Saturday, May 10, 2008

My life underwater

At these moments, I wonder if this is the way it feels to be my mother.

How to waterproof your brother.

I'd made a list in my notebook of all the things I missed about him. The way he wrinkles his nose when he's thinking was one.

I should
Get out more, join some clubs. I should buy some new clothes, dye my hair blue, let Herman Cooper take me on a ride in his father's car, kiss me, and possibly even feel my nonexistent breasts. I should develop some useful skills like public speaking, electric cello, or welding, see a doctor about my stomachaches, find a hero that is not a man who wrote a children's book and crashed his plane, stop trying to set up my father's tent in record time, throw away my notebooks, stand up straight, and cut this habit of answering any question regarding my well-being with a reply fit for a prim English schoolgirl who believes life is nothing but a long preparation for a few finger sandwiches with the Queen.

A hundred things can change your life.

"I need you to be -" I said, and then I started to cry,
"Be what?" she said, opening her arms.
"Not sad," I said.

From Nicole Krauss' The History of Love.

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