Today was fabulous. Class was once again absolutely excellent; under the influence of a bit of wine, I've decided to post my story at the end of this post, so read it before I overanalyze and change my mind!
After class, I was starving, and for some reason I thought of Fratelli Deli in Palo Alto. The place wasn't the best sandwich place in the world, and it was run by some people who looked like they had never even met anyone named Fratelli, but I liked it. Turns out that Fratelli Deli has been replaced by some upscale French-type sandwich place, continuing the trend of upscaling Palo Alto to the point that no one can actually live there. My sandwich (portobello mushroom, sundried tomatoes, and mozzarella on a baguette) was nice, but I've never had a sandwich served with cold green beans (which I ate) and beetroot slaw (which I avoided). It was good and all, but I kind of miss the griminess of the old world.
I proceeded to Borders, where I bought four books (THE ROAD by Cormac McCarthy; LISEY'S STORY by Stephen King -- a hardcover marked down to $6.99, score; GLITTER BABY by Susan Elizabeth Phillips -- a rerelease of one of the early novels in her career; and THE CONVENIENT MARRIAGE by Georgette Heyer -- one of the few Heyers I haven't read, and given the title's similarity to my own, I couldn't resist). Borders is clearly struggling. Even if you haven't read the dire predictions of their bankruptcy, the empty shelves speak volumes (ha).
When I got back to the city, I decided to walk down to Union Square. I picked up some "essentials" at Sephora (the mascara, lipstick, and dry shampoo were replacements, while the blush and eyeshadow were additions -- serendipitous additions given how pleased I was with the results of using them tonight). Then I bought two pairs of jeans at the Gap before walking back to my apartment and spending some quality time showering, playing with my makeup, and watching a couple of episodes of "Scrubs" before dinner.
Dinner was fabulous. Actually, I didn't like my food -- the lasagna that I ordered wasn't particularly good. In fact, nothing that I had tonight, other than the wine, was particularly good -- the vodka cranberry that I had at the bar while waiting for a table tasted way off, which is surprising since a vodka cranberry is supposed to consist of exactly two ingredients, and the lasagna was pretty meh. But the company totally made up for it. Adit, Priyanka, Katrina, and Katrina's roommate Patrick were all in attendance, and I believe that a lovely time was had by all. We discussed Katrina's dating shenanigans, Adit and Priyanka's outing to Angel Island, some Civil War reenactment stuff, the lone Asian kid in my high school, and Adit's idea for me to write "choose your own adventure" romance novels. Tonight was supposed to be the night that we got together for port, but since port parties are always epically bad for all involved, we keep putting it off. We're now recommitted for three weeks from now -- chances that one of us will back out are high, but I'm staying in until I hear otherwise. But it's a good thing that we didn't drink port, given that Adit felt like he had been roofied -- port was probably the last thing that any of us needed.
Okay, it's well past my bedtime. Tomorrow is the only day that I get to sleep in, but I don't want to sleep in too late because I want to write 5000 words of Madeleine and Ferguson's story, and that's not gonna happen if I'm asleep. Wish me luck!
But finally, today's short story is reproduced below for your reading pleasure (or displeasure -- the story's rather bleak, given that our assignment was a creative response to Cormac McCarthy's THE ROAD -- I've only read the first 50 or 60 pages, although I bought the full book today, but it's possibly the bleakest thing I've read since, well, ever). And no, I don't have an eating disorder -- although I was totally *starving* after reading the story to the class, and stayed hungry the rest of they day. Weird.
"The Poisoned Apple"
When she woke in her bed in the middle of the night, she would place a hand on her abdomen and feel the familiar planes. Through the thin cotton of her gown she ran her fingers across her ribs, counting each in turn. Then back down to her stomach, where she splayed her hands across her shriveled, sunken belly button. Her stomach was quiet, the ominous quiet of a battlefield before dawn, of an executioner pulling on his mask and picking up his axe.
She lay there through the endless dark, closing her eyes only when the nurse came in to check her IV. The nurse hummed to herself as she swapped one bag for another. She curled her hands slowly into fists but stayed silent. Silence was safest. She had seen girls talk, seen them open their mouths to their shrinks. And then the shrinks responded, coaxing, commanding, their words like shovels forcing food down the girls' throats.
But she knew their tricks. She saw the results of their efforts walking the halls, the rank smell of meat on their breath assaulting her over the harsh chemical disinfectants and the pervasive odor of stale urine. Don't be fooled by their sweet smiles and their apple-green eyes. They will make you one of them, and your belly button will grow until it swallows you whole.
Her mother used to try their tricks on her. Used to beg her to eat some bread, or to drink a Coke, even as she nervously lit a cigarette with her own skinny fingers.
I swear I don't know what to do, her mother said.
There's no need to do anything. Just a few more weeks and I will reach my goal.
Is your goal to kill yourself? Because that's what you're doing.
You're just jealous because you never made it as far as I have.
Her mother slapped her. She embraced the fresh, sharp blossom of pain in her cheek. Her belly never hurt like that anymore. It had gone to wherever demons go when a strong and perfect will conquers them, leaving only a lingering void behind.
She turned on her side and watched the drip in the green glow of the machines. The poison flowed through the sterile plastic tubing, down the pole to the needle that a nurse had shoved into her arm and sealed over with gauze and tape. There was no getting away from the poison. She could pull it out, but they would come and hold her down and put it back. Force puddings and fruit juices on her and try to make her talk.
Her arm was white and the angry blue of the vein throbbed against the skin as the poison flowed in. It flooded her even as she struggled against the surge. Her heart pumped faster with her rage, sending glucose to every part of her body. She wasn't the fairest of them all, not even a little, with the pockets of fat still clinging to her thighs. But shrinks hate girls who try to attain perfection. They hated her even more because they couldn't break her will. So they drowned her in glucose, poisoning her in her bed and waiting for the demon to grow strong enough to eat her up.
She thought that if she had been Snow White, she would have seen through the wicked stepmother's tricks. She would have known that the apple was poison and thrown it far away into the woods. And then she would have married a real prince, not one who could only score with dead chicks, with stupid princesses whose stomachs were stronger than their wills.
Another drip. Another thread of poison working its way towards her heart. She traced her finger up the vein. I can cut out the poison. I don't need a prince to pull the apple from my throat.
She fumbled through the trash on the wheeled bedside tray and found a pointed nail file. It was a reward for gaining two pounds, said the shrink, her mouth glistening like a cherry and her apple-green eyes glittering with malice. She would draw the demon out, dig the poison from her veins. A drop of blood ran down her arm, but she needed more. She kept gouging. The trickle became a river of poison spilling out onto the sheets. The beeping started, but the sound faded as the tide picked her up, and she hoped that this time it would be enough to sweep her away.
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