novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- fitted the past two fourths of july i have been in parades. first on a golf cart careening through my grandma's mobile home park, and lastly in my second cousin's boat of an old convertible cadillac, chucking candy at red-white-and-blue color coordinated wisconsinites. this year, we were our own parade. my mom likes to read snippets of newspaper articles out loud to anybody in the house. to her, being in the house equals being within earshot and if you can't really hear her through numerous walls, well, that's your problem. i was in the bathroom washing my face when i heard her voice in the kitchen. splash splash what? i said: brando died. marlon brando. it's right here in the times. he's dead. i think on this a beat before answering: i guess heaven made him an offer he couldn't refuse. my delivery was probably weakened by having to repeat the punchline several times, but she still laughed. she wandered into her room, cursing the junebugs for trying to invade the house (don't they know that it's july already?), telling me about a french movie she'd rented. i missed most of the details, something about a deaf woman exacting calculated revenge, her voice was muffled by hangers shifting. she emerged with armloads of aunt lois' ancient clothing. i don't know why i keep this stuff. she left it to me, but i'll never fit into it. it's just so pretty. look at the princess seam on this one! oh i bet this would fit you. we can pretend you're a heiress. i spent the rest of the fourth of july traipsing around in a pink 1960s cocktail dress with pink yarn detailing on the hemline and sleeves. the tag says the polyester is imported. oooh! imported POLYESTER. back in those days, that was classy, you know. i felt like i should have been carrying a martini around with me everywhere. walking the dog, doing the dishes. friends came over and we resurrected the pinball machine, the yarn on my sleeves snagging as i reached inside to change settings. after he came home and started in on us, she disappeared. i got in your station wagon and took you out to wheeler canyon, past the peacock ranch, the silos and the horses. you said you'd never been there before, and i thought that was amazing because we've both grown up in the same city, and wheeler canyon was one of my childhood's fixtures. the rusted gates, the dusty trees, the fire hazards and the low roofs slanting over shaded porches. snapshots of my mother at my age leaning through barbed wire to kiss a skittish colt. there are little pockets well worn by some and never known by others. the cocktail dress had no pockets. the thing was so tight that it hiked up my thighs a bit as we climbed up to lean on the fence and watch cows graze. and watch the cows look up from their grazing to stare at us. chewing. their eyes as round as the bellies of serving spoons. pickup trucks slowed as they passed, each occupied by wrinkled men with downwards mouths and baseball caps pulled low over their foreheads. sleepy like their rooftops. i realized aunt lois probably never wore this dress. she was addicted to shopping, she would buy things and forget about them. amass a silent army of expensive, quality clothing she couldn't really afford. to protect her from what? she left behind nearly twenty pairs of heels, all the same variation on color and style. all unworn. when we got back there were more people and you had to leave. dad blasted kpfa, the doors and the grateful dead. amy set off fireworks and stood on her head. the neighbor dog followed me everywhere gaurding me like a husky secret service man, panting in his thick coat. overdressed for this weather. i gave him lots of water and ran my fingers over where his fur was thickest, on his neck. once the sun set the sky began to explode. (i get confused by that noise, i have to remind myself that it is friendly fire. explosions for the sake of celebration.) sound first and vision on the periphery, sparkling and winking near the tree tops. constant booms rumbling through. firecrackers whistling and screaming. all the drunk people wandered to the nearest highest peak and you picked me up in your station wagon. we drove to the pier and watched the skyline blink like a long, lazy, southern californian string of christmas lights. we hugged our arms across our chests and watched the ocean undulate towards the shore. 12:24 am - 07.05.04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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