go.
Things have been the way they are for so long that I’ve forgotten about a lot of this. I’ve forgotten that Gwen was ever different from how she is now. I’ve forgotten that I got here first. I’ve forgotten that there was a time, if only for a little bit, when I carried a secret around. I understand that secret now. I break the cookie open and read my fortune.
Just me
, it says. Could I ever really have wished for that?
I wanted her to become a star. It was easier to want Gwen’s stardom than my own. Did I push her? Did she push me back?
You can’t answer these questions, of course, invisible audience member.You don’t know a goddamn thing, you’re just following the story like anyone else, right?
A star is mostly hydrogen, collapsing in a luminous cloud. There is something, some kind of internal pressure within the star that keeps it from collapsing totally into its own gravitational pull. Maybe Gwen and I have always stayed together bysome force of gravity. Only now she’s drifted away. Leaving me with all this internal pressure, lost in space, pulsing senselessly in the dark. Punishing me for the selfishness of once wanting to be without her. And then the selfishness of not letting her go.
And now it’s time for me to go to work. There is a Polish Princess costume with my name on it, waiting limply on a hanger, needing to be filled. Because I am not sure that I am enough to animate it, I take another Vicodin, which seems to help.
4.
I haven’t talked much to my parents since Gwen has been with them. I actually don’t talk to them all that often anyway. It’s not like we have a bad relationship. I love them. They’re very supportive, but not overbearing, unique among both ballet and tennis parents.
Really, you can almost feel bad for them. I mean they should have had much more normal children. They should have had kids who studied hard and got good grades and maybe did one or two extracurricular activities well and then went to college and grad school and then became … whatever it is people become. They were prepared to be parents of such children. Maybe some parents think they want (or imagine they have) exceptionally gifted children, but I don’t think that’s what either of my parents wanted.
Mom was a great tennis player herself. She went to the University of Michigan on a tennis scholarship, and was an All-Star. But she never turned pro. She’s always said that she knewit wasn’t the life she wanted, but I’ve also heard her say that she knew she didn’t have what it took to be the best. I can never tell from the way she says “the best” whether she’s embarrassed at her failure to be it, or to aspire to it.
And Dad played the violin. He was almost like a child prodigy. But his family was sort of poor, and he went to medical school and became an oral surgeon, which he insists he finds very satisfying. He says he likes the concentration.
Dad still practices the violin, almost every day. Real practices, scales and repeating passages over and over. He says he never liked performing, he just liked practicing.
My parents believe in working hard and being disciplined, but in an effort-for-its-own-reward kind of way. Seeing any of us perform makes them very nervous. Whenever they visit New York, they never want to come backstage and are shy about meeting our friends. Which is funny, because they are really very presentable parents. (God, Roger’s mom!) But it’s worse for them with Keith, because with us they can sit in the dark, and with my brother, now that he’s becoming such a big deal, they have to sit in the player’s box, and you never know when the cameras might swing over to get their reactions. It’s agony for my mom especially. Despite her background in the sport, she still worries that not applauding Keith’s opponents when they play well looks “surly.”
I’ve never been in the habit of telling my parents much about my life. Maybe because so much of it
Things have been the way they are for so long that I’ve forgotten about a lot of this. I’ve forgotten that Gwen was ever different from how she is now. I’ve forgotten that I got here first. I’ve forgotten that there was a time, if only for a little bit, when I carried a secret around. I understand that secret now. I break the cookie open and read my fortune.
Just me
, it says. Could I ever really have wished for that?
I wanted her to become a star. It was easier to want Gwen’s stardom than my own. Did I push her? Did she push me back?
You can’t answer these questions, of course, invisible audience member.You don’t know a goddamn thing, you’re just following the story like anyone else, right?
A star is mostly hydrogen, collapsing in a luminous cloud. There is something, some kind of internal pressure within the star that keeps it from collapsing totally into its own gravitational pull. Maybe Gwen and I have always stayed together bysome force of gravity. Only now she’s drifted away. Leaving me with all this internal pressure, lost in space, pulsing senselessly in the dark. Punishing me for the selfishness of once wanting to be without her. And then the selfishness of not letting her go.
And now it’s time for me to go to work. There is a Polish Princess costume with my name on it, waiting limply on a hanger, needing to be filled. Because I am not sure that I am enough to animate it, I take another Vicodin, which seems to help.
4.
I haven’t talked much to my parents since Gwen has been with them. I actually don’t talk to them all that often anyway. It’s not like we have a bad relationship. I love them. They’re very supportive, but not overbearing, unique among both ballet and tennis parents.
Really, you can almost feel bad for them. I mean they should have had much more normal children. They should have had kids who studied hard and got good grades and maybe did one or two extracurricular activities well and then went to college and grad school and then became … whatever it is people become. They were prepared to be parents of such children. Maybe some parents think they want (or imagine they have) exceptionally gifted children, but I don’t think that’s what either of my parents wanted.
Mom was a great tennis player herself. She went to the University of Michigan on a tennis scholarship, and was an All-Star. But she never turned pro. She’s always said that she knewit wasn’t the life she wanted, but I’ve also heard her say that she knew she didn’t have what it took to be the best. I can never tell from the way she says “the best” whether she’s embarrassed at her failure to be it, or to aspire to it.
And Dad played the violin. He was almost like a child prodigy. But his family was sort of poor, and he went to medical school and became an oral surgeon, which he insists he finds very satisfying. He says he likes the concentration.
Dad still practices the violin, almost every day. Real practices, scales and repeating passages over and over. He says he never liked performing, he just liked practicing.
My parents believe in working hard and being disciplined, but in an effort-for-its-own-reward kind of way. Seeing any of us perform makes them very nervous. Whenever they visit New York, they never want to come backstage and are shy about meeting our friends. Which is funny, because they are really very presentable parents. (God, Roger’s mom!) But it’s worse for them with Keith, because with us they can sit in the dark, and with my brother, now that he’s becoming such a big deal, they have to sit in the player’s box, and you never know when the cameras might swing over to get their reactions. It’s agony for my mom especially. Despite her background in the sport, she still worries that not applauding Keith’s opponents when they play well looks “surly.”
I’ve never been in the habit of telling my parents much about my life. Maybe because so much of it
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