a circus bear at a tea party. Girls were sitting at his table sorting beans, one of them on the cordless topeople who hadn’t left Tulsa yet, demanding that they bring this and that. Albert looked unconcerned. His eyes filled up his glasses, and he blinked thoughtfully; his limp fringe of hair lay on his collar as he turned about. “Here’s the girl from Hartford,” he said. I carried the beer we had brought, in cases with the cardboard finger slits turning my knuckles white—I didn’t know where to set them down. Having stood with a sweet grin on my face at first, but hating the thought of being the center of attention—being introduced in a round—I plunged forward with my beers. Conscious that although Adrienne had invited me, she wasn’t here yet. These others didn’t know me. I rummaged around in the refrigerator, trying to make room for my beer among all the ground beef. But at the sink a boy with sandy hair and Lennon spectacles stood scouring the removable grill part of the grill, and he leaned over to see what I was doing. He told me beers went in the pantry. Where indeed I found an icebox filled with brightly colored, stackable cases of beer.
When I came back from the bathroom, Adrienne was there. She flashed me a quick lascivious smile. It said to me: Stay away. She was helping Chase get ready to grill; she was making patties for him—and, because of the meat on her hands presumably, she could not come directly to greet me. So I stepped down into the den.
This was her world then. A lot of the kids were already drunk. They were nice kids, not cutthroats, but I couldn’t sit down in their badinage. They were filling up the pseudo-rustic den with dirty jokes. Had they been worthy of Adrienne, had they presented a gradual declension from her awesomeness, plateauing at a still-competent level, Iwould have sat down in their company and listened. But they were talking about drawing dicks on each other’s faces. Of course, this was where their authority came from: being like this with each other, being paid up in full in some psychic way. It made me crazy. And it had nothing to do with membership: Cam, arguably a greater outsider than me, was sitting there talking their language. It was inevitable that I, instead, would take up position at the window, and notice how dour the conifers looked outside. I went into the next room and watched TV.
Later, I was probably the only person still indoors; I was watching the Tulsa local news when Adrienne came in and switched off the TV.
She had a younger girl in tow. “Have you met Jenny?”
I had not.
“You guys both write poetry.”
I looked helplessly at Adrienne—who was already leaving. Chase was setting up his briquettes outside. I should have been furious. Jenny was obviously cute. She was a foot shorter than me and had bright, slow-moving eyes.
“You just met Adrienne?” Jenny asked.
“Um, I go watch her paint sometimes. We’re going through an art history course that I give her with different books—”
“Oh my god. Her paintings are so good.”
I shrugged. “They’re very postwar, which I like.”
Her eyes lit up. “They’re totally postwar.”
“I mean, if she ever really gets an idea it could be interesting.”
Jenny looked hurt, but she nodded.
“Where are you in school?” I asked her. I thought I was trying to be nice, but I wasn’t.
“I’m going to Union upper next year.”
Something in me was on the point of snapping. “Sorry,” I said. “I’ll definitely see you later.”
I went striding through the woods, trying to rush the gullies and boulders with old hiker’s footwork, and hurried. The forest was getting dark. Only continuing on because of an obscure claim to self-righteousness, I felt sick. I couldn’t stop chewing on this feeling that I had blundered. Night turned black. So I had to turn around, poking in the dark with my little key chain LED, dreading the slush of leaves beneath each footfall. I almost
When I came back from the bathroom, Adrienne was there. She flashed me a quick lascivious smile. It said to me: Stay away. She was helping Chase get ready to grill; she was making patties for him—and, because of the meat on her hands presumably, she could not come directly to greet me. So I stepped down into the den.
This was her world then. A lot of the kids were already drunk. They were nice kids, not cutthroats, but I couldn’t sit down in their badinage. They were filling up the pseudo-rustic den with dirty jokes. Had they been worthy of Adrienne, had they presented a gradual declension from her awesomeness, plateauing at a still-competent level, Iwould have sat down in their company and listened. But they were talking about drawing dicks on each other’s faces. Of course, this was where their authority came from: being like this with each other, being paid up in full in some psychic way. It made me crazy. And it had nothing to do with membership: Cam, arguably a greater outsider than me, was sitting there talking their language. It was inevitable that I, instead, would take up position at the window, and notice how dour the conifers looked outside. I went into the next room and watched TV.
Later, I was probably the only person still indoors; I was watching the Tulsa local news when Adrienne came in and switched off the TV.
She had a younger girl in tow. “Have you met Jenny?”
I had not.
“You guys both write poetry.”
I looked helplessly at Adrienne—who was already leaving. Chase was setting up his briquettes outside. I should have been furious. Jenny was obviously cute. She was a foot shorter than me and had bright, slow-moving eyes.
“You just met Adrienne?” Jenny asked.
“Um, I go watch her paint sometimes. We’re going through an art history course that I give her with different books—”
“Oh my god. Her paintings are so good.”
I shrugged. “They’re very postwar, which I like.”
Her eyes lit up. “They’re totally postwar.”
“I mean, if she ever really gets an idea it could be interesting.”
Jenny looked hurt, but she nodded.
“Where are you in school?” I asked her. I thought I was trying to be nice, but I wasn’t.
“I’m going to Union upper next year.”
Something in me was on the point of snapping. “Sorry,” I said. “I’ll definitely see you later.”
I went striding through the woods, trying to rush the gullies and boulders with old hiker’s footwork, and hurried. The forest was getting dark. Only continuing on because of an obscure claim to self-righteousness, I felt sick. I couldn’t stop chewing on this feeling that I had blundered. Night turned black. So I had to turn around, poking in the dark with my little key chain LED, dreading the slush of leaves beneath each footfall. I almost
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