Read Online Life Sentences by Alice Blanchard - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alice Blanchard
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shivers cascading
across her scalp. Great. Instead of curing fatal diseases, she was counting
pies. How could Anna have been so careless with her life? Was she
trying to ruin everything? Because
congratulations, Anna, you're succeeding.
Sweating profusely, Daisy got out
of bed and decided to take a shower. She peeled out of her damp clothes,
balled them up and tossed them on the bed. Her back was knotted. The bathroom
door didn't close all the way. She worked her hands over her tense neck muscles
as she stepped into the shower. She unwrapped a bar of complimentary
soap and let the cool spray hit her. The shower stall smelled of other people,
and the tiled floor was spotted here and there with mold. How well did
they clean these places, anyway? She avoided rubbing up against the
milky glass doors when a sharp tepid spray hit her in the face. She lathered
herself all over, hands circling her skin, and hoped that by the time she
was done, things would have magically righted themselves again.
With a gathering sense of optimism,
she stepped out of the shower and dried herself off with a terry-cloth
bath towel, then put on the extra-large T-shirt she used as a nightgown.
Constantly aware of Anna all along the edges of herself, Daisy collapsed
back in bed, her heart racing, and had a hopeful image of her sister taking
refuge in some local homeless shelter or halfway house. Once or twice
a year back in Edgewater, after she and Lily had had a particularly
nasty fight, Anna would freak out and disappear. But they always knew
where to look for her-at her best friend Maranda's house, or else the Edgewater Presbyterian Church or the local battered-women's
shelter. Anna always showed up eventually, like a cat.
Soon Daisy was sound asleep, dreaming
of the flight out to Los Angeles, of the dark earth below and the man seated
next to her . Bram. Short for Bramwell . In her dream, he grew horns, and the peanuts
he offered her looked like miniature penises.
She woke up in a clammy sweat. It
was dark outside, still the middle of the night. She switched on her bedside
lamp and stretched, contrasting the paleness of her skin with the dark
blue of the motel wall. There was a pattern of miniature gold anchors
on the blue background. She'd always envied her sister's close relationship
with their mother. Lily and Anna had to have the biggest case of love-hate Daisy'd ever seen. She was always getting caught
in the middle of their feuds and taking frantic phone calls from first
one, then the other. She's doing this,
she did that, she said blah, blah, blah. Still, Daisy envied their
bond. Sometimes she felt as if her entire life had been swallowed up
by Anna's problems . How's Anna?
What're we going to do about Anna? What's wrong with Anna? From the time
she was eight or nine years old, ad nauseam, ad infinitum, Daisy and
Lily had rarely had a conversation that didn't somehow revolve around
her.
Suddenly thirsty, she remembered
the soda machine in the front office and got out of bed. Pulling on a pair
of jeans, Daisy left the security of her cabin for the vastness of the
hot, muggy night. She'd once heard that Los Angeles was seventy suburbs
in search of a city, and she was somewhere in the middle of that lostness now, surrounded by concrete and glass. Out
here, everything was called something-wood. Brentwood, Hollywood, Ingl -wood .
And where were these so-called woods? All she saw were two rows of palm
trees running along the spine of Santa Monica Boulevard, swaying in
the balmy breeze. The palm trees, stamped against the night sky, reminded
her of movie props. Back in Boston, it was probably snowing, the New England
sky dropping more and more inches, as if it wanted to obliterate
spring.
The front office behind the Moorish-style
fence and plastic-webbed lawn chairs was brightly lit. "Hello?"
Daisy said, but the place was empty. She found the soda machine, inserted
a few quarters, and out clunked a can of ginger ale. On her way back to her
cabin,
across her scalp. Great. Instead of curing fatal diseases, she was counting
pies. How could Anna have been so careless with her life? Was she
trying to ruin everything? Because
congratulations, Anna, you're succeeding.
Sweating profusely, Daisy got out
of bed and decided to take a shower. She peeled out of her damp clothes,
balled them up and tossed them on the bed. Her back was knotted. The bathroom
door didn't close all the way. She worked her hands over her tense neck muscles
as she stepped into the shower. She unwrapped a bar of complimentary
soap and let the cool spray hit her. The shower stall smelled of other people,
and the tiled floor was spotted here and there with mold. How well did
they clean these places, anyway? She avoided rubbing up against the
milky glass doors when a sharp tepid spray hit her in the face. She lathered
herself all over, hands circling her skin, and hoped that by the time she
was done, things would have magically righted themselves again.
With a gathering sense of optimism,
she stepped out of the shower and dried herself off with a terry-cloth
bath towel, then put on the extra-large T-shirt she used as a nightgown.
Constantly aware of Anna all along the edges of herself, Daisy collapsed
back in bed, her heart racing, and had a hopeful image of her sister taking
refuge in some local homeless shelter or halfway house. Once or twice
a year back in Edgewater, after she and Lily had had a particularly
nasty fight, Anna would freak out and disappear. But they always knew
where to look for her-at her best friend Maranda's house, or else the Edgewater Presbyterian Church or the local battered-women's
shelter. Anna always showed up eventually, like a cat.
Soon Daisy was sound asleep, dreaming
of the flight out to Los Angeles, of the dark earth below and the man seated
next to her . Bram. Short for Bramwell . In her dream, he grew horns, and the peanuts
he offered her looked like miniature penises.
She woke up in a clammy sweat. It
was dark outside, still the middle of the night. She switched on her bedside
lamp and stretched, contrasting the paleness of her skin with the dark
blue of the motel wall. There was a pattern of miniature gold anchors
on the blue background. She'd always envied her sister's close relationship
with their mother. Lily and Anna had to have the biggest case of love-hate Daisy'd ever seen. She was always getting caught
in the middle of their feuds and taking frantic phone calls from first
one, then the other. She's doing this,
she did that, she said blah, blah, blah. Still, Daisy envied their
bond. Sometimes she felt as if her entire life had been swallowed up
by Anna's problems . How's Anna?
What're we going to do about Anna? What's wrong with Anna? From the time
she was eight or nine years old, ad nauseam, ad infinitum, Daisy and
Lily had rarely had a conversation that didn't somehow revolve around
her.
Suddenly thirsty, she remembered
the soda machine in the front office and got out of bed. Pulling on a pair
of jeans, Daisy left the security of her cabin for the vastness of the
hot, muggy night. She'd once heard that Los Angeles was seventy suburbs
in search of a city, and she was somewhere in the middle of that lostness now, surrounded by concrete and glass. Out
here, everything was called something-wood. Brentwood, Hollywood, Ingl -wood .
And where were these so-called woods? All she saw were two rows of palm
trees running along the spine of Santa Monica Boulevard, swaying in
the balmy breeze. The palm trees, stamped against the night sky, reminded
her of movie props. Back in Boston, it was probably snowing, the New England
sky dropping more and more inches, as if it wanted to obliterate
spring.
The front office behind the Moorish-style
fence and plastic-webbed lawn chairs was brightly lit. "Hello?"
Daisy said, but the place was empty. She found the soda machine, inserted
a few quarters, and out clunked a can of ginger ale. On her way back to her
cabin,
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