Spring Break 1981

Who Watches the Watchers?

At night they left their televisions on, and in the mornings they scolded their children for it. We knew about this. They did not know about us, oily, matted hair piled high, watching their pink faces jiggling like water. Like pigs. We watched through the windows all the time, although we could not change the channel.



Food Chain

All the wealthy ladies wore foxes around their throats and snakes on their waists and rhinoceroses on their toes. I was standing in the corner, listening to my daughter (the vegan) chide them, and thinking to myself that this costume of theirs was not necessarily to consume and end the animal life. Fur-bearing women were giving birth to the ancient, wild creatures they wore once again, reviving them from death. I could see their belts slithering off their hips and delivering swift bites to each and every finger in sight, I could see their hats beating their feathered wings and taking flight. The rhinoceroses charged with every step they took. It was entirely the opposite of what the nature conservation magazines warned against. The monkeys and lions and okapis they wore devoured them from tip to toe, swallowing them in their wildness. I imagined these women visiting a zoo. They would be overpowered, smothered by every feather and trampled by every hoof until they were no more.



The Virgin

At first sight he was not at all surprised by what he saw, and he wondered how he knew the form and color of bare breasts when he suddenly remembered himself, as a child, glimpsing a surprised, exposed woman for the first time (long before the overprotective mothers had intended for him to); a present fallen open and spoiled before Christmas morning.



The Prospective Chef

“I could be a chef,” he thought, because he was certain he could wield a frying pan and add more salt. He finished microwaving a frozen chicken curry and sat down with the plastic box. “Tomorrow I will learn to cook.”
The next morning he was very much exhausted and bought a pre-made meal from the supermarket down the street instead. He assured his conscience: “Next time, I promise,” and even began to believe it.



Spring Break, 1981

Her mother came to visit one overcast day in March. She was white-haired, bloated, and tired. The flight was horribly long, she informed everyone as she received three Popsicle-stained grandchildren in her arms.
Then the reprimanding began. “Don’t put lit candles so close to the curtains,” she warned as soon as she noticed this had been done. “Don’t let your children have cake every day, that’s unhealthy.” “Be careful driving on that road, it looks slick.” “How often do you drink wine?”
At the end of the day the old woman stood on the porch alone, a lit cigarette between her lips. She tried to think about things to warn her daughter against, but all that came to her mind was her own mother.