they’re just for show. I mean, you don’t have to read them, they’re just there because they’re old. I don’t know anything about it, but it just makes sense that when things get older, they get more and more valuable, until eventually they’re worth so much that most people could never even dream of buying them, and that’s when they’re considered priceless, which doesn’t mean that they’re not worth anything, it’s just the word that people use to describe things that are really valuable. That’s just what I’ve heard. I don’t know anything about what I just said.
D STIESSEN: That’s really interesting.
M’D HASSE: It is! Oh, I just love books. I pick one up and look at it, then I go on to the next one. Sometimes I like romances, because my mom reads them too, and we can get together and talk about the ones we both read, “Oh, I liked this one,” “Oh, this one wasn’t so good.” The best ones always take place a long time ago, in a far-off land, or maybe with people different than the ones here in Hedgemont Heights. Even the coloreds, the slave-ship romances, because when you read about their struggles and how they breed and sometimes fall in love with the man who runs the plantation, then you can get a sense of what these people are really like. I like to learn about all sorts of different people. Coloreds—oh, and also the Indian books, those ones are really exciting! I probably sound like a real idiot, don’t I?
D STIESSEN: No, of course not. I think it’s good that you’re interested in...a variety of things.
M’D HASSE: I’d really like to read your book. I bet you could sell it for fifteen dollars, even.
D STIESSEN: Well, we’ll see. That’d sure be nice.
M’D HASSE: Would you like to see the library?
D STIESSEN: Oh yeah! That’d be swell!
M’D HASSE: I’ll take you inside. Don’t be shocked by all the Mother Marys lying around. My parents, they’re not originally from America. When they first came over, they really got into religion in a big way.
D STIESSEN: Yeah, well, that sometimes happens with people.
M’D HASSE: That’s how I got my name, obviously.
D STIESSEN: Donna?
M’D HASSE: It’s actually Madonna, but I changed it when I got my driver’s license. Madonna always makes me feel like a statue, like someone who’s already dead. Not like a real person, y’know?
D STIESSEN: I think it’s beautiful. It’s unique.
M’D HASSE: No, you’re just saying that because you’re a gentleman. And anyway, you’re not to call me that. Donna will do just fine.
D STIESSEN: All right then. Donna it is, and Derek for me.
M’D HASSE: Donna and Derek. My, aren’t we getting along nicely! Here, I’ll show you the library in a minute. Let’s go upstairs.
The Favorite Scarf
1980
The scarf was not one of Derek’s favorites. Thinking it over, Donna realized that her husband did not really have a favorite scarf. This was wrong, she felt. A man should have a certain scarf that he values over the rest. This is what it means to be an adult. To cherish things. A treasured set of mittens. An old slicker. Derek did not appreciate the importance of objects. Walking the floors of their three-level apartment in North Crane City, his eyes would dance and hover over the furniture, not seeing, not caring. Donna sometimes imagined the inverted reflections of stock figures creeping over the lenses of his reading glasses. Derek had that look, the look of a man forever watching prices rise and fall.
So, lacking a preference of his own, Derek generally left such decisions to his wife. This was fine with her. She enjoyed dressing her man. Whenever she saw his picture in bookstores and airport terminals, it made her happy to know that she had picked out his clothes herself, and could go right upstairs and pull the same shirt out of the closet, while the other women could only stare at the facsimile, the $2.99 imitation in their hands. With loving eyes, she inspected the cover of
D STIESSEN: That’s really interesting.
M’D HASSE: It is! Oh, I just love books. I pick one up and look at it, then I go on to the next one. Sometimes I like romances, because my mom reads them too, and we can get together and talk about the ones we both read, “Oh, I liked this one,” “Oh, this one wasn’t so good.” The best ones always take place a long time ago, in a far-off land, or maybe with people different than the ones here in Hedgemont Heights. Even the coloreds, the slave-ship romances, because when you read about their struggles and how they breed and sometimes fall in love with the man who runs the plantation, then you can get a sense of what these people are really like. I like to learn about all sorts of different people. Coloreds—oh, and also the Indian books, those ones are really exciting! I probably sound like a real idiot, don’t I?
D STIESSEN: No, of course not. I think it’s good that you’re interested in...a variety of things.
M’D HASSE: I’d really like to read your book. I bet you could sell it for fifteen dollars, even.
D STIESSEN: Well, we’ll see. That’d sure be nice.
M’D HASSE: Would you like to see the library?
D STIESSEN: Oh yeah! That’d be swell!
M’D HASSE: I’ll take you inside. Don’t be shocked by all the Mother Marys lying around. My parents, they’re not originally from America. When they first came over, they really got into religion in a big way.
D STIESSEN: Yeah, well, that sometimes happens with people.
M’D HASSE: That’s how I got my name, obviously.
D STIESSEN: Donna?
M’D HASSE: It’s actually Madonna, but I changed it when I got my driver’s license. Madonna always makes me feel like a statue, like someone who’s already dead. Not like a real person, y’know?
D STIESSEN: I think it’s beautiful. It’s unique.
M’D HASSE: No, you’re just saying that because you’re a gentleman. And anyway, you’re not to call me that. Donna will do just fine.
D STIESSEN: All right then. Donna it is, and Derek for me.
M’D HASSE: Donna and Derek. My, aren’t we getting along nicely! Here, I’ll show you the library in a minute. Let’s go upstairs.
The Favorite Scarf
1980
The scarf was not one of Derek’s favorites. Thinking it over, Donna realized that her husband did not really have a favorite scarf. This was wrong, she felt. A man should have a certain scarf that he values over the rest. This is what it means to be an adult. To cherish things. A treasured set of mittens. An old slicker. Derek did not appreciate the importance of objects. Walking the floors of their three-level apartment in North Crane City, his eyes would dance and hover over the furniture, not seeing, not caring. Donna sometimes imagined the inverted reflections of stock figures creeping over the lenses of his reading glasses. Derek had that look, the look of a man forever watching prices rise and fall.
So, lacking a preference of his own, Derek generally left such decisions to his wife. This was fine with her. She enjoyed dressing her man. Whenever she saw his picture in bookstores and airport terminals, it made her happy to know that she had picked out his clothes herself, and could go right upstairs and pull the same shirt out of the closet, while the other women could only stare at the facsimile, the $2.99 imitation in their hands. With loving eyes, she inspected the cover of
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