said. "I really hate the name Enid. You probably wouldn't understand that. Seth isn't such a bad name. But
Enidâ
" I shrugged and leaned over my drink. Down at the bottom you can spoon up whipped cream and mashed peaches and strawberries. "Anyway," I said angrily, "it really isn't any of your business, Seth Sandroff."
"Sethsandroff, Sethsandroff, Sethsandroff," he said in a fake voice, kind of imitating mine. The woman reading at the next table glanced up from
her book, puzzled, then looked back down and turned a page.
"You make me sound like a Russian general," Seth said.
"Oh," I said, realizing he was right. "I'm sorry. Well, if that bothers you, maybe you can understand what I mean, about having a place where you can call yourself whatever you want."
"Yeah. I guess."
"The thing is, Seth"âI was really getting into it now, since I'd never had a chance to talk to anyone about it before, except for a few attempts with Mrs. Kolodny, whose mind was off in outer space half the timeâ"nobody ever thinks about what other people want, you know? Like old Tom Terrific. His mother just
announces
what he's supposed to do. It never even occurs to her to ask
him,
or that maybe he'd like to get dirty sometimes, or eat junk food. And, well, here's another example, Seth: your sisters."
Seth made a face.
"Well, okay, I know you're not crazy about your sisters. But they probably wouldn't be half as repulsive as they are, Seth, if sometime way back your mother had realized that they didn't
want
to be cute little matching clones!"
"You like baseball?" Seth asked. "You want to
go to a Red Sox game some Saturday?" That was his very subtle way of changing the subject.
"No. I hate baseball games."
"Well," said Seth sarcastically, "I appreciate your very gracious refusal of my invitation. It did wonders for my fragile ego."
I groaned. "Sorry," I said.
The waiter came over and asked if we wanted anything else, which meant would we please leave so that someone else could have the table and he'd get another tip. The waiter was more subtle than I was.
We walked back the way we'd come. It was dark now, and most of the people were gone from the grassy strip in the center of Commonwealth Avenue. A derelict had settled down on one of the benches, to drink wine out of a bottle in a paper bag and to sleep. It reminded me of the bag lady in the Garden. I wondered where she slept at night. I wondered what her dreams might be.
I told Seth about her as we turned onto Marlborough Street and toward my house.
"So if I can get Hawk to help, we're going to organize the bag ladies and picket the Popsicle man," I explained. "Make him pay some attention to what they want."
"You could get yourself in big trouble," Seth
said, but I thought I could hear some admiration in his voice.
"No, I won't. It's legal to picket."
"Hey! If you tell me when you're going to do it, I could get a camera crew down there. It'd be a great human interest story! They're always looking for stuff like that down at the station," Seth said.
"I don't think we want publicity, Seth. We only want root beer Popsicles for the bag ladies."
He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Let me know if you change your mind."
We were in front of my steps when something occurred to me. I had explained to Seth about Hawk and about my relationship with him, but I still didn't know if he was planning to tell my parents the way he'd threatened to. He hadn't ever given me his blackmail proposition because we'd started talking about other things.
"So, Seth," I said casually, "are you still planning to get me in trouble with my folks? Or am I supposed to pay you off, or what? I might as well warn you that most of my money goes for art supplies."
He looked insulted. "For crying out loud, Enid, I just said that so you'd go over to the
Florian with me. I didn't want to spend the evening watching TV again."
"That's weird, Seth. Why didn't you just
ask
me to go to the Florian with you? I would've
Enidâ
" I shrugged and leaned over my drink. Down at the bottom you can spoon up whipped cream and mashed peaches and strawberries. "Anyway," I said angrily, "it really isn't any of your business, Seth Sandroff."
"Sethsandroff, Sethsandroff, Sethsandroff," he said in a fake voice, kind of imitating mine. The woman reading at the next table glanced up from
her book, puzzled, then looked back down and turned a page.
"You make me sound like a Russian general," Seth said.
"Oh," I said, realizing he was right. "I'm sorry. Well, if that bothers you, maybe you can understand what I mean, about having a place where you can call yourself whatever you want."
"Yeah. I guess."
"The thing is, Seth"âI was really getting into it now, since I'd never had a chance to talk to anyone about it before, except for a few attempts with Mrs. Kolodny, whose mind was off in outer space half the timeâ"nobody ever thinks about what other people want, you know? Like old Tom Terrific. His mother just
announces
what he's supposed to do. It never even occurs to her to ask
him,
or that maybe he'd like to get dirty sometimes, or eat junk food. And, well, here's another example, Seth: your sisters."
Seth made a face.
"Well, okay, I know you're not crazy about your sisters. But they probably wouldn't be half as repulsive as they are, Seth, if sometime way back your mother had realized that they didn't
want
to be cute little matching clones!"
"You like baseball?" Seth asked. "You want to
go to a Red Sox game some Saturday?" That was his very subtle way of changing the subject.
"No. I hate baseball games."
"Well," said Seth sarcastically, "I appreciate your very gracious refusal of my invitation. It did wonders for my fragile ego."
I groaned. "Sorry," I said.
The waiter came over and asked if we wanted anything else, which meant would we please leave so that someone else could have the table and he'd get another tip. The waiter was more subtle than I was.
We walked back the way we'd come. It was dark now, and most of the people were gone from the grassy strip in the center of Commonwealth Avenue. A derelict had settled down on one of the benches, to drink wine out of a bottle in a paper bag and to sleep. It reminded me of the bag lady in the Garden. I wondered where she slept at night. I wondered what her dreams might be.
I told Seth about her as we turned onto Marlborough Street and toward my house.
"So if I can get Hawk to help, we're going to organize the bag ladies and picket the Popsicle man," I explained. "Make him pay some attention to what they want."
"You could get yourself in big trouble," Seth
said, but I thought I could hear some admiration in his voice.
"No, I won't. It's legal to picket."
"Hey! If you tell me when you're going to do it, I could get a camera crew down there. It'd be a great human interest story! They're always looking for stuff like that down at the station," Seth said.
"I don't think we want publicity, Seth. We only want root beer Popsicles for the bag ladies."
He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Let me know if you change your mind."
We were in front of my steps when something occurred to me. I had explained to Seth about Hawk and about my relationship with him, but I still didn't know if he was planning to tell my parents the way he'd threatened to. He hadn't ever given me his blackmail proposition because we'd started talking about other things.
"So, Seth," I said casually, "are you still planning to get me in trouble with my folks? Or am I supposed to pay you off, or what? I might as well warn you that most of my money goes for art supplies."
He looked insulted. "For crying out loud, Enid, I just said that so you'd go over to the
Florian with me. I didn't want to spend the evening watching TV again."
"That's weird, Seth. Why didn't you just
ask
me to go to the Florian with you? I would've
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