babysitting

it was a slow summer, but also kind of scary. the summer before 9th grade, the vein that separated what was and what will be -- lower school and upper school. diana had places to go, like to the mall out on I-75 or to leafy vista village, where there was a bookstore and a coffee shop and a cool restaurant with young waiters that would let her and rachel sit and order diet cokes over and over without asking if they wanted any food. she could go out but would have to get a ride from someone's mom, and that made it seem less fun. it broke the spell she was under, it punctured the notion that she wasn't a kid anymore, that she was on her way to being free. besides, her mom worked all day and her dad was unemployed, looking for work he said, and she was embarrassed to be around him anyway. sometimes she and rachel would start walking to each other's houses and meet in the middle, but that just took them to a grassy roundabout in the center of an endless grid of houses. they brought magazines and a blanket and string cheese and apples and diet cokes one day, and laid on on the grass and took their shoes off and pretended they were in central park or somewhere in paris. but then rachel's neighbor mrs. gilbert saw them and almost wrecked her car trying to pull over, and when she got out she acted like they had robbed a bank or been caught having sex in broad daylight. she was horrified, and baffled she said, and made them pack everything up and drove them back to rachel's. while mrs. gilbert was telling rachel's mom what she saw, the two of them sprinted up the stairs and locked themselves in her bathroom and just looked at each other and laughed until they were exhausted.

diana started babysitting a few months before school was out for kids who lived on her street. her mom took her to kinko's and they got flyers and business cards made up. they just said "Diana Pluton, Babysitter." with their phone number underneath it. for awhile she was working most friday and saturday nights, and sometimes would make $30 in just three or four hours, but most of the families on her street went away for the summer, or had nannies during the day. so no one needed her then.

she had also just learned how to ride a bike. when she was much younger, the appropriate age to be learning to ride a bike, her father took her to a church parking lot that was on a little hill. that was when he was still working at the bank, so it was probably a saturday. he brought a screwdriver with him and took the training wheels off, and then told her to hop on and pedal. her mother was there too, standing worriedly to the side with her arms crossed. it was fall, a little cold outside, and her mom was wearing a long wool coat that looked just like a blanket. she told diana she didn't have to do it if she was scared, but her dad said sometimes we have to do scary things. he said its a lesson we all learn at some point, better sooner than later.

so diana got on her bicycle and before she could even balance her dad gave her a push and she was off, going faster than she had ever gone, straight down the hill. she heard her mother scream her name and she didn't know how to stop so she just fell to the side, and she and the bike skidded down the rest of the hill, one on top of the other. her cheek got scraped and she cried for hours in her mother's arms, wrapped around the wool coat blanket, on the swing on their screened in front porch. later she wondered why the two of them were outside on the porch on a cold day. eventually it would make sense.

she didn't try again to ride a bike until she was many years older and it was a major point of shame to know that she couldn't, even though the only person she ever actually told was rachel. just thinking about it would make her skin hot and she figured everyone could tell why she was blushing. at first she practiced on the little bike she used to ride, because it was closer to the ground and less scary. she would ride up and down the walkway to their house, just a few pedals each way, at dusk every day after school. just back and forth until it was dark. her father was usually inside, on his courdoroy recliner in his robe, but he never came out to try to teach her.

by the summer she was comfortable going up and down her road, because there were hardly any cars and she knew if something happened she could just walk the bike back. one day as she was riding up and down she passed by the troutman's house and saw miss benjamin and jim out in the front lawn. she used to babysit for jim, a red haired four year old, on some weekend nights but miss benjamin was his full time nanny. on that day she had brought a lawn chair out and was listening to a sermon on a portable radio as jim played in the sprinkler in front of her.

hi, diana said.
hi there miss pluton. jim what do you say?
hi!
what are you up to today little miss?
nothing really. there's nothing to do this summer. i'm just riding my bike a little, i might go to the store in a minute.
diana wouldn't ever ride her bike to the store, along side a two way street, but she didn't want to seem pathetic, even to miss benjamin.
well i might take a nap in this sunshine so if you and jim want to go play you just go right ahead.
diana thought about it for a minute and said, ok.
jim jumped up from where he had landed in the grass and told her to come around back to see the new dog's house, and diana followed, leaving the new bike her mom had bought her as an 8th grade graduation present laying down on the sidewalk.

diana and jim, and jim's new dog elvis, played in the backyard until mrs. troutman came home in her volvo stationwagon, surprised but not upset to see diana.
i know jim loves seeing you, she said. we can't pay you of course, since we already have miss benjamin here, but you are always welcome to come over and see him. any day at all.

that day diana came home, passed her father snoring in his chair with cartoons blaring from the television, and went straight to the kitchen where she knew her mom would be. she told her the story and her mom said, that's great.

for the next few afternoons diana played with jim and the dog outside, both of whom seemed tireless. miss benjamin would stay in the kitchen, watching the tiny black and white tv and sitting perched on a stool, despite the larger color tv in the kitchen. she would make them macaroni and cheese or turkey sandwiches, and they would eat it sitting cross legged in the grass, feeding bits to the puppy. jim was actually very funny and needed little supervision, and she started looking forward to what new game he would teach her or what new phrases he would use. she day she was shocked at how much he had grown since the day before, and how it seemed that he had an unlimited capacity for new thoughts and never had to weed out the old ones.

rachel thought it was stupid that diana was hanging out with a four year old.
i'm not hanging out with him, i'm babysitting him.
but you aren't getting paid.
but i'm getting experience, which i can use for future jobs.
its not like a resume for a real job -- its just babysitting.
ok i'm going to hang up now.

the next day diana went over to jim's but mrs. troutman's car was still out front. she rang the door bell and jim answered. he said, my brother danny is here today! you'll like him. he's going to play with us today.

diana was confused. jim doesn't have a brother. she peered around into the kitchen and saw mrs troutman showing a tall lanky freckled boy what was in the pantry. her heart tightened up. maybe she should just turn around before they know she's there. she didn't want this -- having to talk to someone her own age. what if its awkward? what if he's mean? what if he's like rachel and wonders why i'm hanging out with a four year old?

before she could turn around she heard mrs troutman calling her name.
diana! i'm so glad you're here. i took the day off work because mr. troutman's son -- my step-son -- danny is here to visit! isn't that fun? i told him about you -- he's in 10th grade at edgewood -- so i know you'll just have so much fun!
diana waved and said hi. i'm diana.
danny said hi. nice to meet you.
he seemed nice enough. not too scary, kind of cute actually. he had light brown hair and glasses and was wearing a shirt that said "the wonder years."
so you guys just go about your business and don't mind me.

diana could feel her heart start to beat. where was jim? was this a date? she just wanted to go home, regardless of her dad being immobile on his chair, barely opening his eyes as she passes through. regardless of how quiet it was, even with the tv turned as loud as it could go.

so you're at valley -- danny started to say, but was thankfully interrupted by the sound of jim barrelling around the corner with the parts of a train set falling out of his arms. choooo chooooo, jim called behind him.

with jim as their guide, diana and danny sat on the carpeted living room floor and constructed a train track weaving in and out of table legs, around chairs and between bookshelves. without having to look directly at each other they played for hours, laughing at funny and strange things jim would say. mrs troutman would pop in occasionally to admire their work and then would disappear again.

as the day was wearing on jim suggested that they play hide and seek. diana and danny looked at each other and shrugged. ok, diana said, but you're it first.

jim, squealing, started to run away as the two of them counted out loud. they could hear him thumping up the stairs and running overhead to his room, but when they called out "ready or not here we come" they looked everywhere but where they knew they would find it. eventually jim called out, "ill give you a hint!" and they acted bewildered as they opened the closet door and found him squatting there with his hands covering his head.

next it was danny's turn to hide and diana let jim take her all around the house before danny jumped out from behind a bookcase to scare them both.

diana decided to really try to stump them so she tiptoed upstairs to the guest bedroom and wiggled underneath the bed, laying face down. she heard them come in briefly before jim declared "she's not in here -- i know where she is!" she wondered if this was a good idea -- maybe it was too hard, and what was the fun of that? she decided to give it a few more minutes and then pull a danny and surprise them. but while she was waiting she heard mrs troutman's voice.

well....its certainly interesting. a pause and then slow laughter.
she must be on the phone, diana thought. she felt something heavy land on the bed -- mrs troutman? laundry?
her voice got lower.
she's a nice girl. that's the sad part. and the mother seems so normal -- hard working, very pretty actually. but its been years now -- two years -- and that man hardly ever leaves the house. she says he's sick, but isn't that what all wives of alcoholics say? i know, i know...poor thing.

diana's heart was being punched. she felt intensely clausterphobic and didn't care if jim and danny found her or if mrs troutman knew what she had heard, she just had to get out. she scooted to the side and brought her knees up to kneel and then stand but she did it too quickly and almost knocked over a lamp. breathe -- she told herself. before you run just breathe.

she held onto the door frame and as she was taking her last breath, the one that would last her until she was outside, danny came around the door, grabbed her and said "got you!!!!" he threw her onto the bed, still holding her around her waist.

stop it!! she screamed. get off, please god get off of me!! she tried to kick her legs but they were pinned down so she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed as hard as she could. he raised his upper body and looked down at her for a few seconds. she kept her eyes closed as tight as she could and said "please just let me go."

jeez, he said. you are weird.

she ran down the stairs and out the front door, and no one called after her. not jim or mrs. troutman, or of course danny. she was thankful for that.

once she had biked home and was through the front door she realized how hard she was shaking. she was shaking in every direction -- side to side, up and down, inside and out. her mom called out, she was already home, but her dad wasn't on his chair. she said "hi" as loud as she could and then walked inside the coat closet and closed the door behind her. she held onto the doorknob and tried to make her breathing even. she practiced whispering "hi. everything's fine. how was your day? jim's ok. i don't think i'll go back though, i'm going to rachel's tomorrow." her voice sounded pretty normal, she decided. she slowly opened the door and closed it behind her. no one had noticed.

she walked into the kitchen and her mom looked up from the newspaper she was reading.
hi honey, are you ok?
what? uh huh.
you look a little flustered.
not really. jim's stepbrother came over today and he was a jerk. boys are dumb.
some of them, yes.

she went upstairs to change and had to pass by her parents bedroom on the way to hers. she turned her head around a corner and saw what looked like her dad's slippers, attached to his legs but upside down. she squinted and moved closer to the door.
dad?
she pushed the door open and saw her dad laying face down, half way on the gray velour sofa that once was new. his upper body was on the pillows and his the middle of his thighs were laid across the armrest, so that he was a straight plank.
dad, wake up. wake up dad, you aren't in bed.
one eye opened and he made a little moan. he tried to stand up but his leg gave way and he and fell. diana held her hands over her mouth and watched, helpless, until she couldn't any longer.
she bent down and hooked her arms under his arm pits, and spread her legs to bear his weight. she breathed in once and then out as she lifted him up. she steadied him against her side and scooted him over to the bed where he collapsed, straight again like a plank. she knew his slippers would fall to the floor eventually so she didn't bother to take them off.

instead she went downstairs and yelled to her mother as she walked out the door "i'm going to ride my bike." she got on it and started to pedal, and didn't stop when her street did.

how it works

the couple behind blake and gina at the registrar's office couldn't speak any english. they had a friend with them, or maybe someone they had hired, to help translate. they were young and tiny, clutching each others hands and keeping their arms bent as if in mutual prayer. she was wearing a beautiful but tattered green beaded dress and he was in a suit, except instead of a typical tie there was just a colorful ribbon tied in a bow. the man with them, taller and heavier, sweating, coached them in a language that wasn't familiar to gina.

where were they from, gina wondered, and how did they end up the east los angeles registrar's office on a wednesday afternoon? although she supposed the same question could have been asked about any of them in that interminable line, winding around metal posts that were half outside, exposed to the naked sun, and half under a concrete ceiling where the row of clerk's windows were. the line would take you underneath the ceiling, then back out. people shuffled along as if waiting for a boring, scary roller coaster, one that required seeing all of your most personal and sacred documents before you could ride.

not everyone in line was trying to get married. the sign above the clerk's windows said "birth, death & marriage records," so gina assumed that the babies on the hips of their mothers or waiting in the shaded area with fathers and grandmothers were there to become official, there to be registered as real. and the older people, in line alone or with a much younger family member, there to make official the end of a life. check this box if your husband died.

gina and blake, of course, were there to get married. or at least get the necessary paperwork in place so that they could get married tomorrow. their understanding, after speaking to their lawyer and reading endless websites about the process, was that to get married you had to file a petition and then have a judge or priest marry you within thirty days. they were on a road trip across the country, had started in the south, and had planned the trip around having the ceremony in los angeles. they didn't want anything fancy or big or traditional, just a courthouse wedding, just make it official and lets drive back across the country and start the next round of paperwork to get blake's green card. they were in love and they were excited, but they couldn't know what it would mean, nor did they attempt to figure it out beforehand. it was the way to get him to the united states and they wanted to be together, so they were getting married in a courthouse in la with two old friends as witnesses, and that would then be their story.

they drove in from san diego, where they had stayed with the family of gina's friend sally, straight to the address they found online for the east los angeles registrar's office. they needed a prenup too, just because of the nature of this marriage they figured, and hoped there would be a lawyer somewhere nearby that they could pay to notarize they most basic version they had found online and printed out yesterday at sally's parents house. in retrospect of course, years later, they would marvel at the terrifying simplicity of it all, they would remember how they went from one dot to the next, connecting each one, creating a map as they went. people had asked if they were scared and they told them the truth, neither one them had felt any fear. you can only be scared if there is something unknown, blake said just a few days before, and they knew all along that being together was the only right and good thing for them. if the paperwork wasn't in perfect order then they would have to go back and fix it, and then get married on another day in another place. the plan would be disrupted, and that would rattle gina, but they knew they would always, eventually, be able to get married and the ultimate promise, the promise of blake's forever life in the united states, was a guarantee. they anticipated some things not going exactly as they had imagined, but couldn't imagine that creating any fear in them, knowing that the final prize, being together, couldn't be denied to them forever.

tan from san diego, and palm springs before that, they put their arms out and took pictures together, holding up the packet of papers that would grant them the ability to be married. no one else in line was taking pictures.

when they finally reached the front of the line, the discussion amongst the couple and their companion behind them became more frantic. the young woman in the green dress closed her eyes and began mumbling something under her breath, over and over and over. her partner, her husband to be, released her hands for the first time gina had seen in the hour or so they had waited in line together, and wrapped his arms sideways around her teenage waist. the translator, using his hands wildly, was speaking to them at a frantic pace, speaking so quickly gina wondered if he was also reciting some prayer over and over, something memorized it was so fast. but it wasn't the calming rhythmic ebb and flow of a prayer, it was didactic and pointed, a coach's last words before a big game.

when gina and blake arrived to the window a clerk, a middle aged black woman wearing reading glasses attached to a metal necklace, asked them "marriage?" they said yes and handed her their birth certificates, information about their parents births and deaths and addresses, their passports and IDs and social security cards and the application for a marriage license that they had filled out with their lawyer's help. she began processing it and asked them when they were planning to get married.

the triad behind them were now at a window beside them. the translator, the coach, was explaining some missing paperwork, in a much calmer voice than he had been using just seconds before.

blake told the clerk that they would like to get married tomorrow and were told they could make an appointment for a ceremony here.

the tsunami, gina heard him say. everything was lost in the tsunami.

the clerk looked at them over her glasses with a sideways smirk on her face. "you wanna get married tomorrow in los angeles? and you haven't scheduled an appointment for a ceremony yet?" blake and gina looked at each other. "yes. we were told that this is how it works."

and though if you had opened gina up, and dug past the tan and the prenup and the lawyer and the form 230A, you would have found the calm and the absolute knowledge that everything was going to be ok, resting on top of it all like an oil spill was fear. she repeated what blake had just said, "we were told that this is how it works. we have to fill out this information with you before we can schedule a ceremony, so how could we have scheduled a ceremony yet?" her voice broke.

blake reached down and squeezed her hand and looked and her and said, "its going to be fine."

and the ones next to them, the woman, the tiny little girl, now speaking to the clerk in a language she doesn't even expect to be understood, and the large man speaking over her in broken english: "there has to be a way! don't you hear what i am saying! they are refugees!"

blake and gina's clerk continued to look at them over the horizon of her eyeglasses. her smirk was now just a fault line. "the beverly hills courthouse has been booked for months. you do know that gay people can get married now?"

"well i'm sure there are other courthouses in the los angeles area," blake said, "and i'm sure there is a way to get a short ceremony in one of them scheduled for tomorrow. please." she kept her gaze on them, somehow the two of them at once, for a few more seconds and then rolled her eyes and said without turning her body or her head, "rafael! get me norwalk on the phone."

gina breathed. the situation next to them was looking bad. all three of them were in tears now, different styles and different measures but tears nonetheless. a manager had come, bent down to the level of the clerk's window. "there isn't anything we can do here. you will need to take that up with the office of refugee resettlement. we can't grant you a marriage with no paperwork to prove you exist. that's just how it works, and i'm very sorry. truly."

the translator said one word, loudly, and the couple collapsed into each other, a bouquet of sobs that might, from a distance, look like joy.

rafael came back with a piece of paper and blake and gina's clerk dialed the phone next to her and said "marie? its diane. do you have anything open tomorrow? uh huh.... yeah. ok i'll tell em. you too hon. thanks now."

gina clutched blake's hand, her fingertips digging into the valleys of his knuckles. its going to be fine, she said to herself. its going to be fine.

"you are pretty lucky today i have to say. we got you one at 11:30am at norwalk." she pulls out a piece of paper from a shelf underneath her desk. she highlights the address, writes the time and writes "30 mins early" beside it. "you better get there by 11:00am though. i'm telling you these courthouses are booked because of the gays getting married. just get there early is all i'm saying." diane slips them the paper with the address, and another piece of paper which they are to give to the people at the norwalk courthouse tomorrow before they get married. "any questions?"

"no, i don't think so," blake said, looking at gina. "thanks a lot, diane. we really, really appreciate it."

"uh huh. congratulations," diane said, and beckoned for the next person in line to step up to the window.

blake and gina hug and she started to cry, and diane said, "i know you're emotional but you could you just kindly step over to the side so the next person can be helped? thanks now."

so they walked back out into the sun, and hug and cry for a little while there, the paperwork allowing them to get married in blake's hand. "what if..." gina started to say, and blake shook his head and said, "there was never anything to worry about."

but she knew then, in the blinding heat of the sun at the east los angeles office of birth, death & marriage records, that there always was, and there always would be.

bona fide

Please present any and all evidence showing that you and Immigrant Petitioner 787-985-UK1 have a bona fide relationship. Such evidence may consist of: travel itineraries; plane tickets; lease agreement; rent receipts; mortgage agreement; health insurance policies; life insurance policies; utility bills; affidavits from friends (sample enclosed); greeting cards and notes; and any photographs that include both of you.


the bathroom at lit

scar on my knee from falling in the rain in the middle of a night in january, while i was holding a hamburger and running for the taxi he hailed

donna tartt's "the little friend"

mates of state at the bowery ballroom

fake furry mouse, ratty now, that he brought to my new kitten

a hot dog at shea stadium

hot pink shorts and a black top

flip cup at water taxi beach, the night we wrestled in the sand and drew a crowd

photographs, for the first time in my life

gin and tonic in a canada dry bottle

23rd Street/ Ely Avenue stop on the E train

my corduroy couch

the union square barnes and noble, reading the children's book "corduroy" to him

a strip of photo booth pictures, both of us wearing hats, from a dive bar in brooklyn that played only johnny cash

pierogies

$6 spent on buck hunter the day i finally beat him

rollerblades that i tried on once, as he pulled me down the carpeted hallway

wrenched, staccato tears at the JFK airtrain station

a phone call the next morning

a phone call every day since

ferris wheel in edinburgh on new years eve

lost coat in paris

a hotel room so small we couldn't both be standing

two cups of tea at his nan's (childhood pictures of his freckles, knock knees)

conversations on my stoop, outside the train station, in bed, walking down sixth avenue, during lunch

the best night's sleep i ever got at the lake house in finland

definitive gold box edition: twin peaks

lawyer, conference call

a white dress i had since i was 16, my old pink converse, and baby's breath in my hair

the judge, who asked us to promise to take each other as partners and best friends for life

appetizer platter at applebee's afterward

the low california king at the standard

forms 1-864 and DS-230 parts one and two and

fat sheep in ireland six weeks before the election

a two minute fifty five second long voicemail of nothing but the heart burstingly wordless hysteria the night barack obama became president

driving by stonehenge with his mum at the wheel; pictures out the window

mogwai at field day, which we missed because we kissed throughout the whole set

jewelry from a gypsy in sarajevo

the lomo

his eskimo joe's t-shirt that i sleep with, clutched to me like a teddy bear

fattest, freshest mussels at the glass castle, the only pub near lulworth cove, the night i drank white wine because the bartender didn't know how to make a martini and hung my head and cried because i was scared

"bride wars," "knocked up," "confessions of a shopaholic" watched on flights back to new york to keep any sadness muted

postcards taped to the bathroom wall

photographs covering the refrigerator door

kitten

puppy

pupsicle

monkey

squirrel

tickles

babes

meow

i miss you

its almost over

i can promise you

go back to sleep

i'll be there soon

new york, new york

she had been there before on school trips and with her mother in middle school, but the first real time sabrina had ever been to the city was with her best friend charlotte on their 18th birthday. they went to visit another friend from high school who was subletting a place in murray hill. the words sublet and murray hill meant nothing to sabrina, not yet, but they were tiny, fascinating pebbles that made up the wonder of new york, and she couldn't wait to touch them.
it was the summer before they went to college, and sabrina's family had just moved from georgia to california because of her stepfather's job. she took the red eye, getting to new york at 6am, and knocked on her friend's door. no one answered. she knocked and knocked and finally dana came to the door in an oversized shirt with mascara crusted around her eyes.
hi, she said. im hungover. i have to sleep.
there were two more people in the apartment, passed out on dana's couch. charlotte wouldnt be there for another four hours, so sabrina decided to take the subway somewhere.
wait, she said as dana wobbled back to her bedroom. how do i get on the subway?
dana closed her eyes. i cant explain it. just walk outside and ask someone.
sabrina went to the bathroom. it was littered with kleenex and empty snapple bottles, open lipsticks and pressed powder, halves of pairs of earrings and tangled necklaces. she opened her makeup bag but didnt want to use any of it. instead she rummaged around dana's stuff and used what she could find. she hadn't slept at all on the plane, just rotated positions and tried to avoid contact with the overweight man next to her. she felt like she did after sleepovers as a child, when she would stay up late watching scary movies and eating junk food, sleep for only an hour or two and then wake up to donuts and sunny d. she felt dirty, sugar frenzied, and a little sad. she couldnt wait to be outside.
sabrina emerged from dana's apartment before 7am on a saturday morning. hardly anyone was out except for street cleaners and the occasional jogger. she walked into a deli on the corner of 42nd street and 1st avenue and asked the man behind the counter where the subway station was.
where do you want to go, he asked.
she shrugged her shoulders. it doesnt matter.
then just walk west on 42nd street. youll see the green line, the 4/5/6.
she looked at him for a second. ok, she said.
she walked west and after a few blocks she saw the subway station. Downtown Only, it said. so she waked down beneath the street, bought a week long subway pass from the machine, and sat on a bench, waiting for the train. there werent many people waiting with her but the ones that were looked mostly like they had just come from working somewhere or were on their way to. tired faces, some of them in uniforms, sabrina guessed they were janitors or cleaning ladies or waitresses or security guards. there were a couple of people in workout clothes, and a mother with a baby in a fancy, two tiered stroller. finally the 4 train came and they all got in.
sabrina tried to read but couldnt. she wanted to watch the people with their tiny dogs, she wanted to know what book the man across from her was reading, wanted to figure out the song playing in the headphones of the teenage girl next to her. where were they all going at this hour, she wondered. why werent they sleeping? she didnt have a plan, didnt know when she would get off, but she felt so safe and curious down underneath the streets, in this metal machine that carried her and all of these interesting strangers with it. after half an hour riding she decided to get off at the next stop, which was borough hall. she emerged from the subway into a world that looked different and yet similar to the neighborhood she had just left. it was grungier and more crowded, people were walking around pulling baskets on wheels behind them, doing their shopping for the day. there was a giant courthouse looking building and a park with benches and a fountain. as she was about to cross the street she asked a fatherly looking man wearing a tshirt and baseball cap where she was.
he looked at her, concerned.
you dont know where you are?
no, its not that im confused ive just never been here before.
youre at the corner of joraleman and clinton.
she looked at him blankly. is this still new york?
its brooklyn, honey. so yes, its still new york.
ok, thanks, she said as he walked briskly away. she sat in the park for awhile and watched people buzz by. the day was beginning, the mommies were out with their strollers and people were going to breakfast. she was astounded at how many other people were by themselves. people reading the paper or a magazine, drinking coffee, eating a bagel. just sitting in the sun with their eyes closed. she loved being by herself but her friends thought she was crazy... they would never go to the movies alone, or have lunch without a friend. sabrina figured it was because she was an only child, was used to playing alone and being quiet. but sometimes it did make her feel lonely, because she knew what other people were thinking -- how sad. she mustnt have any friends or else she would be with them. but now, looking around at all the people sitting or walking or eating by themselves on this saturday morning in july, she didnt feel bad for them and she knew they didnt feel bad for her. no one noticed her, in fact, which was a glorious relief after so many years of standing out. she was very tall and had wild, red, curly hair and thousands of freckles. she was made fun of constantly as a child, and was only then beginning to like her features and play them up. she got compliments from strangers in the mall, children wanted to play with her hair, people asked to have their picture with her. but today, she didnt think anyone had looked at her in a strange way, or in any way at all, and as she sat on the bench in brooklyn she wanted to cry with gratitude.
she went to a diner and had eggs on toast and bacon and coffee, and she read her book and looked out the window. she gave the waitress a 50% tip.
sabrina took the same train back into the city, this time getting off at spring street because it sounded nice. she stopped an older woman with short, sleek gray hair and asked what part of town this was. again, she was met with a concerned look. i'm from out of town, this is my first morning here, sabrina said by way of explanation.
oh, the woman said. youre in soho dear. good luck.
she window shopped and people watched some more. as the day inched on more people were out and her eyes strained to see each one of them, as she desperately wanted to. she was walking on houston, which dana had warned her was pronounced differently than the city in texas and that to pronounce it like the city in texas would be the worst, most embarrassing thing you could do. she wasnt sure if she was going east or west or north or south, but she thought that if she stayed on that street she would at least sort of know where she was.
a homeless person sleeping on the stairs of a building. a man wearing a green cowboy hat and black jeans. two people making out as they walked. a three legged dog. six young guys on skateboards. a woman carrying bags full of flowers. a man in a suit with blood on his face. vomit on the concrete. a tiny asian girl with four inch black patent leather heels on. two obese, bearded men holding hands. graffiti that read: property is theft. a couple with four pugs on leashes. a screaming infant. a beautiful woman in nothing but a bra and a miniskirt and flip flops. three preppie guys in shorts and loafers smoking cigarettes. a teenage girl wearing purple sunglasses and huge headphones with hello kitty dolls hanging from her backpack. a woman in a beautiful african headdress dancing barefoot on the street. a man in a raincoat handing out pieces of paper with a handwritten note: "lonely and looking for a friend. please write to me at 1775 avenue of the americas." a woman on her phone, crying.

****************

years later, after her 18th birthday and four others had passed by, sabrina would move to new york city. she would get an apartment in the lower east side and laugh with dana about murray hill. she would work in a bookstore and sleep with her boss. she would eat a cinnamon raisin bagel with extra butter for breakfast some days when she felt she deserved a treat. she would get lost in the west village on purpose. she would get to the movie theater an hour ahead of time because she knew how long the lines would be. she would trip going up the stairs of the subway while wearing heels, twice. she would go out on her fire escape even though it terrified her and she would watch the people existing six floors beneath her. she would get her palm read. she would play basketball with the kids in her neighborhood court. she would fall in love with a guy who worked in a bakery down the street. they would fuck on the floor at dawn. she would eat pizza at 4am at least once a week. she would get stood up at a bar on ludlow street. she would smoke cigarettes even though she hated them. she would jump through sprinklers in a playground. she would help a mother carry a stroller up the subway stairs. she would tell a construction worker to fuck off because he told her to "smile." she would start seeing a psychoanalyst in the upper east side whose name was hilda and charged $350 a session, because she would be finally ready to talk about her father. she would stop going to see hilda after two weeks because she was mean. she would apply and get accepted to grad school for social work. she would get dressed up and have drinks at the plaza with her best friends. she would fall in love with an indian man who would years later become her husband. she would go get cheese dip from the bodega across the street in her pajamas and slippers. she would get stuck on the f train for two hours and would be on the verge of a panic attack until the woman next to her would put her arm around her and say that it will eventually be ok, they will eventually get out. she would go on an easter egg hunt in prospect park. she would scream at taxi drivers who didnt know how to get somewhere. she would find artwork on the streets and bring it back to her apartment to hang on the walls. she would pose nude for her friends new art magazine. she would have her wallet stolen. she would lose her wallet. she would buy a pair of huge headphones and walk around by herself for hours. she would buy .45 cent books at the strand. she would smoke pot with a homeless person in washington square park. she would pay to see a horrible comedy show. she would make eye contact with a guy on the one train who was eating watermelon and would date him for a few weeks until he began to scare her. she would by a leopard print coat from someone on the street. she would steal food that had been catered for a film that was shooting right outside of her apartment. she would go to the west village halloween parade by herself and think it was sweet when an old man would say "oh i get it-- youre going as a pretty girl!" she would take the train to coney island on a saturday in december and sit on the beach by herself, not drinking or eating or reading. she would have a conversation with a guy in a deli in the east village at 11:00 pm on a friday night about whether human beings were intrinsically good or not. she would listen to people tell her what happened to them on september 11th. she would try to ignore a feeling of jealousy that crept inside of her when they did. she would always keep at least one window open.

**************

she cried once on the D train because she realized, with equal parts thrill and sorrow, that this city had lived inside of her years before she ever arrived, but if she left and never came back it would go on throbbing all the same.

neverland

they hadn't meant to go there, but they did. they stumbled across it on their way to santa barbara, or the wine country, or one of the many trips they went on spontaneously to escape los angeles and sit silently in the car, listening to sad, sweet, lonely music. edward put his tan, strong elbow out of the open jeep window to smoke a cigarette and wizine watched him, slept, sung along. these were the days that weren't yet riddled with unknowables, with fear. these days were certain and calm, the answers lingering there without having been called into being by questions.

edward decided where they would go, what general direction, and wizine was happy to pack a bag and ride. on this trip they headed north and a couple of hours outside of los angeles they passed through a tiny town called solvang. it was made to look like an old dutch village, the storefronts and hotels and restaurants were alpine cottages straight from the cobblestone streets in germany or austria. wizine was astonished. how could such a strange place exist so close to where she lived? how had she never heard of it, never seen it in films, never been taken there before? edward parked the jeep and they got out to walk around. they ate latkes in a restaurant with potted flowers in the windowsills and blonde women dressed in dirndls. this can't be real, she said to edward, and he smiled and said, oh but it is. the town seemed to exist only on this one street, with the mountains surrounding it, highways and emptiness all around for miles.

they didn't say much to each other on these trips, or in their relationship in general. they weren't bored, it didn't collapse because of that, and years later when wizine would think back on that time and that car and the nights they slept next to each other, the one thing she was sure of was that they were loved by one another. loved in a young way that pities, that needs, that understands but doesn't appreciate. they were together, lost and lonely in the meanest city on earth, and the togetherness they created saved them both from total desperation.

they had meant to go to solvang, edward had planned that part. he adored anachronistic people and places and characteristics: a proper mustache on a 23 year old man, a banjo, suspenders, note pads and paper strewn about the bedroom. he had heard about solvang, unlike wizine, and he wanted to show it to her because he loved seeing her seeing new things. she absorbed what was in front of her so fully she sometimes looked like she was in pain. there was hardly anything he loved more, though he never articulated this to her, than putting something new, something different, something unbelievable like a dutch town in the middle of california, in front of her face and watching her eyes become arms and hold it all close to her. it made him want to cry. so much of her did.

after a few hours in solvang, edward looked at a map while smoking a cigarette and decided they were going to take side streets through the mountains to get to his friend's house in santa barbara. he didn't care how long it took. these were the kinds of declarations, the things he believed in, that at that time did not bother or upset wizine. she accepted his need to be in control, to take credit, to do things the hard way just because it looked better, without the slightest bit of worry or disdain. that would come later, in a fiery current of worries and disdains, but for now this was the togetherness that saved them, that pulled them out of the icy water when they had decided to leap from a bridge, when they decided to jump off a cliff. there was nothing to be criticized then because the alternative was certain death.

they started out of solvang, it was dusk and the microphones were playing. the wind was whipping wizine's hair around and she was happy. neither one of them wanted to go back to los angeles. that was always the worst part about their weekend adventures- diving back into the dirty, washed out soup of it. that was the quietest time of all.

for awhile they passed by nothing, just dry mountains and trees on either side. the road winded around twists and turns, they only saw two or three cars. and then, after turning a bend and starting to drive down a straight stretch, they saw a gilded gate with a long, uphill driveway. in cursive script above the gate read "neverland."

edward slowed the car down. "holy shit," he said and laughed. "i think that's where michael jackson lives." wizine had heard of neverland but didn't believe this was it. it can't be, she whispered.

there was a little gatekeepers house off to the side. edward pulled the car into the area in front of the gate. an older man wearing a solid blue uniform emerged with his hands behind his back, slowly. edward and wizine got out of the car.

"hi there," the man said. "welcome to neverland."

"hi. i think we came here by mistake, but is this where michael jackson lives?" edward asked.

"i don't think anyone's ever come here by mistake. and yes, this is michael's home, though he's not here today."

"wow," wizine said. she and edward looked at each other and laughed.

"you two big fans?" the man asked. he seemed excited to have someone to talk to.

"we..." edward started, not knowing how to finish.

"the biggest." wizine said. "thats why this is such a surprise. we were just on our way to santa barbara. just happened across it."

"my, my. thats a story for the grandkids aint it. you two got a camera? you need to remember this."

wizine went into the jeep and pulled out her fathers old nikon camera. this would be one of only a few pictures she had of her and edward together. she handed it to the man. "just press that button," she said.

she and edward ran over to the gate and stood in front of it. the structure was massive, over twice their height. they both turned around and looked up at it before posing for the picture. edward put his arm around wizine's waist and pulled her tight. they were both giddy, giggling.

"one, two, three, neverland!" he took the picture and smiled as he returned the camera to wizine. "yes ma'am," he said. "thats one for the grandkids."

super duper tuesday

coraline was quite impressed with herself, waking up early on a saturday and taking a bus to rhode island with a bunch of strangers to canvass for barack obama. this proved how much she wanted him to win, this was an act above and beyond the call of duty. she would tell her children about it in twenty years, she thought, tell them that she was a part of it, a part of it in a major way. she didn't just read the op-ed articles or attend the occasional phone bank. she went to a battleground state! she pounded the pavement!
she sat next to a window and pretended to read her new yorker as people were filing onto the bus. a conversation erupted about when hillary would concede. a black middle aged woman wearing at least a dozen buttons with images of barack obama, his wife and his daughters, with phrases such as "the dream lives on" and "america's first family," said that if we win big on tuesday its over for her.
"i know we thought that on super tuesday, that we could all rest and go on with our lives after that all happened. but this my friends, this is super DUPER tuesday and this is the final showdown!" she laughed an earnest, meaty laugh and slapped her denim covered thigh.
"amen to that," an elderly black man sitting in front of her murmured. "i'm too old to be riding on buses to rhode island. this better be it."
there were people in their early twenties, closer to coraline's age, but most of them were in pairs or groups. she felt a certain kinship with the lone travelers, the teenage boy with his massive headphones on sitting in the very back row, the earthy looking woman with wild brown curls and crocs on.
what an adventure, she thought to herself as she watched port authority pass by, the new york city streets turn into highway, the buildings become trees, land, fields. she watched as connecticut, a place she had never been before, a place that she thought of as pallid and still, became real. the land was dead and icy but she understood it now, and it excited her, as new things often did.
the bus dropped them off at a small strip mall in a suburb of providence. the headquarters was an empty insurance company office, which was simply a large box of a room with three tables, upon which was a neon splay of dunkin donuts. piles of people's belongings hunkered in corners.
coraline made small talk with other new yorkers. an italian dad from the bronx, wearing a black leather jacket, asked her what she did.
"i write grants. for a non-profit. its a very uninteresting job really. pretty boring. what do you do?"
"i own a limousine service. heard of the 553-4444 commercial?" he sang the numbers, as the scantily clad women on the grating but memorable commercial did.
"oh yeah! wild! everyone knows that commercial. you must have a genius marketing person."
"just me, baby. just me." he jauntily popped the remaining bit of a frosted, sprinkled donut into his mouth and gave her a smile.
the field organizer, a wispy blond boy with thick, black rimmed glasses, stood on a chair to command everyone's attention. he explained what they were going to do that day -- go door to door with a printed out list of all the registered voters in the neighborhood, ask them if they knew who they were voting for, and try to convince them to vote for barack obama if that wasn't already their answer. the field organizer, named McKee ("not mickey"), asked everyone who was comfortable to set out on their own in order to cover more ground. those who weren't could go in pairs.
coraline tried not to make eye contact as people were pairing up. this was just the kind of thing she needed to do alone. small talk wasn't her strong suit.
an extremely tall black man approached her. she smiled awkwardly as if to say, im not interested. instead he said, "hi there, i'm jeff. would you like to team up?"
oh god, she thought. no. no i wouldnt. my therapist would tell me that its alright to want to do things alone, that sometimes its ok to put your own wants and needs above those of strangers.
"sure!" she replied.
"i just think that you can get us in the door, with the blonde hair and all, and i can make the sell," jeff said. "i just got promoted to bank manager at wells fargo, i'm highly trained on how to close the deal."
"great," she said, avoiding eye contact. "lets go!"
they piled into a car with other teams and were dropped off at the corner of peach and rosalyn. they were in the middle of a very quiet, very residential neighborhood. the houses were small but there were yards and multi-car garages. coraline guessed this would be considered upper middle class. it was starting to snow.
"say," coraline began. "i'm keen to just get through this list as fast as we can, so why don't we split it up. ill do the even side of the street, you do the odd?"
"well i think we might be more effective as a team. lets do the first together and see how it works."
"ok" she said, and grit her teeth. "whats the last name of this house?"
he made a joke about a house having a last name. "McEwan."
they walked up three stairs, to a small two story house with a honda civic parked out front. coraline rang the doorbell.
a man in his early forties with a perfectly groomed mustache opened the door, leaving the screened door closed.
"hi, are you mr. mcewan?"
"yes i am. who's asking?"
"hi there. im coraline, and this is jeff, and we just came down from new york on behalf of barack obama. we were just wondering if you knew who you were planning to vote for on tuesday?"
"I do, but i don't believe i'll be telling you." mr. mcewan shut the door. from her various phone banking experiences, this was not surprising to coraline.
"so mark 'REF' for refused to answer. oh well, that'll happen."
"Here's the thing, we need to get in the door. so maybe the first thing off the bat would be to ask them if they wouldnt mind letting us in for awhile."
it was snowing hard now, and neither one of them had an umbrella.
"well jeff im just not sure if we have time to sit down with every person. im getting worried about this snow, i think we should split up and meet at the end of peach street when we're done." that's right, coraline thought to herself. take charge of the situation! don't let this crazy needy bank manager dictate your experience!
she leafed through the packet and found the addresses for the even side of the street. "sound good?" she said cheerily.
"um, sure," jeff said, clearly deflated. she felt guilty for a fleeting instant and thought about sticking with him. but then she thought about the snow and the hours it would take to get through this list at the rate he wanted to go.
many houses were empty, so coraline left a pamphlet about voting times and locations. in some houses, she could hear activity inside the house, but the people inside refused to open the door.
most of the homes had spring decorations on the doors and in windows: st. pattys day clovers and leprechauns, easter bunnies and eggs, paper cut outs of flowers. everything seemed so benign.
she spoke with one woman who was voting for hillary because she cared about people like her. one man came to the front door and told coraline that he doesn't want to vote for hillary or obama, because they don't believe in the one issue that is central to him-- being pro-life. they talked for over ten minutes, about roe versus wade, about how devastating any abortion is, about all the other issues at stake, until finally the man's wife came to the door and said, "ed. dinner is ready" and glared at coraline like she was asking for money.
"well," ed said, "i should go. but i do thank you for coming all this way just to talk to folks like me. ill think it over."
when coraline asked one young mother, with a toddler at her ankles, if she was planning to vote for barack, she replied, "who else would i vote for?" coraline wanted to hug her, she wanted to cry with gratitude.
one young guy in a jersey and shorts answered the door, said his parents werent home. coraline asked him if he was old enough to vote and he said no, though she clearly thought he was.
"ok," she said with disdain catching in her throat. "well if you know anyone who can vote, please tell them that barack obama is the best candidate." as she was turning to walk away she slipped on an icy patch and fell down four stairs on her bottom. she looked up and the guy was still at the front door, propping it open with his knee. his face betrayed no emotion, no recognition of what had just happened. coraline picked herself up, found the clipboard and her pen, and said, "im fine. really, im fine."
the snow had let up and after a couple of hours they had finished the list. seven people she had spoken to were voting for barack obama. six were voting for either hillary or a republican, and one middle aged woman who lived in one of the bigger houses had told her that she wouldn't vote for that terrorist if her life depended on it. coraline said, "well, your life does depend on it. so i'm glad you've thought it through." then she sat on the curb and cried for a minute. she didnt care if the woman saw.
back at the insurance office, people were dethawing and discussing sleeping arrangements. there was a bus going back to new york that night, and though coraline was planning to stay overnight to canvass more on sunday, she was tempted to take the bus.
she asked a man in his thirties, with what looked like prematurely greying hair, if he knew about the sleeping situation, or what they were supposed to do for the rest of the night.
"i could use a drink," coraline said. she meant it.
the man replied with a laugh, "i hear you. i think that everyone is supposed to sleep at a gymnasium in providence...thats what i've been hearing."
"sounds inviting," coraline replied.
"yeah well i lucked out...i have a friend who lives in town. im going to meet up with him later and crash at his place."
they chatted for awhile, coraline found him to be funny and smart, if not necessarily attractive. his name was ian, and she desperately wanted him to invite her to go out with them. it was funny how quickly she switched -- during daylight being alone was inviting, necessary almost. as soon as it got dark, as soon as she the night became a possibility, she wanted companions.
after nearly an hour of standing around, waiting for instructions from McKee or someone else in charge, Ian said: "it probably wouldnt be a problem if you wanted to crash at my buddys place. ill call him and see if he can come pick us up, because it doesnt look like we're leaving anytime soon."
"oh god that would be amazing!" coraline squeezed his arm. "thank you!"
am i being dangerous, she wondered. is this a bad idea? she decided that spending the night in a strange city with two grown men who you have only known for a couple of hours probably looks bad on paper, but the reality of it was as harmless as the houses on peach street, with their bunnies and their pastel colors. ian and his friend had gone to brown; ian was a practicing lawyer in new york; he was dorky, sweet, friendly. and she wanted so badly to not sleep on a gymnasium floor. and she wanted so badly a drink.
ian called his friend and returned with great news. "turns out he's house sitting for his cousin, so there will be plenty of space for us to crash there."
ian told coraline about his friend chuck, chuck who has incredible potential but who is stuck in providence, jobless, waiting for a big break. "he can't have a job like the rest of us. he has these ideas, these ideas for advertising businesses. he'll spend hundreds of dollars getting business cards made that proclaim him to be the founder and CEO and hand a few out, and when no one calls he scratches it and starts again. it can be really, well... really frustrating to be his friend."
"yeah i can imagine."
"but he's great, he's a laugh. i shouldn't have told you all that."
finally a van took a load of volunteers to the campaign headquarters in providence, which was straight out of a movie about the political movements of the 1960s. barefoot, attractive young people flitted around like hummingbirds in a huge, high ceilinged office on the corner of a busy street in downtown providence. the two sides of the office that faced the street were floor to ceiling windows, upon which someone had painted the blue and red face of barack obama. it gave coraline chills.
she and ian sat down to call volunteers to ensure they were still coming for election day. coraline called someone on the list who was five feet away from her, making calls herself. she and ian laughed, but the girl seemed angry.
soon chuck was there in his haggard blue volkswagon golf. he idled outside of the building until they came out. ian held back the passenger seat so coraline could crawl in.
"hi!" she said. "thank you so much for this."
chuck was too tall for the small golf, and also greying like ian. he was jollier, looser than ian, and instantly more irreverent.
"so i hear you want to get drunk. am i mistaken?" he looked at her in the rearview mirror.
"no sir you are not. take me to a bar"
and so he did. the three of them got along easily, sitting in the middle of a chain irish pub. ian and coraline exchanged stories from their day canvassing and chuck shook his head in dismay.
"this is not something i would ever do. going door to door to strangers houses? hell no. its dangerous! were you with other people?"
coraline explained her situation with jeff; ian laughed. chuck looked horrified.
"oh please, it was the sweetest little neighborhood ever! no one was going to hurt me!"
"thats where the crazies live. all those firefighters and cops. they have weapons. im telling you, that wasnt safe."
and then chuck spent half an hour describing his new business to them-- a consulting firm that would exist solely to help companies redesign the lobbies of their offices.
"the lobby is the key, man. you only have one chance to make a first impression."
he handed them his card and coraline snuck a glance at ian, who was smirking.
the card read:
First Impression Design
Chuck De Groot
Founder & CEO
they were multi-colored and the logo was impressive. he had clearly spent a long time and a lot of money on these cards.
"thanks, man. good luck with this one. it sounds like a winner."
chuck cheers-ed to that, and said he had a good feeling about this one.
and then they, of course, talked about barack obama. ian was optimistic, chuck spewed the latest statistics, especially about his dim prospects in rhode island. coraline said tuesday would end it, the end was in sight. she hadn't yet faced the deepest fear, lurking there inside of her, that it could go the other way. she was still, and would remain until that super duper tuesday, truly convinced that the worst was behind them all.
they drank and talked, the bar started closing around them. they walked to a famous hot dog and burger truck that was usually there until the early hours of the morning, but couldn't find it. they walked past the capital building, they toured the charming streets of downtown providence. coraline had to find a bathroom in the lobby of a hotel, chuck worried that she would get in trouble so he stood guard outside the door.
"this is probably drawing unnecessary attention to us, you know," she called from inside the stall.
"that certainly did," he said back.
chuck drove them, woozily, to his cousin's house which overlooked a golf course. it was huge, a five bedroom mansion that looked old from the outside but had recently been renovated. his cousin had three kids, they were all away on a skiing holiday.
"i lucked out finding you guys," coraline said as she stepped inside. it had been months since she had been inside a proper house, let alone slept in one. the counter tops, the note pads, the placemats, the book shelves, the framed paintings. it made her feel, ever so briefly, sick for home.
chuck brought them beers and the three of them sat on the couch and watched TV. flipping through the late night offerings, they stumbled upon footage from a live rolling stones show. it must have been from the late 60s, coraline guessed. she didn't want to offer that thought, in case she was wildly off the mark.
"this is unbelievable" ian whispered. "i didnt know this existed."
they watched it separately, they didn't say anything more. at some point mick jagger welcomes a huge crowd of people onto the stage, and they all sing "give peace a chance."
coraline couldn't figure out how all of those people were related to one another. there were children, there were old people. there were black people, and white people, and asian people. there were people dressed up in suits and people who looked like hippies. they weren't all veterans, they weren't all musicians.
after the song was done, ian said "did anyone know this existed?"
chuck said, "no man. but that shit was-" he shook his head, like he was confused "incredible. i want to watch it again."
but they couldn't. they just kept watching footage of the rolling stones, at some mysterious concert, just having played a song that was not theirs with people who did not belong together. and then the concert ended and a infomercial for an exercise machine came on.
they got ready for bed. ian was going to sleep upstairs, and coraline would sleep on the couch so as not to disrupt another bedroom. chuck got her pillows and blankets, and turned off the tv for her.
"get in," he said. "ill tuck you in."
she did, although through the haze and colors of the evening a bit of worry was popping out.
she laid on the couch and pulled the covers up to her ears. chuck made fists and tucked the covers in around the length of her body. then he sat on the edge of the couch next to her.
"good night," she said.
"so you really think hes going to win?"
she nodded. "yes. i know he is."
"and you really think going door to door in some irish suburb of providence is going to help him win."
she nodded again. "of course it will."
"even when i was your age, i couldnt have thought about it like that."
"i bet thats not true."
"yeah," he let out a short breath and patted her leg.
"it will work out," she said, as if she were tucking him in. as if he were a child, confused and frightened, and she were the one who knew the answers. "this time it has to."
he kissed her on the forehead and went to his room.

the day after super duper tuesday the agonizing realization that this battle, this first battle, was long from over set in. coraline threw up four times at work, told her boss she had to leave, and walked the 72 blocks home. she spent hours looking for a clip of the rolling stones singing "give peace a chance" on youtube, but she never could find it.

who gets the dog?

it was theo's mom's idea. "she saw it on craigslist," he told us while we were on a three-way conference call, like i used to do in 8th grade. it was the summer before we all moved in together, the summer before our senior year of college. the three of us spent hours, dozens and dozens of hours, on the phone together that summer planning our parties, our movie nights, our kitchen table and our sofa and what we would hang on the walls.
wiley had moved into our new house first, he was the only one who had even seen it. it was wiley and wiley alone who had searched for houses, taken pictures and videos of each and emailed them to us daily.
"this is it," he said behind the camera as he shakily filmed a sunshine colored house in glendale with a green front yard and a breakfast nook. "this is where we're going to live."
i stayed up late each night, in the guest bedroom of my parents new house in san francisco, reading through the emails and looking at all he had seen. i imagined a montage of the three of us in the sunshine house-- toasting martinis, dancing to the smiths, spraying a hose at each other in the front yard on a hot day.
but i got another email from wiley. "i know i've said this before but this was really is it." a domed ceiling, a deck, a steep backyard for slip n slides.
he photoshopped the three of us into a picture of the deck with the words "Seasons Greetings! From our home to yours! Love, Wiley, Theo and Ariel."
we got in a fight about why he would list me last. "You're a misogynist. I don't even want a fucking christmas card." i knew he did it on purpose, i knew he knew what i would say, and i knew i was playing into his desperate need to rile me up. but i still couldn't resist. he sent us another, re-photoshopped card with a huge me and two tiny thems standing to either side that read "Holidays are a patriarchal construct. In the name of Womyn everywhere, Ariel (and her pets Wiley and Theo.)"
i called him and we howled with laughter.
the next day we got a final email from wiley. the subject line read: "welcome home" and the body of the email included three pictures of the house, the price, and a sentence that said "i signed the lease today."
panicked, i called theo. "have you talked to him? do you think this is real? he can't of just signed the lease."
theo, calm, sarcastic, unflappable theo, said "yes, yes, and thats not true. he did sign the lease, with leslie as the co-signer."
i hung up and called wiley in tears.
"how could you have done this! without asking? who do you think you are?! and getting your mom to co-sign? really?"
"just calm down lil darling. pack your car and come to LA and you'll see why."
we didnt speak for two weeks, until i got a call from theo, who had wiley on the line.
"my mom found this listing on craigslist: 'new animal planet reality show is looking for a non-traditional family to compete with two other groups for the chance to take home a shelter dog.' i think we should do it."
"we are clearly doing it," wiley said.
"um, what the fuck? a) i dont really want a dog."
"what's b?" wiley said.
"i just...i just hate you guys sometimes."
wiley let out a falsetto "yee haw" and said "thats a yes, man! thats a yes!"
"we have to go to the studio for an interview next week. when are you coming down?"

the studio was on the 20th floor of a shiny building in burbank. i drove in from san francisco and met them there, without seeing the house first. the day was brutally hot, i had forgotten what heat the blindingly grey sky gives off. i was still playacting mad at them, and they were playacting gratitude for my benevolence. we sat in a room and waited until a camera man and a tiny, blonde, tan woman wearing a proper suit came in and sat down at the table across from us. she was the producer, and was going to ask us a few questions about ourselves.
"first of all, tell me what you all do."
theo and wiley's faces were blank. i took over.
"well, we are all seniors at the university of southern california. i'm studying to be a writer, and theo and wiley are in film school." i smiled. she smiled. "very good!" she said, as if i was a four year old who had counted to ten.
"and you all live together?"
"yes," theo began, and his voice was so deep and serious that it caused both wiley and i to hiccup with laughter. "we have just moved into a new house in echo park. it is very nice."
"mmm kay. now tell me, why do you all want a dog?"
wiley began to talk and his hands, long fingered and expressive, came alive. "we want a dog because we feel we are responsible enough to take care of an animal and we all three love animals and since we now have a nice, big space for him we feel that now is absolutely the right time."
"well then," the tiny lady producer said and glanced over at the cameraman, "i have to say you all make a very good looking group." we looked at each other and beamed.
"i think we would like to extend the opportunity for you all to be on the show."
"reeeeally!?" i said, while theo exclaimed, still in his serious voice, "that is wonderful!" and wiley just hissed "yessss!"
she laughed. "yes, really. i will be in touch in the next few days to discuss the details of filming. thank you so much for stopping by and i look forward to working with you!"
we pawed all over each other in the elevator, bursting with carbonated giddiness and unable to stop laughing. i followed wiley's volvo back to our new house, which sat atop a twisting, potholed street in the dead center of echo park. it was adorable, and the inside was like a spanish villa, tiled, pristine, full of light. an upstairs balcony overlooked the living room, which had a fire place and sliding glass doors that led to a wooden deck and views of the hollywood hills. wiley had claimed the entire downstairs floor, which was meant as a den.
"this will be where we have our movie nights, so it will be a social area."
theo and i looked at each other skeptically, he was only paying $100 a month more than us? but for now the unbridled joy of this new life trumped any feelings of anger at him.
plus, my room was perfect. it had a huge closet and three big windows and a non-working fireplace and a bathroom with a jacuzzi bath and a separate shower. i squealed with delight and clapped my hands.
"i knew you would love it." wiley said. "it just had 'ariel' written all over it."
i hugged him tight and we jumped up and down and theo tackled us and we kept jumping and twirling around and theo squeezed us with his short, strong arms and i was laughing so hard it was like i was being tickled and when we finally stopped we were all crying, just a little.

that night our friends lauren and liz came over. liz had just gotten back from hawaii and had brought us a sand bucket full of mini flavored vodkas.
"what's so hawaii about these?" i asked her. we were all sitting on the wood floor of the balcony, drinking champagne.
"um," she lit her cigarette and exhaled, "the bucket."
the only room that was set up was ryan's so we went downstairs and jumped on his bed and played the strokes and lou reed and david bowie really loudly and played twister in our socks on the hardest tile floor i had ever felt, and lauren slipped and hit her head and she played dead for so long that liz freaked out and started to dial 911. when she popped up and said she was just kidding liz slapped her in the face and at first it looked like lauren was going to cry but instead she held her cheek and laughed.
we drank the flavored vodkas, which were so sweet and unnatural tasting that it caused us all to gag. wiley and i sat on the upstairs area we called the porte cochere, though we had no idea what that actually meant. when we were alone we wouldn't start a fight, but the second theo came upstairs and sat with us it gave us the safety to rip into each other, which we were so good at doing.
"i like the house but im sorry," i said and laughed meanly, "that was so dumb of you to sign the lease without us, so dumb wiley, and i think i speak for both theo and myself when i say that you need to be paying a hell of a lot more than $900 for that space downstairs."
wiley's voice rose and his eyes bulged and his hands, with a cigarette in between two fingers, went flying. "YOU DID NOTHING! NEITHER OF YOU DID ANYTHING! if it weren't for me not only would we not have this amazing, this BEAUTIFUL HOUSE we would have nowhere to live! we would have been stuck in some shitty apartment in korea town or we would have had to split up because we couldn't find anywhere big enough! do you not understand that ariel? do you really not understand that?"
"ok wiley, ok, so what you're saying is that because you were in LA all summer and had the time to look for apartments you now have the right to do whatever the fuck you want? you can now just MAKE the rules up because you happened to be here all summer?"
"yes. fuck it, that is exactly what i'm saying."
"if you hadn't taken over we WOULD have come down to look! you wanted to do this, you had nothing else to do!"
lauren and liz wandered halfway upstairs. lauren said, "ok, we're going now. don't fight on your first night here."
we kept at it for hours, constantly asking theo to get involved. he would try to rationalize, try to explain each side to the other one even though he knew, he knew long ago, that was not how our fights worked. we worked ourselves into tears and then, just like that it was over. we had exhausted it. we couldn't go any further. we had scratched the itch.
the three of us wandered downstairs. we would have to all sleep in the same bed, since it was the only piece of furniture in the house. we got in with our clothes on. i was in the middle.

the crews came five days later to start filming. three cameramen and a production person came at 8am to start setting up. the production person, a middle aged woman with tattoos and pincurls, told me to change my jeans. "this is animal planet, not MTV. we don't want to see your thong."
we had gotten the house in better shape, though it still didn't look lived in. my mom had come down with some furniture for my room, and we had bought a 70's style formica kitchen table which sat in the middle of the sprawling living room, with four chairs around it. we had microphones strapped to us, and we went over what would happen during the day. soon an animal trainer and the dog, diamond arrived. he was cute, a miniature golden retriever, though they told us he was actually a mutt. wiley fawned over him, theo, who had grown up with dogs, talked to him in a baby voice, and i squatted down to pet him while trying to avoid showing thong or my natural aversion to dogs.
then the host came, a muscular woman comedian who was compelled to end each sentence with some sort of joke, regardless of it being funny or appropriate. we were told what to say when she "arrived" and had to practice many times.
doorbell rings.
the three of us open it awkwardly all trying to be in the shot.
me: "Hi!"
wiley: "welcome to our home!"
theo: "come right in!"
we sounded so fake, so stiff, that each time it kept getting funnier and we kept messing up and laughing and they had to yell cut and start all over. once we finally got that right, we were told what to say when we saw diamond for the first time, and again had to practice that repeatedly.
after we shot the scenes at our house, we went with diamond and the crew to a near by park. it was hot and bright and the park looked burnt and dead. i didnt want to be there. we had to take him in and out of cones, make him sit for a treat, and make him hop on his hind legs.
"this is inane" i whispered to theo and he put his finger on lips and widened his eyes. he really wanted this dog, i thought. this isnt a joke to him.
back at the house that afternoon, we had to sit with the host for our group interview. this was when we had to prove that we wanted diamond more than either of the other "families." wiley got animated ("we loooove the little doggy and we would be the bessst parents for him in the whole world") and theo became adamant ("there are no better parents than us. we would love and care for him more than anyone else could"). i tried not to laugh.
the camera crew left at dusk, but diamond and a nightvision camera stayed with us. the next day they would come back to pick up the camera and the dog and in a few days we would have to go somewhere with the other families to find out who got the dog.
we planned to cook a real dinner and eat it at our new kitchen table. this would prove to them that we were normal, stable and worthy of a dog. ryan made pasta and overcooked it. i set the table, theo did the filming. we sat down to eat with a bottle of wine.
at first the conversation was comically stifled. we didn't know how to be normal, we had nothing to talk about other than the dog. so we kept drinking wine and pretty soon we started talking about america, and george bush, and what will be different when kerry wins.
"the one good thing bush has done is the work in africa to eliminate AIDS," wiley said, smugly.
"and where did you read that, might i ask? because its clearly not true."
he laughed his laugh that meant, i knew this would kill you and its working. "i didnt read it anywhere."
"so what you're saying is that you have never read or heard anything about bush and AIDS in africa before, but you just know it to be true? did it come to you in a dream?"
"i didnt say i hadn't heard anything about it."
"oh goddammit this is what makes you so impossible to deal with. are we going to have a real conversation about this or are you going to be your 14 year old boy self and put your fingers in your ears?'
"yes, yes ariel i am impossible to deal with. i was just about to say, before you sort of flew off the handle there," he took a moment to look at the camera that theo was still holding and roll his eyes dramatically, "is that i saw a piece about it on PBS. bush has actually invested millions and millions of dollars in dealing with AIDS in africa"
the dog was asleep under our table.
"hmmm interesting. did PBS mention the global gag rule? which denies funding to ANY organization around the WORLD that gives out condoms?"
"no it didnt. which is terrible, obviously. but you cant deny that he has at least spent some time and energy on it."
"yes, yes i can. but thanks for asking." i swallowed half a glass of wine and said i was going to bed.
"oh i dont think so. i cooked this meal, theo's filming the whole night and youre just going to go to bed? this is why we had to throw away that pot that had the spider webby mold on it! you never do dishes!"
i looked at him with an anger that had claws. "i never do dishes? i really, really don't think you want to start THIS fight wiley! i am just refusing to do this right now! i am not having this fight for the 67th time!"

i stormed off to my room and slammed the door, wiley laughed manically and theo kept filming it all. after an hour i emerged, saw the dishes on our kitchen table that we had bought last week at an antique store, and went down to wileys room. he was playing with the dog on his bed and theo was filming it. i stood by the door for a few minutes, they knew i was there. i walked over to his closet door and opened it. i took a tie off a hanger and put it around my neck. the dog had lost interest and i knew both wiley and theo were looking at me.
i turned around.
"teach me how to do this."
wiley smiled a little, sitting cross-legged on the bed, and said "make the wide end be a lot longer than the skinny end. longer... ok stop there. now wrap the wide side around the skinny side twice. do it again but start off with the wide side. yes, thats right. now push the wide end up through the back of the knot...ok... then put the wide end through the front side of the knot. now pull down on both ends to make the knot tight. and then just pull on the skinny one.. and then to finish it off slide the knot up to your neck. there you go."

the tie was perfect, but we didn't get the dog.