Sinister: what will you do when your suntan is fading....

[Kirsten Kenyon]

  stopped at a red light, i watched as a group of schoolchildren 
ruthlessly harassed a poor crossing-guard just trying to do his job.  
there was a whole swarm of them...little girls in knee-socks tugging 
on his bright orange vest, boys jumping up and pulling his cap down 
over his eyes...and he couldn't very well fight back.  he just waved 
his arms, slowly, so as not to injure one of the little monsters.  
this one attempt at maintaining his dignity only made him look all 
the more ridiculous, like a great orange teddybear waving 
mechanically from a shop window at christmastime.  one especially 
pretty little girl seemed to be the prime instigator, standing off to 
the side, pointing and shouting and laughing as her shiny ponytail 
whipped around her face. she reminded me of a horrid little girl from 
elementary school, a girl called stephanie who once blamed me when it 
was discovered that an anonymous mittened finger had 
printed "stephanie is a whore" in the frost on the classroom window. 
i hadn't done it, but after finding the word in the dictionary during 
the lunch break, i secretly wished that i had.
   tonight it seemed that the sun, instead of sinking slowly in the 
west, was rudely snuffed out by a damp towel.  the fog was heavy and 
smelled like a cold car on a winter morning.  i drove through a park, 
and all i could see were scattered splotches of soft yellow light 
 from the lampposts.  breaking through a wave of grey, i saw a large 
ball of orange and purple, long blue beams floating out the windows 
of an old stone building the firefighters use for practice.  i 
couldn't see the building at all.  
   a long time ago, i sat on the little gravel path which circles 
that building, watching fireworks and absentmindedly braiding the 
tassels on the soft flannel blanket i shared with a boy i barely 
knew.  we were seventeen, i guess.  he bought me cotton candy and i 
didn't have the heart to tell him how i feel about cotton candy..i 
tried to eat it.  i realized tonight that i hadn't really noticed the 
stone building since that night with the fireworks.  i drove past 
slowly and stared at the fire blazing just where we had been sitting 
and, for a moment, i thought it was summer.  
   the boy...i saw him at a wedding in july.  for the first time 
in...well, three years, i guess.  all the girls were talking about 
this gorgeous boy at the bar, so i looked. and i realized who he 
was...i took my glass of champagne out onto the terrace and slowly 
smoked a cigarette and tossed little bits of food to the flamingos 
and hoped he hadn't seen me.  it was hopeless...he found me.  he's 
nearly finished pre-med now, and he looks like someone on the cover 
of a magazine.  and then there was me, pink with champagne, sitting 
alone with the flamingos and stomping out a cigarette with my clumsy 
black heel.  dropped out of two universities.  working in a clothing 
shop.  passing my time by writing saccharine stories nobody will ever 
read.  probably.  he made me dance...four minutes, maybe five, spent 
awkwardly close to a boy who'd told everyone i'd broken his heart.  
when we were seventeen.
   i looked at the fire for a few minutes and thought about this, 
then i drove to the tiny church where my parents spend their sunday 
mornings, and i sat down at the piano.  the members of the men's 
choir filed in lazily and called me "miss kirsten" and said things 
like "haven't seen you around here in awhile."  i didn't know what to 
say to that.  i waved.  the director handed me some music and 
apologized for the short notice, and i said i thought i could manage 
well enough.  so i played and they sang and my father's crystalline 
tenor never wavered, and i looked over and he was smiling at me.  i 
guess i must have been reading the music okay.  either that, or he 
was just happy to see me in a church.  whatever the case, i sort of 
smiled back.
    i'm not as easily amused as i could be.  i'm more easily baffled 
than i should be.  strangers have called me "smiley."  friends have 
called me "serious."  i never call anyone, but once in awhile it's 
nice to hear the phone ring.  
  love
 kirsten


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