Read Online A Brief Chapter in My Impossible Life by Dana Reinhardt - Free Book Online
Authors: Dana Reinhardt
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other people’s auras.
“And you should know,” she says, “that I think horoscopes are complete bull and that people who believe in them should be locked away. But that being said, I read mine every day. Isn’t that twisted? And today my horoscope says that someone from my past is going to make a surprise appearance.”
“Wow,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say. “That’s impressive.”
“No. Not really. Horoscopes say crap like that almost every day. It’s simple odds. They have to be right once in a while.” More silence. Then the sound of a kettle boiling.
I try to picture her kitchen. Is it pale yellow? Vibrant green? Are there windows that look out into a yard or out at the ocean? Are there tall stools at a counter? A small wooden table with chairs? Are there any pots and pans hanging from the ceiling? Any plants?
And why was she out of breath? Was she racing to find the cordless phone? Was it buried between the cushions of a couch in the living room like it always is in our house?
I still don’t try to picture her. I still can’t.
“Did you do anything for Halloween last night?” she asks me. This throws me off. I’m not sure if she realizes how old I am, although of course she knows how old I am, but maybe she doesn’t know anything about sixteen-year-olds. But then again, I did go trick-or-treating, so maybe I should say something that clearly spells out that even though I’m too old to go trick-or-treating, I did it anyway because I love Halloween.
“I was Edward Scissorhands. My friend James was Winona Ryder.”
“Clever. I like that. I didn’t get nearly enough trick-ortreaters, and now I’m stuck with this huge bowl of Almond Joys and Peppermint Patties. I hate Almond Joys and Peppermint Patties. That’s why I buy them—so I won’t eat them all. But now I’m starting to think that maybe kids don’t like them either and that’s why I’m staring at a huge bowl of Almond Joys and Peppermint Patties.”
“I love Almond Joys,” I say. And there we have it. The first notable difference between us. “I could take or leave the Peppermint Patties.”
In the next silence that follows I hear the sound of something outside far off in the distance. A car or a truck or maybe an airplane.
“Where are you?” I ask.
She understands that I don’t mean in what room. Clearly she’s in the kitchen. She already said so.
“Wellfleet. On the Cape.” I knew it. Damn, I’m good. “It’s so quiet here now. All the summer people are gone. This is my favorite time of year here, just before winter sets in and hibernation begins.”
“I’ve never been to Cape Cod.”
“How is that possible?”
“I have an uncle in Sag Harbor. We spend our beach vacations in the Hamptons.”
“Big mistake.”
I feel a twinge of annoyance. Who is she to judge my family or where we choose to go to the beach?
“It’s really nice there. My uncle’s house is just a few blocks from the water, and he has three kids all close in age to my brother and me.” I say this to kind of rub her nose in my family a bit.
Look at us! We’re a big, happy, fun-loving, beach-going family. And you live in your lonely little house on Cape Cod
. Or does she? Maybe her house is huge. Maybe she has a husband and a whole mess of kids running around.
“That does sound nice,” she says. “I guess I’m just a snob about Cape Cod. I’m working on opening my horizons.”
But I’m still thinking about who else might be in her house. Suddenly I have a desperate need to get off the phone.
“Listen, I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.”
“Simone.” There she goes again, saying my name. I think maybe she’s stalling for time. She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I’m really glad you called.” And then she just lets me go.
I find my parents sitting in the living room. Dad is in his bathrobe. Mom is back from a run. Jake is still asleep in his room and will probably remain there for at least
“And you should know,” she says, “that I think horoscopes are complete bull and that people who believe in them should be locked away. But that being said, I read mine every day. Isn’t that twisted? And today my horoscope says that someone from my past is going to make a surprise appearance.”
“Wow,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say. “That’s impressive.”
“No. Not really. Horoscopes say crap like that almost every day. It’s simple odds. They have to be right once in a while.” More silence. Then the sound of a kettle boiling.
I try to picture her kitchen. Is it pale yellow? Vibrant green? Are there windows that look out into a yard or out at the ocean? Are there tall stools at a counter? A small wooden table with chairs? Are there any pots and pans hanging from the ceiling? Any plants?
And why was she out of breath? Was she racing to find the cordless phone? Was it buried between the cushions of a couch in the living room like it always is in our house?
I still don’t try to picture her. I still can’t.
“Did you do anything for Halloween last night?” she asks me. This throws me off. I’m not sure if she realizes how old I am, although of course she knows how old I am, but maybe she doesn’t know anything about sixteen-year-olds. But then again, I did go trick-or-treating, so maybe I should say something that clearly spells out that even though I’m too old to go trick-or-treating, I did it anyway because I love Halloween.
“I was Edward Scissorhands. My friend James was Winona Ryder.”
“Clever. I like that. I didn’t get nearly enough trick-ortreaters, and now I’m stuck with this huge bowl of Almond Joys and Peppermint Patties. I hate Almond Joys and Peppermint Patties. That’s why I buy them—so I won’t eat them all. But now I’m starting to think that maybe kids don’t like them either and that’s why I’m staring at a huge bowl of Almond Joys and Peppermint Patties.”
“I love Almond Joys,” I say. And there we have it. The first notable difference between us. “I could take or leave the Peppermint Patties.”
In the next silence that follows I hear the sound of something outside far off in the distance. A car or a truck or maybe an airplane.
“Where are you?” I ask.
She understands that I don’t mean in what room. Clearly she’s in the kitchen. She already said so.
“Wellfleet. On the Cape.” I knew it. Damn, I’m good. “It’s so quiet here now. All the summer people are gone. This is my favorite time of year here, just before winter sets in and hibernation begins.”
“I’ve never been to Cape Cod.”
“How is that possible?”
“I have an uncle in Sag Harbor. We spend our beach vacations in the Hamptons.”
“Big mistake.”
I feel a twinge of annoyance. Who is she to judge my family or where we choose to go to the beach?
“It’s really nice there. My uncle’s house is just a few blocks from the water, and he has three kids all close in age to my brother and me.” I say this to kind of rub her nose in my family a bit.
Look at us! We’re a big, happy, fun-loving, beach-going family. And you live in your lonely little house on Cape Cod
. Or does she? Maybe her house is huge. Maybe she has a husband and a whole mess of kids running around.
“That does sound nice,” she says. “I guess I’m just a snob about Cape Cod. I’m working on opening my horizons.”
But I’m still thinking about who else might be in her house. Suddenly I have a desperate need to get off the phone.
“Listen, I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.”
“Simone.” There she goes again, saying my name. I think maybe she’s stalling for time. She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I’m really glad you called.” And then she just lets me go.
I find my parents sitting in the living room. Dad is in his bathrobe. Mom is back from a run. Jake is still asleep in his room and will probably remain there for at least
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