Saturday evening, West of the BQE

I’ve barely begun and we’re all crying.  Mary and the others are sitting in the kitchen chairs – the ones that go with the table we’ve shoved aside for the moment.  I unravel a ribbon from my pocket and bust a move to Snap!  I layer it on.  Yes, there’s “blush and bashful,” but I embrace the pop fun, unashamed.  Mary taught me that.

I transform the mermaid tail into a perm, courtesy of Rinaldo.  Hours and hours of Mary’s handiwork, now a joke on my head.  That’s theater.  There are beads, matching jackets, and Bailey’s.

I want all that stupid old shit.

We continue chatting in the living room, while the baby sleeps.  It feels late, but it isn’t, really.  We say goodbye and pretend that the summer isn’t winding down just yet – that this “end of an era” feeling is just the mid-August blues, but the door shuts and we know better.

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