laugh even louder.
Jim blinked his round, wet little eyes. “The thing is, Mia, I’m not sure this is really the best time for a visit, you know? Lorrie Ann’s trying to recover, we’ve got the baby to take care of, it just isn’t the best time for, like, guests, you know?”
I stared at him. “I guess I don’t think of myself as a guest, Jim.”
“Ach! See now?” he said. “Don’t get offended. Lorrie Ann knew you’d get offended. Listen, it’s just that we think it would be easier once she’s been discharged and we’re home if it’s just me, her, and the baby.”
I had pictured myself doing things like grocery shopping for them, fixing dinner, taking out the trash, but I suddenly realized Jim was capable of doing all those things. He was, after all, a chef and could probably make much better dinners than I could. Each time I was faced with a bell pepper, I had to re-derive the best method of slicing it. What really hurt was that Lorrie Ann had been part of this decision, but had opted not to talk to me herself. “You do it,” I imagined her saying to Jim.
“Okay,” I said. “No problem.”
In fact, it was better for me to go back earlier: less time to fall in love with my brothers and their micro-suede skin, less time to fight with my mother and her new domesticity, less work to make up at Yale, less money to spend on the rental car. But on the plane back to New Haven, I felt jilted. I knew it was irrational. They were a family. They should be together and celebrate their new son, who had miraculously lived.It just hurt to finally understand that I was not part of that family, that it would now be Jim and not me that Lorrie Ann wanted when she was in trouble. I wondered whether the flight attendant would card me if I ordered a scotch. Beneath me, America was visible only as a series of gray and brown rectangles, innumerable and strange.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dead Like Dead-Dead
After Yale, I attended graduate school at UMich and got a dog by mistake. What I mean is, my first year I had a roommate who got a pit bull puppy that she named Space Cake and who then promptly disappeared off the face of the planet, leaving me with the puppy and her part of the rent to pay. Space was solid white, and her pink skin shone through her creamy fur, making her look like a piglet. Her eyes were pinky blue like a white rabbit’s.
That dog ate everything nice I owned. Space devoured cell phones, designer sunglasses, shoes. She loved most to suss out and remove the metal fettuccine curve of an underwire bra. Her mouth was pink and wrinkly and wet like a vagina. It was like being the owner of a small, sensual monster. She would angle herself wearily, then suddenly flop, completely limp, into your lap. Her body smelled wonderfully of yeast, and in her eyes was a terrible knowing, as though with her bloody pink eyes she were saying that her fate was entirely in your hands and that she would surrender as willingly to violence as to pleasure.
After she had been mine almost the whole year, Space got hit by a car on Washtenaw Avenue near Carpenter. It was a busy street and one I usually avoided walking along, but on that night I was in a hurry to get back home and change so I could go out on a date. It was already dark. I should have been paying more attention. I was distracted. We were walking toward another woman and her dog, a mirror image of ourselves, really, and Space suddenly stopped as I kept walking and her collar pulled right off her neck. I felt the tug, turned to look, and reachedout my hand just as she bolted into traffic. She was hit twice, but made it to the other side, limping badly. I could still see her even though it was dark because of her white fur. The headlights of passing cars were a strobe. “Space,” I kept screaming. “Stay there! Space! Stay!”
But she didn’t. She ran to me. She was hit three more times on the way, and the last time she was hit so hard that she skidded on her side maybe
Jim blinked his round, wet little eyes. “The thing is, Mia, I’m not sure this is really the best time for a visit, you know? Lorrie Ann’s trying to recover, we’ve got the baby to take care of, it just isn’t the best time for, like, guests, you know?”
I stared at him. “I guess I don’t think of myself as a guest, Jim.”
“Ach! See now?” he said. “Don’t get offended. Lorrie Ann knew you’d get offended. Listen, it’s just that we think it would be easier once she’s been discharged and we’re home if it’s just me, her, and the baby.”
I had pictured myself doing things like grocery shopping for them, fixing dinner, taking out the trash, but I suddenly realized Jim was capable of doing all those things. He was, after all, a chef and could probably make much better dinners than I could. Each time I was faced with a bell pepper, I had to re-derive the best method of slicing it. What really hurt was that Lorrie Ann had been part of this decision, but had opted not to talk to me herself. “You do it,” I imagined her saying to Jim.
“Okay,” I said. “No problem.”
In fact, it was better for me to go back earlier: less time to fall in love with my brothers and their micro-suede skin, less time to fight with my mother and her new domesticity, less work to make up at Yale, less money to spend on the rental car. But on the plane back to New Haven, I felt jilted. I knew it was irrational. They were a family. They should be together and celebrate their new son, who had miraculously lived.It just hurt to finally understand that I was not part of that family, that it would now be Jim and not me that Lorrie Ann wanted when she was in trouble. I wondered whether the flight attendant would card me if I ordered a scotch. Beneath me, America was visible only as a series of gray and brown rectangles, innumerable and strange.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dead Like Dead-Dead
After Yale, I attended graduate school at UMich and got a dog by mistake. What I mean is, my first year I had a roommate who got a pit bull puppy that she named Space Cake and who then promptly disappeared off the face of the planet, leaving me with the puppy and her part of the rent to pay. Space was solid white, and her pink skin shone through her creamy fur, making her look like a piglet. Her eyes were pinky blue like a white rabbit’s.
That dog ate everything nice I owned. Space devoured cell phones, designer sunglasses, shoes. She loved most to suss out and remove the metal fettuccine curve of an underwire bra. Her mouth was pink and wrinkly and wet like a vagina. It was like being the owner of a small, sensual monster. She would angle herself wearily, then suddenly flop, completely limp, into your lap. Her body smelled wonderfully of yeast, and in her eyes was a terrible knowing, as though with her bloody pink eyes she were saying that her fate was entirely in your hands and that she would surrender as willingly to violence as to pleasure.
After she had been mine almost the whole year, Space got hit by a car on Washtenaw Avenue near Carpenter. It was a busy street and one I usually avoided walking along, but on that night I was in a hurry to get back home and change so I could go out on a date. It was already dark. I should have been paying more attention. I was distracted. We were walking toward another woman and her dog, a mirror image of ourselves, really, and Space suddenly stopped as I kept walking and her collar pulled right off her neck. I felt the tug, turned to look, and reachedout my hand just as she bolted into traffic. She was hit twice, but made it to the other side, limping badly. I could still see her even though it was dark because of her white fur. The headlights of passing cars were a strobe. “Space,” I kept screaming. “Stay there! Space! Stay!”
But she didn’t. She ran to me. She was hit three more times on the way, and the last time she was hit so hard that she skidded on her side maybe
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