you wake up earlier than usual and slip on your red dress in the dark. you like it becauseof the white flowers and the way it brushes against your ankles every now and then. mostly, you like your legs bare. you flick on the light switch in the kitchen |
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| and choose the brightest and firmest orange from the bowl on the table, peeling it violently and expertly. you suck
on each piece, letting the juice run down your chin despite the stickiness that will
invariably annoy you. on your way out of the house you stop by the kitchen sink and
splash water on your face to remove the stickiness (using no soap because you are
sure that the fresh orange smell is seductive and this could be useful). you glance
quickly in the mirror and notice that you haven't gotten any taller but your hips
are wider and your hair is longer and you hope that he notices these changes. you
are sure that he will and that he will like them. he will appreciate the fact that
you have come all this way and he will definitely invite you in. you ring the doorbell,
his doorbell (which briefly excites you until you realize that he probably doesn't
touch it very often). you sit on the top step for awhile waiting in the rain. the
neighbors look at you strangely and you wonder if your dress has come undone or you
hair has turned green
and suddenly you feel like maybe you are standing in the middle of a new york subway
naked and what is worse is the enjoyment you are reluctant to admit he will derive
simply from knowing that you are in love enough to do this proudly. you tell
yourself you would do it again and again and again and he knows this and that is
why you are here. Sherry Elizabeth Taylor, gr. 12 |
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