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A few an to ot started with the Stoli, she confused watching other people

I crept downstairs an hour later Mom was passed out on the couch, a washcloth over her eyes Paula Deen was spazzing about peach cobbler I covered Monant with , Bob? I mean, really looked at them? Maybe your wife? In movies and books, lovers do that all the time There was this one television show fro so black and white, it never crossed your radar--where this alien race has this ritual Each partner spends the whole night ahile the other sleeps because that‘s when everything artificial falls away What you see then is what‘s behind the s the question, Bob: when you stared down atof masks, let me tell you a secret, Bobby-o

When I was little, I played dress-up Not just Ariel I used to sneak into my mother‘s closet and slip into silken dresses that sh heels

When I was little, I sat at my mother‘s vanity, an antique with five mirrors, so there were many me‘s, each in her oorld Each me brushed her hair with our mother‘s heavy silver brush We drew in lips and eyes and colored our cheeks with our mother‘s makeup

Each les of a triangle or the facets of a diaathered for pictures We smiled We touched each other None of that was a lie yet

There‘s this great Coppola film, Bob, The Conversation, where the real story lies in nuance: hoho you are and what you‘re prepared to hear influences your perception of what‘s actually said There‘s this one scene where this wo about how this poor guy was once someone‘s baby Once up a time, someone loved him; he was cherished, but noas just a used-up lush

That‘s us, Bob I look at those pictures and reone yet, and ere a family

What I reone, and there was the ghost of a pretty girl who‘d been brave enough to read her poetry to a young and handsoery resident while they picnicked on a beach by the clear blue sea

And I remember, Bob, hohen I was little?

My mother was a queen and I wanted to be just like her

Only here I was, alot shit-faced six nights out of seven and a psychotic asshole of a dad Matt was the only pure one left, and he was gone

c

After I tucked my mom in, I made myself a PB&J with the dullest butter knife I could find and ate over the sink Then I loaded lass into the dishwasher If I had any guts, I‘d have pitched the Stoli, but we both know better, Bob

Instead, I slotted the bottle into its hiding place I turned off Paula, and then I went to bed

13: a

Al place in the library as Danielle and the other girls on the cross-country team did speed drills Danielle led, her blonde ponytail streaht be fast but only because the other girls ran on their knuckles Danielle‘s foro stick ay too lide and push and stretch If you‘re a runner, Bob, you‘ll knohat Iinto lift, not speed Mr

Anderson stood with a stopwatch in one hand, and when Danielle passed, he said so, which seemed to piss her off because she peeled out of forlanced at my watch Her time for the two hundred was in the toilet, five seconds slower than just the week before I looked up again in time to see Mr Anderson blow his whistle and then ather round Danielle was doing her Draotten into Mr Anderson‘s face one too many times and he‘d made her sit out the rest of practice About time I‘d watch her cop an attitude--in class, on the track--and uy had the patience of a saint

Either that or he liked the abuse

School had settled down My classes were easy;withokay, okay, I avoided most people