Sinister: isn't life too short for shyness...?

[Kirsten Kenyon]

   you arrive too late and get stuck with the broken chair at the 
table next to the toilet, and the music makes you wonder why you've 
brought your scarf along. you take it all in for a moment...you smell 
the irish coffee and the pipe smoke, you glance quickly at a sad girl 
reading tarot cards, crowds of laughing drunks, and scanning further 
you accidentally catch the eye of someone you didn't want to see.  he 
sits down and looks you in the eye and fumbles with your lighter, and 
you notice the lines on his arms and he tells you he's dying, and for 
once he's being honest and you don't know what to say...you're not 
sure what to do....
  
 kathy was a pretty blonde sorority girl, the daughter of the mayor 
of a tiny town in ohio.  a town so small that kathy's mom and sister 
once made a trip to valparaiso, indiana to "go shopping."  valparaiso 
had two boutiques and a walmart superstore.  kathy spoke often of her 
hometown, of pageants and barn dances and the fourth of july 
picnic....it sounded sort of fun.  everyone liked the stories, or 
seemed to anyway.  and then one day, kathy said something strange.
   'well, it's such a tiny town, and everyone knows each other 
anyway.  there's really nothing else to do.'
   everyone stared.  nothing to do, apparently, but have sex.  with 
anyone, anywhere...the barn dances....the fourth of july picnic...it 
was sort of shocking.  she gossiped for a bit about people none of us 
knew.  fascinating stories about the sheriff, the postman, the 
cheerleading squad, the minister....
    
     the boy is still talking, and you can't keep your eyes off those 
lines on his arms. he's from london, and now he lives here.  you talk 
about getting away, and he says "noplace is any better, really," and 
you dislike him for saying so.  you think of kathy....
     
       you rent a room in an old farmhouse and you learn to make a 
pretty mean potato salad.  you spend eight hours a day at the 
switchboard in some musty office, painting your fingernails and 
paging through a magazine. you glance at your reflection on the side 
of the file cabinet and sweep your hair over your forehead, and you 
sit up quite straight and suck in your cheeks.  people often say you 
should model, and you sometimes wonder.  
        you walk home at dusk in your little brown coat, and you push 
the door open and toss your purse onto the chair.  you scribble a 
little note and some hearts on the back of a grocery receipt, you 
draw some arrows pointing and you leave it on the table.  you draw a 
bubble bath and turn on the radio, you dim the lights...and you don't 
know the year but you're feeling old.
    
        you just smile and change the subject, and the boy finally 
goes off to finish his beer, and you duck behind the counter for some 
water for your tea.  you light another smoke and you think '2001.  
that's the year...isn't it?'



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