OCR Text |
Show Motherlunge a novel 152 (b) each weighed less than Pavia and I, individually. With their narrow hips and bony wrists, their heavy glasses, their dirty hair gelled up in signifying ways, they seemed serious and architectural. They made Eli seem robust by comparison. They were a type of young man not available back home in Supernal. And the girls at this event-the young women-perhaps you can imagine? I could hardly stand to look at them and I still don't want to think about it Pavia fed crackers into her mouth as we moved along; occasionally X.'s shape squirmed against her torso before settling again. "Hey Thea," she eventuated, "Aren't you in any of these photos?" I shook my head. "It's not a Cassie-and-Steig kind of thing," I told her. "I'm not his muse." Pavia chewed; cracker crumbs drifted down onto her son's head, "Well, what are you then?" We were looking at a photograph of a kid in an Orange Crush t-shirt, standing with his mother by a token machine in the subway. The child was looking cross-eyed up at the camera and giving the finger. There was a yellow dot sticker next to the card on the wall; someone had bought the photo. "I don't know what I am. Maybe I'm Eli's habit? Not in a chemically dependent way, but more in the way of a routine, an activity of daily living. Like brushing your teeth." "Okay. Brushing your teeth." We moved to the next photo and began our straight-ahead stare. Pavia was rubbing X. through the fabric of the sling. "But what if Eli meets a Water Pik?" my sister asked, "Or starts flossing...?" |