“YESSS!!!!!” he answered, screaming, and I could tell right away that now was not the time to try to explain to him all I had learned and imagined about Margo. It took two more rings before my fumbling hands found the phone lying on the unrolled carpet. The only teenaged guy in America who dreams of sleeping with girls, and just sleeping with them. In my dream, her head was on my shoulder as I lay on my back, only the corner of carpet between us and the concrete floor. Judging from the books, she could be in Jamaica or Namibia, Topeka or Beijing. Of course I was nowhere near an itinerary. Had she brought me here to give me the clues to piece together an itinerary? Maybe. She would stay on the road and in hiding, a balloon floating through the sky, eating up hundreds of miles a day with the help of a perpetual tailwind. Reading them, trying to decide on destinations. And then coming here-even before she disappeared-to read the books away from prying eyes. I could imagine that, of course.īut I could also imagine this: Margo picking these books up at various garage sales, buying every travel guide she could get her hands on for a quarter or less. Maybe she had sat here in the cacophonous darkness and felt some kind of desperation take her over, and maybe she found it impossible to unthink the thought of death. Instead of busting into prom together, I sat against her rolled-up carpet with her ratty blanket draped over my knees, alternately reading travel guides by flashlight and sitting still in the dark as the cicadas hummed above and around me. So it turned out that I did spend prom night with Margo, just not quite as I’d dreamed.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |