So at long last am set to leave the neighborhood and move forward. Not sure how I feel about this as I have been surrounded by relatives and friends my entire existence. I have no idea what it is like not to be, well, me.

Damned narcissist.



I really will miss you, all of you.

Diploma

I used to believe you were jealous of me. I used to believe you envied me for what he gave me.

It's in moments like this that I love you the most. I know, we are so the same and so different. I remind you of her, who, for whatever reason, you believed didn't want you. But I'd like to think we are more similar than you know.

When you gave me the diamond crown years ago, I knew. I knew you wished me well.

I know you don't always understand me. This frustrated you more than it did him, used to living in a world of eccentric women. I think in a lot of ways he was happy I'm just like her, the mother he didn't keep. Perhaps he understands her more through me? You don't throw tantrums. You don't carry on, bitch and moan, and then laugh till it hurts because it isn't in you. You're stable and consistent. Shy and reserved. Unwavering and biased in all opinions. It used to take you sincere effort to come up with schemes to play with me as a little girl, and you usually couldn't carry on the game. It doesn't flow naturally to you as it did to me. In retrospect, this is probably why you never bothered with me, I showed you what you lacked and wasn't smart enough to disguise it.

Your encouragement means the most to me. I know its yours that is sincere. You aren't afraid of me like he is, or doting on me like he always has been. I look just like you but have their personality, something I'm sure you don't forget, as you worry about the implications of this.

But the older I get, we come to a certain peace. I've made amends with the fact that I can never live in your world of perfection, I simply don't have the will. And these things will never mean the same to you as they do to me. You don't thrive of off attention, negative or otherwise.

But knowing you do, in fact, want good for me, means more than you know.

Resolution

Starving for perfection and not giving up the fight. Falling in love with my endless salads. I'm beginning to feel the weight come off. Even if this is only imaginary, it feels pretty good. I keep trying, that's all we can do. But I will treat myself to a turkey sandwhich tomorrow.

Work has been unusually pleasant. I feel like I'm growing. I see it in T, too, and I nearly cry with happiness. She's wonderful, she really is. And D! I love them all. I feel part of something, I really do. I worry as L is going to be the new V. L doesn't strike me as too great but we have got to hope. She enjoys my stories, first blessing. The other girls keep to themselves and I wear my glasses, so things are alright. I need a huge bottle of champy tomorrow for T's housewarming, lovely girls.

At yoga with F I made a promise. I refuse to deal with anymore nonsense. I need a man of action. Do n't need anymore friends. Don't bother me with what you did for dinner. Idon't care to know you got drunk off wine I can't afford. If you want to get to know me, so the bloody work. Remove my number  from your phone if you only use it to ask what I think of your clothes. I don't care about you anymore than you do about me. I find your self-preserving blather irritating. No more suggestions, no more hints, no more clever ploys that are as transparent as glass windows, only differing in that its usually me on the inside, looking out into the nothing you are really offering. Everywhere I look, it seems, someone I love is settling. I don't want to deal with that. I don't want to feel as if I'm consistently on the end of a poorly received message; calling like a telemarketer, always when you're busy. You cannhave that tacky-assed girl in the faux Tory Burch dress and Canal Street Hermes belt, this is what you're worth. I won't chase you. I won't bother to message you back if you've got nothing
To say. I refuse to be your obligation. You are never worth it.

What made you believe otherwise?

When I was cheated on, I believed it was the worst pain I'd ever feel. Years later, I see what a blessing it could have been. Where was I if not under him? Why are so many women killing themselves to land
in situations that are hardly tolerable?! What is it that happens to the girls we were? When did we stop thinking our lives mattered for themselves?

I look at B and see her strength. It happens to so many people, you get like this and it changes. But I want the good change. Not like too many weddings where the guests make bets on the divorce. I don't
know if I could be with anyone. I don't trust.

I see in their faces some element of surprise when I admit it, as if the words linered like so much glass shattered under the rug. I want reality. I want something I can cling to, not swallow down when I'm in my honest moments. I want to live, not wait. Thats a waste. I want to live!

Never Talk About People You May See in the Street...

So, casually strolling through the streets I've walked since I was younger. Rocking those faded Levi's and my coat with the fur collar that falls off when I sit down. On the phone with S, being loud and chugging my ever present cup of coffee.

I look up, and THERE you were.

I couldn't tell if you saw me, so I kept going, halfway wishing I could disappear. You looked good. Red scarf. Talking to two men who could probably be my father. I'm such a creep, I walked by like it was nothing. You didn't see or hear me, and, even if you did, what could you do with those men there?

I guess you must work really hard. You appear to be good at what you do. What I like about you most is, I'd never have known if I didn't ask. It intimidates me, now that I know. Your age as well. I'll admit, seeing you there tonight made it obvious how ridiculous I really am. I stood, in my fur coat with an enormous purse, gabbing to S, and feeling small. I seemed so unimportant. I felt so foolish, so immature. I was grateful to have left in my contact lenses and to have combed my hair. Me and my loud, obnoxious accent! But maybe you appreciate that, like I appreciate your seriousness? When we spoke yesterday, you made an effort to emphasize that you drink as if to suggest, "I'M FUN!" You always punctuate with an emoticon. Am I supposed to understand this as condescending? Maybe. But you must dig me if you can say orange soda and whiskey sounds tasty, even entertaining the conversation was key. Even I know its absolutely disgusting.

Doesn't matter. I'm just hopeful I got away with it, that you didn't hear me.

In other news, C is finally going on vacation, leaving us, her measly team to our own devices for two days.

Completely exhausted and dried out in my skin. I bought another bottle of the lotion that doesn't make me itch and have been working out like a fiend ever since Atlantic City. I ate HALF a laffy taffy (you know how hard this is for me!) and threw out a good third of my dinner. I'm on my way to healthy.

J & A

When you were a little boy, I always thought you'd be a perfect man. I'm so glad I was right. I see in you so much of me. You tell me I was like your nanny, I'm not that much older than you are but I understand what you mean. Rolling in your red Mercedes to the best of the eighties is always where I need to be when things get difficult for me. Nothing you do doesn't make me smile.

I sincerely hope you find someone who treats you right. I feel this year was good for you, finding who you are and falling in love with an unlikely subject. It's been good for you to find a man who you like for themselves, and not for what he offers. When I hear what you went through, we always compare because it's so similar to me. We like the same foods, but you have the willpower to stay away from them. We have the same ideals, the same cravings for the life around us, I really think we could live together if I weren't so messy.

I used to take you downtown to see the museums, you love looking all the beautiful things and reading every inscription. You're such a Virgo this way! I was the first person you and your sister called when your mother passed, I felt so helpless as it was the one time I had no idea what to say.

I have alot of friends, its true, but only two like you and J. And now M! I know you all wish me well, and that means alot, it really does. I have alot of negative qualities and you get them, I get you.

You ask me to the club, we should go sometime. You understood S the first time you saw her. We eat pizza on the weekends and bullshit about the men we know. I love that you like to shop with me. We'd be married if it weren't this way, we like to shop and to eat and to bitch. It would be perfect! You like the smell of my hair and tell me when I look dumpy. Most of the time you are right, more than I like to admit.

You asked me tonight if I was still insecure. I love that you see it.

For my two best of friends and surrogate siblings, much, much love.

What a Drag it is, Getting Old

I miss having something to say. The thing I fear most in becoming older and content is there is nothing left to add. It scares me to think, I'm becoming boring. There are times when I've no desire to go out, no desire to have the fun I used to, times when I'd rather sit in with a good book, absorbing someone else's words instead of having my own. How did I become so non-confident, choking up when speaking out matters most? Where did this problem arise? I worry I'm fading out.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I love J and everyone around me, but sometimes I wonder if this is it. Does that ever stop? Does one ever stop looking for the possibilities? When do the wandering eyes, looking at strangers on the subway and thinking about asking their numbers, when does that stop? Do I miss the exciting parts of dating, forgetting all the BS it really is in NYC, despite any glamorized version Sarah Jessica Parker might tell.

Sometimes I'll look at the rich men who walk down Fifth and fantasize about the lives of some of my married friends, home with children of privilege. I think about the personal trainers, the shopping sprees, the daily tasks these women endure in this never ending quest for absolute perfection. I miss it, and other times, even the thought of going back there, to that mind set, stresses me out. Sometimes I'm envious of my engaged friends, other times, I'm ready to fall on my knees in thanks that all my possibilities aren't gone, that there is no definite in place, that I can keep dreaming with possible purpose, not feeling too foolish.

I feel plain too often lately. Ugly, fat, and useless, as if I were my mother thirty years before my time. Why is it middle aged women always post a photo of their younger years up, like the women in Ker's world, as if to say "I once was beautiful." Why must we live in the past? What is it our lives amount to if nothing beyond our twenties, and my God, when do mine get any more accomplished feeling? I feel old, I'm tired, I'm cranky, and everyday is a nonstop turning merry go round of tasks and responsibilities I've no energy for. I'm too young to be this old.

Atlantic City

A has breen saying it all along, it's all in my head. He knows as J did this to him, left himdangling by a thread. I cannot be bothered with someone so horrible, long nose from years of looking down on everyone.

I think he is very, very sad. And, really, a complete stranger.

We went out to the casinos today and it strikes me how sad this scene really is. The cheap music, filling the air with empty promises and glamour to spare. The cocktail waitress had on clothes that disn't fit and an eye that looked to the side. A gypsy woman came over to me and grabbed my
palm.

"You worry too much." she tells me, completely unannounced.

We are supposed to go out, something, that, in recent weeks has lost its allure. Standing around, everyone being something they aren't, it just bores me to see. I hate the thought of not getting home, and I'm missing Sher.

I dressing up and doing my hair as we are in Jerz. I look pretty, I guess. I feel so full, so huge, so inflated after all the eggplant we ate. I had nothing but sugar all morning. N is flattening her hair. L is glittering away in a dress of sequins.

Knowing that A went through this makes it worth it. He got beyond it. It gets to this, burnt out and unyielding, and then, one day, S came along and changed it all. I don't need a savoir, I need a reason to get off this bed and not wish I were home. I need a new project, a new purpose. I wish, a lot of times as of late, the world would just accept me as is. Everyone wants me to "find a man." is that really all there is? I used to feel stifled. I'm proud of the things I've done. Maybe they should be too. It just feels so desperate, so contrived. You meet a man at the bar and he is supposed to be your eerything. That man is nothing. That man is months of pointless self-introspect. That man is just another reason to feel silly. That mannisn't the golden ticket, just the ride in the broken elevator.

N, I wish I could just let things happen around you. I'm exhausted of running after something I'm not even sure I want.

I see women feeding men, taking their plates to them and cleaning the pots they used to prepare the meal. That scares me.

What's wrong with eating it yourself?

I'm not giving in.

Jersey Strong

It's actually quite bizarre, how familiar and strange this is all to me right now. I used to think Iist have been some exotic bird to you. You never commented on my accent, that is true, and I hear it now in your natal home. You're more normal than ever before.  I get you, I really do.

She fed us and was loud and blunt like all the mothers my own was never quite like. L shows up in (what else?) a white Lexus with tints and the latest dance music. We never change, do we? I'm amazed at how real this all is, I didn't have this. I miss it. It's in places like this that I note the difference, there are no pictures of us.

I think we fall in love with what we want to believe. I'm so good at it, I don't lnow the difference. I look at your dresses and realize we are more similar than you let on. My mother never admitted it, but I know she has it, too. It runs in her side, my dad's mom as well. But we are the same.

Two girls who wanted it, and grabbed.

I also thought more about it, today. She's just like me. Looks like a girl from Pelham Bay. I want to lnow if that's what he wants? But you and me know something like this. We see. I've ralways made friends with us.

You were friends with all the princesses , too. Except I'm blonde like you always tell me you love. I blend in because we look alike, in your mind. You thought I was one, I've had you fooled. But now we are on the fringe. We go to the parties and see the shoes, and, just like me you cried over not getting the same. I've never felt that seperate, refusing to accept this concept of inferiority. I've always thought that was ridiculous. You, though, don't lnow any better. My
Mother was like that, too.

I think this version of you is better than anything I see out.

Power Issue

It just wasn't fair. Sitting there, completely alone whilst surrounded by strange people I didn't care to know. I didn't say hello, I didn't know how to; I couldn't keep it together. You yelled out at me, your new trick; saying my name. I looked at you and didn't even look over what you wore.

I didn't face you. I just crouched down beside you, even speaking directly to you, wishing I were anywhere else. I've been able to do this my entire life, going into autopilot, putting on that grin and walking through it like its good.

I guess, in the end, I can't hold you at blame. You've given me, more or less, what I expected from you. I felt so sad to know it was you did that to me, I didn't understand, and I couldn't ask, you ran away and I went back to acting like you weren't in the room. We continued our normal cadence. 

You have no idea how much that upset me. 

And, the beauty of it all, is that, in the end, you don't care to. 

But the truth is, there is a power in that for me; there really is. Seeing you, seeing through you, understanding, for the first time in a long time, what exactly is going on around and in me, there is a benefit to this. 

I've met you several times. I even find myself seeking you out, in crowds, in jobs, in friends, in relationships. It all began here, all the pictures and the memories of you in a different costume, you who can confirm that all the horrible things I'm so afraid of are real. I've been seeing endless versions of you playing the different roles throughout the 27 years I'm alive. You come to be something not even remotely related to what you are, in reality; just as scared and confused as I worry I am. Listening closely to what you never said, I've pieced it all together. I tell myself, all the things you meant to say. 

I admitted today to D that J was my tormenter in my preteens. That K died when I was 14 and I've never really gotten over the fear of abandonment. (I've even kept the cheap dress I wore to the service, refusing to give it away. My mother helped me pick it out, no idea where it would take me.) No one said a word. I tried to laugh; uncomfortable at the realization that I couldn't erase that moment. 

Does it give me a reason to be as skeptical and as aloof as I try so hard to be? Does it simply explain everything; or genuinely excuse it? 

"We just want what is best for you," she said.

There is a life behind all of this. There is something else, something deeper beyond constantly living in some broken past. I get closer to it everyday, closer to a definition of what it is I really need. I crave a stability I don't understand from other people. I crave a safety, an honesty. I truly want to get away from chasing after you, all versions of you; a race I've run since birth.  

"You have to look at it like, you're bringing this many chips to the table," he said. "You really are."

It occurs to me lately that people admit their emotions. 

I am, in reality, surrounded by copious amounts of love and well wishing. I'm ready to leave you, all of you, behind. Slowly but surely, I'm counting the chips.

J told me he loved me again today. It was the saddest thing. 

I got the Power Issue of Vogue today and nearly cried to see B on the cover. It all makes sense, doesn't it?

Dirtbag.

It was YOU.

Fingers Crossed!

When I was a teenaged nanny, the older women used to tell me that nothing stops a crying child like a new idea. It's true, I realize, years later.

I never gave him my number. I didn't have the nerve to ask who did. It was like, I knew, all day, in some bizarre way, that that was going to happen, and for once, it DID.

It was, admittedly, one of the coolest things a guy had ever done for me.

He's a little mysterious though. I mean, when you think it over rationally, it's like why go through all this trouble if not? But perhaps he was drunk? Perhaps he was bored? Perhaps I really do creep the kid out, "running into" him? Maybe my little game just got tired. Maybe he just wanted to play one of his own. Maybe I was a bit too exaggerated in my pourings over his sportcoat. Maybe I shouldn't talk so much about other girls.

It makes a lot of sense now. His friends insisting he had no one, throwing in a fantasy with him as the main player. The whole thing makes sense. Who knew he had it in him?

But whatever his reasons, it worked. I can't stop thinking about it now, can't wait to tell the office girls, I'm smiling at the gym, (the fucking gym!) and even my mother and aunt - forever gossips!- are intrigued to see how this develops. G, of course, is completely into the details, and N is swearing she's clairvoyant. J and M are already to plan the big meetup, A is making plans to hear about the first romp, and S, as usual, completely disgusted. Everyone is routing for me! Who gave my number? How did he ask? What did he say? What did he want to ascertain? Why did he want the exact address? Has this been going some time? Am I a creep or is he into me? Does he like my humor or my face? Does he think I'm a bro -as his idiot friends apparently do? Was it my friends or his? Which one? Were they there? Was I supposed to come down? Was he testing the waters? He didn't even announce himself in first text. Is this friendly or flirty? I turned over the brief, seemingly meaningless conversation on my phone numerous times.

Who knows.

I don't dare reach out without being contacted again. I'd prefer to enjoy the sensation of literally being tracked down. (Maybe this is how he felt?) I've got a million questions I want to ask him and this is FUN, but the waiting is killing me because who knows if it'll go on again? D's odd little comments, was that intentional? How he just appeared!

Crossing my fingers. This is so fun!

You're So Cold...

How dare you try to act as if you don't know!

That was pure mean. I wonder if you mean it! I heard, I blocked you out like you didn't exist again and I'll do it over and over. You don't know who you're playing with, here. I possess everything you want and can't be. I'm younger, prettier, and have the nerve you maybe wish you did. All the girls you like love me. I'll starve you out for myself. I don't care what you think; you're going to lose. Even you know it!

I smirk at you and you smile back. I see you laughing at my jokes at the corner of my eyes, and know I've got, at the very least, your attention. You told me I annoy you, I tell you to burn in hell. You think I'm ridiculous, I think you're a bore. You told me I can never have enough of everything (little do you know, love, of my appetite!) I said you live like a pauper.

Your idiot friend hugged me longer than I prefer. You were last. You didn't shave. I disgust you; you turned the glass and directed the side to sip that cinnamon flavor from. You irritate me. I roll my eyes at your nonsense. (Think you're such a wonder!) And we can all see by the crotch in your pants -we've got something to prove? (Did you know I looked? I know you did.) Why is it we always talk of brothels? Perhaps I bring that to mind for you! Oh, if only. It can be such a shame, to think you simply don't care. But then, nor do I. I've got your pals, love. I've got you like the Pied Piper, playing my tune. (No matter how silly you say you think it is, you always dance, I've noticed.)

I've got your life. I'll take nearly everything from you, without shame. I see how different you are now, and I know it's me. You'll have nothing. See if I save you!

You could end this; put a stop to the nothing and the everything.

(Something makes me believe you want to continue?)

You're still my favorite. I'm sorry you're so sad. I'm sorry you haven't let yourself free and give in to me. I wish you would, love, I wish you would. Every night, on every star in the sky we surely must share.

I hate you like the scum you must see me as. I'm sure your account is deep, your pockets run dry paying for the love that is free to me. When you go to Canada, you can call me in the heat of the moment, but I'll be to busy being where you want to answer. You asked me to join, indirectly. I'd hurt her like you wouldn't believe. You and me, between the lines. An entire anthology without a word of it being true. There we go, endless double meaning, all sorts of clever banter. Never ending BS.

(All you need do, love, is simply say yes. You don't know how long I'll fight you. You don't stand a chance.)

I think you don't understand. I don't think you can tell, we're the same, love.

(You're who I'd be if I wasn't myself.)

And, really, there is no one but you.

Flipped!

My assistant is me. I see all my mistakes in her, all my fears, all my misgivings, all my frustration. She cried all day today, and I could only remember my own breakdowns at M, with J, all of it. She asked me today, "Why are you always laughing?" I said, "Because I find everything funny." I didn't have the heart to tell her I'd simply given up caring a long time ago. It's just clothes, isn't it?

Whoever thought I'd have an assistant, anyway? Isn't it just yesterday I was another ridiculous college grad with bedazzled jeans? I guess, I've made it.

P is, no more, an object of any affection for me. I used to look at him during all the meetings, getting a bit out of hand with what I'd do. But maybe that was just stupid. What good is there in a man who is that much of a jerk? I get tired of his antics. Today he told off C, as per usual, setting into effect a chain of events to worry over the rest of us as we had to deal with her the rest of the afternoon. He's short, unwilling, and red faced with whatever skin disease he is obviously cursed with. His beady little eyes as he sees me, he knows enough to leave me the hell alone most of the time, I'm a good two inches taller than he is. I say hello and prance by, just as the other girls do, but I think he knows I'm laughing at him. The indignation in his screwed up little raisin of a face...

Other news on the horizon, the week is shaping up to be a good one. N says I need to go out more, I need to get back out there. I'm so exhausted at the thought of being told what to do, it barely matters what she says; however true. Isn't it ok to just live in my own nonsense a bit longer? Men bore me with their paraphenalia. Either too much or too little.

A party thrown by F next week. Not sure if I want to go. I'd love to go to see... but you never know. I enjoy that these people amuse me, and are apparently amused by me. I wonder what made him ask for me? Who knows. Let's just hope it isn't a waste. L is excited and C said she'd go along; it's so tacky he invites these people and then names a strange price. But, I guess, there is my answer. He told me he can't do fashion, I wanted to tell him what a pleasure it would be to take him shopping. Men always underestimate how much I genuinely enjoy that. And, most of the time, they do, too. I think it's a guilty pleasure for them, they smile at the racks and touch all the fabrics as if it were taboo.

Running on the treadmill tonight at the gym I realized I enjoy going. Still fat, though. The scale refuses to cooperate, as per usual. I'm so frustrated with my body I can't even think on it for fear of becoming sullen.

My hair looks good though. I'm excited for tomorrow night's dinner. The food is genuinely terrible but I love sparkling in front of all those people. I think either they think I'm strange or enjoy me, I never can tell. I guess they don't understand me, they work in worlds that imagination is not a necessary as it is for me. No idea what to wear as nearly every piece of fabric in my closet, is, as always, completely unacceptable to be seen in front of... if only you knew? Shucks.

(My assistant taught me that. Love those O. girls)

And sleep, and moisturizer, as a WASP half, a dry skin will give.

Wish me luck, wish me love, and above all, a kiss!

Catskills

Another fine evening in the mountains with J and A. A has new love, D, and M and R came along with him to teach us French and style. Everyone is in love with M, which I guess is a casualty of being a French woman. She possess a beauty I do not. When you look at M, you want to look at her again. I felt ugly, so ugly, next to her. Ridiculous and pathetic. Fat. Above all things, I felt fat.

I went to the gym when I got home, to work on what me and A talked about.

I sat in the quiet room with the skylight amiss a house of couples. It hurt, to know I was alone. It hurts because you think, my God, something is wrong with me. But is it that, really? I've spent so much time being angry, showing every man nothing but evidence of my own distrust, my own failed expectations, my own doubts about them. There is a big part of me, deep down, that really has lost patience in them. They lie, they cheat, they steal, they deceive. The magic is gone. And that thought, in itself, makes me feel irrevocably sad. It depresses me to think, at 27, I don't want to be bothered. To admit to the world that I've all but given up hope of finding anyone. There are no good straight men. I look at dirtbags like S and know it. I'm just so tired of it. Rejection, false pretenses, they run off. They take, take, take. And what do we do? Give. Freely and surely, give. Even when we know it isn't going to work. We give!

We give up, really.

The reality is that I don't want to take care of anyone. I don't want to cook, don't want to clean, don't want anyone to beg me for my opinion, have me run their lives, only act for me. J was like that. I miss him sometimes, but just feel the pull back down, all the pressure of knowing I'd have to constantly hold everything together. When we ended, I felt so free. I felt like I could have peace at last.

He broke me; I've been empty ever since. All I feel is disappointment. I myself, am becoming bitter.

N, I love you, but you make me bitter. You remind me of all the bad things in the world, avarice and desperation. I will never want a man as you do, I will never give to a man what I see you throwing away all the time. There is no need, N. There is no need. You have to let go. You have to go on. You have got to get past this phase and move forward. This means accepting the fact that, there may never be. Simply put, there may never be.

What can we really do? Shall we throw ourselves into the ocean and drown? Shall we jump off the buildings into some dark abyss? Shall we hide from society and forget ourselves?

No. And no. You need something else to occupy your mind. I'm tired of giving emotion and energy to you. I don't want to spend hours on the phone analyzing nothing. I wish to be with my own thoughts. You can't be J and A. Stop chasing me. I refuse to give you anymore time. 

This is about me. 

A says he thinks there is an end to my perceived shortcomings. He thinks there is an end to all this, a salvation for the weak and weary. I love him. I prayed like a Muslim, crying over the jello shots to find it. I'm no longer a Catholic in spirit, but I want to hope there is something out there, even if only an energy. 

I want to man who will pursue me. I want to be taken care of, to find that man that is himself with no apologies. Who is strong, who is kind, who is generous. I want a man who can allow me to be myself, the light of the party, while being comfortable. I want someone who likes me enough to like himself. To want to create a life for himself and invite me into it. To support me emotionally and mentally. To love my body. To love my clothes and give honest opinions about them. I want a man who can take care of himself, not depend on me for every little thing. Who can cook and clean just the same as I can. I'll do the shopping, he'll write the taxes. He will allow me to read, encourage me to do what I love. He will be good with children, respectful of other ladies, no matter their appearance. Who buys me gifts for no reason, who treats me to mint ice cream because I love it. Who kisses my nose and pays for my female friends' drinks. I want to trust that he is smarter than me. I want him to be stronger than me, mentally and emotionally. I want him to want me to take his name, but allow me to hyphenate. I want someone who is proud of me. He will be good with his male friends, and laugh and make bawdy jokes with them. I want him to be proud I have my own female crowd, and don;t need to go with him to games. I want to have the knowledge that, though we lead separate lives, he is the person I can't wait to tell it all to. And vice versa. 

D read my palm, something I didn't know he could do. In broken English and French he told me I have a wall, I have to be strong to get through it. He pointed to the line on my left hand, tracing it with his fingers in his black wig. I, at first, thought I began at the bottom of this line, but maybe, it is really the top. Maybe this is the great challenge he was talking about. The line he pointed out had a huge cross I'd never noticed. 

I used to wish, a long time ago, that I'd eventually be found. Maybe I still want that.