurse. Holding him helped it all make a little more sense, or at least made
making sense irrelevant.
The festival was always held on the high school PE field—not the football field or the baseball diamond, of course, because
those were sacred to their sports. Fenwick was huge, three schools (primary, middle, and high) spread out on one campus, having
patiently and gradually bought up any available neighboring land over the previous few decades. It was an institution on the
Westside of LA, beloved by the several generations of residents who’d gone there and hated by everyone who lived nearby who
couldn’t afford its outrageous tuition or whose kids had been rejected, but who still had to deal with the insane amount of
traffic it generated during pickup and drop-off.
Disgruntled neighbors weren’t invited to the Autumn Festival: it was only for members of the school community. In addition
to the bounce houses, mountain climbing wall, and petting zoo, there were several carnival-type games, usually manned by faculty
members. I still remembered my childhood thrill at seeing the usually conservatively dressed facultyin jeans and T-shirts. Except for Louis Wilson, who of course always still wore a jacket and tie, merely switching his usual
formal wool for some light, linen-y fabric, which in his universe probably counted as wildly casual, verging on indecent.
The morning of this year’s festival, Mom and Noah and I were all ready to leave the house at 10:30, but when Mom called to
Dad to come join us, he came downstairs still in his pajamas.
“You’re not ready?” Mom said.
He looked blank. “For what?”
“The Autumn Festival! I’ve told you five times already.” She sounded exactly like I did when I was exasperated with Noah.
“Oh, is that today? I forgot.” My father sighed. “I was looking forward to a quiet morning. I have that article to write…”
My mother said wearily, “You want to stay home?”
His face lit up. “Do you mind?”
“I don’t suppose you’d let
me
skip it?” I said.
She didn’t even bother answering, just gave me a gentle push in the direction of the garage. And the truth was that now that
Noah was a student at Fenwick he got totally excited about going to the festival, so I had to go for his sake, anyway.
As we started to get
I let out a strangled moan. “Stop. Thinness isn’t a goal. Or a virtue. Or a sign of beauty. It’s just thinness.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re thin.”
“Not as thin as those women,” I said. “But you don’t hear me complaining about it.”
“It’s the kids’ fault. I had a flat stomach before I had them.”
“Yeah. They really weren’t worth it, were they?”
“Shut up,” she said, but at least it got her off the subject.
5.
M y mother had been dragging me to the Autumn Festival every year for as long as I could remember. The only time I missed it
was the fall of my freshman year of college. But since I got pregnant later that year and moved back home that summer, I was
around for the next festival—only that time I had an infant Noah with me.
I didn’t want to go that year, but Mom insisted.
Her smile was a little brittle that day, but she held her headhigh. My teenage pregnancy gave her something to be strong about, and she liked to be strong. As soon as we arrived, she snatched
Noah out of my arms and carried him around the entire field, introducing him to all her fellow board members and declaring
over and over again that the whole family was deliriously happy to have him in our lives. While she showed him off like Baby
Simba, I found a place to sit in the shade and thought about how I was right back where I’d started, living in my parents’
house and going to the Autumn Festival because my mother wanted me to—the things I thought I’d left behind forever when I
went off to college. And I had only myself to blame.
It helped when she brought Noah back to me to nurse. Holding him helped it all make a little more sense, or at least made
making sense irrelevant.
The festival was always held on the high school PE field—not the football field or the baseball diamond, of course, because
those were sacred to their sports. Fenwick was huge, three schools (primary, middle, and high) spread out on one campus, having
patiently and gradually bought up any available neighboring land over the previous few decades. It was an institution on the
Westside of LA, beloved by the several generations of residents who’d gone there and hated by everyone who lived nearby who
couldn’t afford its outrageous tuition or whose kids had been rejected, but who still had to deal with the insane amount of
traffic it generated during pickup and drop-off.
Disgruntled neighbors weren’t invited to the Autumn Festival: it was only for members of the school community. In addition
to the bounce houses, mountain climbing wall, and petting zoo, there were several carnival-type games, usually manned by faculty
members. I still remembered my childhood thrill at seeing the usually conservatively dressed facultyin jeans and T-shirts. Except for Louis Wilson, who of course always still wore a jacket and tie, merely switching his usual
formal wool for some light, linen-y fabric, which in his universe probably counted as wildly casual, verging on indecent.
The morning of this year’s festival, Mom and Noah and I were all ready to leave the house at 10:30, but when Mom called to
Dad to come join us, he came downstairs still in his pajamas.
“You’re not ready?” Mom said.
He looked blank. “For what?”
“The Autumn Festival! I’ve told you five times already.” She sounded exactly like I did when I was exasperated with Noah.
“Oh, is that today? I forgot.” My father sighed. “I was looking forward to a quiet morning. I have that article to write…”
My mother said wearily, “You want to stay home?”
His face lit up. “Do you mind?”
“I don’t suppose you’d let
me
skip it?” I said.
She didn’t even bother answering, just gave me a gentle push in the direction of the garage. And the truth was that now that
Noah was a student at Fenwick he got totally excited about going to the festival, so I had to go for his sake, anyway.
As we started to get
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