Sinister: it's a barnum and bailey world

[Kirsten Kenyon]

  to stay inside today would have been to sin.  i've been told 
that "to sin" is "to miss the mark," and while i'm unsure as to the 
consequences that may befall the archer whose arrow is embedded in 
the brush, i decided not to take any chances.
  i rolled out of bed relatively early and was sitting on my 
footboard, enjoying the sunday morning public radio and cheerfully 
applying a layer of red lipstick, when the door creaked.
  "ohmygod, kirsten.  you're completely stuck in the forties."
   i peered at my sister over the rims of my glasses.  she was 
leaning against the doorframe, cradling our sweet little sophie in 
one hand (yes, she can be held in one hand) and adjusting her perfect 
blonde hair with the other.  i didn't see how i could be "stuck" 
anywhere except where i was, and i told her so.  she shook her head.
  "you were born in the eighties.  you made it into the nineties, 
like everyone else.  then you slid back into the sixties, and 
now...well, look at what you're wearing.  what's next, a powdered 
wig?"
  i stuck out my tongue and threw a pillow.  there really wasn't 
anything else to do.
  my sister laughed and disappeared, and soon my radio was drowned by 
the rentals.  i sighed.  oh well.  i was supposed to go out today, 
anyway.
  i grabbed my hat and my handbag and a stack of books and took my 
seat behind the wheel.  the sun glared at me, reflecting off the 
shiny steel cylinders of the brewery as i sped over the bridge.  i 
donned my large, black sunglasses, a recent purchase from an 
overpriced vintage shop, and smiled.  i must have looked like i was 
en route to some sort of james bond-themed superbowl party.  
  i've been looking for a book.  "egalia's daughters," written by a 
gerd brantenberg, first published in 1941.  it's required reading for 
an anthropology course i'm taking, and the campus bookstore has been 
of no help whatsoever.  i've called every bookshop in the greater 
milwaukee area, save a handful of dusty corner shops with names 
like "jezebel's oracle."  i called all of the waukesha county 
libraries, too, and found nothing.  so today, as a last resort, i 
parked outside milwaukee's central library and resolved to spend the 
afternoon reading in a quiet corner.  if the book was there, i 
wouldn't be able to check it out because i'm no longer a resident of 
milwaukee county.  
  central library is something of a marvel...a great, white, domed 
structure nestled amongst towering cathedrals and run-down hotels.  i 
pushed on the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.  the walls, the 
floor, the stairs, the ceiling, all constructed of a rich, caramel-
swirled marble...i felt like i was standing in a bucket of ice 
cream.  i mean, i wasn't cold, and my feet weren't sticking to the 
floor, but...bah.  you know. 
  so...egalia's daughters.  it was there, of course. the card inside 
the front cover indicated that nobody has checked it out since it was 
shelved in 1984.  i hugged the lonely book to my chest and found a 
vacant table near a window, and summoned all of my motivation to read 
the entire novel in the hour and thirteen minutes before the library 
closed.  i had covered roughly seventy-two pages when i was disturbed 
by a loudly-whispered conversation several feet away.
  "fuckin hell!  i haven't touched a rock in a week, and i've been 
off the smack for two days now!"
  "lies, man.  if you'd been off the smack for two days, you wouldn't 
be sitting there grinning like a fuckin asshole."
  despite my best efforts, i glanced up from the explicit sex scene 
i'd been contentedly absorbing.  two skinny men in dirty jackets were 
seated at the next table.  one was hunched over on his elbows, 
spitting profanities at the other, who was balancing his chair on the 
rear two legs and staring at the wall.  
  i must have been looking for longer than i'd intended, because i 
suddenly found that the one who'd been gazing at the wall was now 
looking me straight in the eyes.  his mouth twisted into an ugly 
smirk, and he mouthed something at me and licked his thin lips.  the 
other was still mouthing off.  i scowled, then shuddered and gathered 
up my belongings, returned the book to the shelf, and marched towards 
the door, my heels clattering over the cold marble.  
  only seventy-two pages.  it looks like i'll be placing an order at 
amazon.
  it's six thirty on a sunday night, and i have an essay due 
tomorrow.  before i go to bed, i must read the second half 
of "motiba's tattoos" and two chapters of my history textbook, then 
regurgitate the information into three to five pages, stapled 
together with my name in the upper right-hand corner.  
  i haven't posted in awhile.  this was boring.  apologies.
  love
  kirsten


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