kim, part one
theres a picture from that day- of kim and i in our red velvet dresses, the lopsided bows holding back only bits of our feathery hair, both the same shade of blonde. we're standing by a giant column in the civic center, waiting for the nutcracker to start. im hugging the column and smiling with my eyes closed and kim has one hand on it and the other one on her hip, scowling at the camera with a slicing bitterness. we were angry at our mothers for some reason-- maybe it was the bows that we, as five year olds, felt we were too old to be wearing, or maybe it was one of those times when sitting in the back seat became a conspiratorial game of us versus them, the weak versus the strong, the ones affected by the decisions versus the ones making them. kim was the one who brought these things to light; just like she was the one that led me over fences when we both knew i was physically incapably of climbing them. she was stronger and braver and wasnt afraid of earthworms or bruises or getting yelled at. she had warts on her hands, and years later she would tell me that the moment she felt most loved in her life was when i held her hand in kindergarden, finally accepting of the warts' harmlessness. in any case, we were indignant the whole day, which must have been terribly frustrating to my mother and sandy- after all, this was supposed to be a girly day, a mother-daughter bonding day, a memorable glittery day captured by a gilded frame worthy photo.
mom and i went to the nutcracker every year before that and every year since, and every time the snow queen comes out my legs and arms go numb, im so transfixed by the grace of it all, by the sheer sweet beauty of it, by my own jealously of the snow queen and her suspension from reality. shes dangling there in front of it, in front of us mortals who have never known the feeling of hypnotizing thousands of people at once. but kim wasnt buying it that day, and i had to act like i wasnt either or else she would roll her eyes and the fun would stop. there were many moments in our friendship when i tucked away what felt right and went with the alternative she offered, which was dangerous, trouble, or absolutely exhilarating. or, as it has turned out, usually all three. she was always implying this to me- that you cant grow much if you just do what feels inevitable.
we went to gorins after the show, an ice cream shop in five points, in the hip part of birmingham where, if you were lucky, you might see a kid dressed in all black or torn jeans or something equally as obscene and the sighting would be like that of a celebrity. the outside of it was painted green and it was right beside where my mom used to do step aerobics. obviously she wasnt too worried about the part of town-- she gave me money for gorins and let me sit on the benches outside of the windowed studio, chasing pigeons and avoiding eye contact with the regulars- the homeless people who lived there, who had made a community there which silently but polietly awknowlegded my presence. she would come out looking like a giant piece of pasta that had just been drained but was still damp and she would ask me what kind of ice cream i got (always the same- mint chocolate chip in a rainbow sprinkle cone).
it was nighttime when the four of us arrived at gorins that winter night. kim and i ran to the bathroom, our patent leather shoes tickling the lineoleum floor. we spent a long time in there giggling and looking in the mirror and probably throwing toilet paper around or counting our beauty marks, which would, in the months to come, be the reason for my first and last trip to the hospital.
when finally came out we were told to hurry up and order ice cream, and then took it outside where we ate a few bites then let the pigeons have it as we "rowed the rope," which was hanging onto the thick iron chain that bordered the courtyard and swinging back and forth on it, pretending like we were doing some sort of chore on a boat.
sandy walked up to us, harried and haggard, and told us that it was time to go. they had been keeping their distance, not wanting to aggravate our tempers, trying to maintan a sense of freedom for us, no matter how false. we begged for five more minutes and sandy said no. she said we're leaving now. we said, well, we arent. and then sandy said do i have to start counting. and as she started walking to the car that my mom was leaning against said five. kim and i looked at each other. sandy was notorious for doing this. my mom never did. it felt too classically conditioned for her- like at the sound of "one" we would start to salivate like pavlov's dogs, or the equivalent which would be doing what they were asking us to do in the first place. four. kim shrugged her shoulders which meant "carry on" and we kept rowing the rope. three. they wouldnt leave us. but the rowing got slower on my part as i glanced over to the car to see my mom getting in. two. kim said "hey" and shook the chain rope. "they wont leave! dont be a chicken, thats what they want." one. by the time she said it sandy was closing her door. we were still rowing but more out of nervousness then than anything else- it was like if we stopped to look it would become real, and it was way too exciting and terrifying to deal with. the engine started, kim told me to look at her, not at them. they wont drive off she said. watch, they wont drive off.
and then sandy was pulling out of the parking spot and driving off.
and we were alone, in front of gorins in five points at nine o clock at night on a friday in december, holding onto a chain rope that we could actually trick ourselves into believing was part of a ship, surrounded by kids in grungy clothes, homeless people settling down for the night, and a herd of pigeons feasting on our ice cream cones, which were now face down on the dirty concrete, being devoured like a dead animal by vultures.
it was time to start making our way back home. thats where youre supposed to go when you get separated from your grown ups in crowded places- home base. which was either the car in the parking lot of whatever event you were at, or the information booth. but that night it was my house, since mine was the least far away and the one we could remember how to get to on foot.
i wasnt scared for some reason. something about it felt perfectly natural, unlike the times kim had to hoist me up over the wire fence just so i could fall to my rocky demise on the other side. unlike smoking the cigarette out of her window in seventh grade, even though she said like i looked like a living virgina slim. unlike being indignant about the nutcracker. this was right, i wasnt having to convince myself of it. she wasnt having to convince me of it. we would just walk home, and they would be sorry but proud.
we held hands and walked up the street that was right next to gorins, the street sandy had just driven up. people were out, cars were passing, no one was really looking at us all that strangely. but when we got to highland avenue, and boy it had never looked bigger, we forgot which way to go to get to my street. we went into the western, the neighborhood grocery store that was open 24 hours, and asked the cashier. she squinted her eyes at us and said "you gurls allright?" and we looked at each other to make sure nothing looked the matter and nodded. yeah, we were doing good.
she pointed us in the right direction and we were off again, holding hands and looking left right left before crossing any street. when we had to cross highland to get to milner crescent there was a group of teenagers who were hanging out at John Carroll High School, at the foot of my road, who seemed worried. this one girl in a tshirt and shorts, who had a red plastic cup in one hand insisted on holding my hand as i held kims and crossing the street together. she kept asking us where we were going, why we were so dressed up, where were our parents, where did we live. we knew better than to tell strangers those things but i distinctly remember kim putting her hand on the girls arm and saying "we'll be juuuust fine" like a little old lady, or a wife to her husband when her and her girlfriends are about to go out. the girl looked at us as her friends were climbing the hill to the school and shouting at her to hurry up and she said, "just be ok. be ok." like she was willing it to happen, like she needed it for herself.
we were already on my street! we had done it, were going to show them! it probably took about an hour, but we had covered over a mile's distance. they thought they could leave us there? ha. little did they know.
as we were walking up the path to my house, as i was reaching under the welcome christmas mat to get the spare key, as we were preparing to go inside, turn off the christmas tree lights (kim said, dont you know thats dangerous?) and change clothes before walking the second mile to her house, sandys car pulled up.
ill never forget it- i could hear my mother crying through the windows of the car. she was leaning up, her head tiny and framed by sandys arms on the wheel. they stayed there like that for a second, sandys face steely and sharp, my mothers collapsed face contorted with tears. i was bent down by the mat, frozen by them. kim was silent, half turned towards them. the window rolled down and sandy said "kim get in the car."
my mom got out of sandys car and she passed kim on the walkway without saying anything. kim whispered "goodbye" and i shrugged my shoulders. mom didnt hug me or kiss me or say how in the world did you find your way home. she opened the door, i walked in behind her, she looked at me and said, "we thought you had died."
"but we didnt."
i might have,
but we didnt.
mom and i went to the nutcracker every year before that and every year since, and every time the snow queen comes out my legs and arms go numb, im so transfixed by the grace of it all, by the sheer sweet beauty of it, by my own jealously of the snow queen and her suspension from reality. shes dangling there in front of it, in front of us mortals who have never known the feeling of hypnotizing thousands of people at once. but kim wasnt buying it that day, and i had to act like i wasnt either or else she would roll her eyes and the fun would stop. there were many moments in our friendship when i tucked away what felt right and went with the alternative she offered, which was dangerous, trouble, or absolutely exhilarating. or, as it has turned out, usually all three. she was always implying this to me- that you cant grow much if you just do what feels inevitable.
we went to gorins after the show, an ice cream shop in five points, in the hip part of birmingham where, if you were lucky, you might see a kid dressed in all black or torn jeans or something equally as obscene and the sighting would be like that of a celebrity. the outside of it was painted green and it was right beside where my mom used to do step aerobics. obviously she wasnt too worried about the part of town-- she gave me money for gorins and let me sit on the benches outside of the windowed studio, chasing pigeons and avoiding eye contact with the regulars- the homeless people who lived there, who had made a community there which silently but polietly awknowlegded my presence. she would come out looking like a giant piece of pasta that had just been drained but was still damp and she would ask me what kind of ice cream i got (always the same- mint chocolate chip in a rainbow sprinkle cone).
it was nighttime when the four of us arrived at gorins that winter night. kim and i ran to the bathroom, our patent leather shoes tickling the lineoleum floor. we spent a long time in there giggling and looking in the mirror and probably throwing toilet paper around or counting our beauty marks, which would, in the months to come, be the reason for my first and last trip to the hospital.
when finally came out we were told to hurry up and order ice cream, and then took it outside where we ate a few bites then let the pigeons have it as we "rowed the rope," which was hanging onto the thick iron chain that bordered the courtyard and swinging back and forth on it, pretending like we were doing some sort of chore on a boat.
sandy walked up to us, harried and haggard, and told us that it was time to go. they had been keeping their distance, not wanting to aggravate our tempers, trying to maintan a sense of freedom for us, no matter how false. we begged for five more minutes and sandy said no. she said we're leaving now. we said, well, we arent. and then sandy said do i have to start counting. and as she started walking to the car that my mom was leaning against said five. kim and i looked at each other. sandy was notorious for doing this. my mom never did. it felt too classically conditioned for her- like at the sound of "one" we would start to salivate like pavlov's dogs, or the equivalent which would be doing what they were asking us to do in the first place. four. kim shrugged her shoulders which meant "carry on" and we kept rowing the rope. three. they wouldnt leave us. but the rowing got slower on my part as i glanced over to the car to see my mom getting in. two. kim said "hey" and shook the chain rope. "they wont leave! dont be a chicken, thats what they want." one. by the time she said it sandy was closing her door. we were still rowing but more out of nervousness then than anything else- it was like if we stopped to look it would become real, and it was way too exciting and terrifying to deal with. the engine started, kim told me to look at her, not at them. they wont drive off she said. watch, they wont drive off.
and then sandy was pulling out of the parking spot and driving off.
and we were alone, in front of gorins in five points at nine o clock at night on a friday in december, holding onto a chain rope that we could actually trick ourselves into believing was part of a ship, surrounded by kids in grungy clothes, homeless people settling down for the night, and a herd of pigeons feasting on our ice cream cones, which were now face down on the dirty concrete, being devoured like a dead animal by vultures.
it was time to start making our way back home. thats where youre supposed to go when you get separated from your grown ups in crowded places- home base. which was either the car in the parking lot of whatever event you were at, or the information booth. but that night it was my house, since mine was the least far away and the one we could remember how to get to on foot.
i wasnt scared for some reason. something about it felt perfectly natural, unlike the times kim had to hoist me up over the wire fence just so i could fall to my rocky demise on the other side. unlike smoking the cigarette out of her window in seventh grade, even though she said like i looked like a living virgina slim. unlike being indignant about the nutcracker. this was right, i wasnt having to convince myself of it. she wasnt having to convince me of it. we would just walk home, and they would be sorry but proud.
we held hands and walked up the street that was right next to gorins, the street sandy had just driven up. people were out, cars were passing, no one was really looking at us all that strangely. but when we got to highland avenue, and boy it had never looked bigger, we forgot which way to go to get to my street. we went into the western, the neighborhood grocery store that was open 24 hours, and asked the cashier. she squinted her eyes at us and said "you gurls allright?" and we looked at each other to make sure nothing looked the matter and nodded. yeah, we were doing good.
she pointed us in the right direction and we were off again, holding hands and looking left right left before crossing any street. when we had to cross highland to get to milner crescent there was a group of teenagers who were hanging out at John Carroll High School, at the foot of my road, who seemed worried. this one girl in a tshirt and shorts, who had a red plastic cup in one hand insisted on holding my hand as i held kims and crossing the street together. she kept asking us where we were going, why we were so dressed up, where were our parents, where did we live. we knew better than to tell strangers those things but i distinctly remember kim putting her hand on the girls arm and saying "we'll be juuuust fine" like a little old lady, or a wife to her husband when her and her girlfriends are about to go out. the girl looked at us as her friends were climbing the hill to the school and shouting at her to hurry up and she said, "just be ok. be ok." like she was willing it to happen, like she needed it for herself.
we were already on my street! we had done it, were going to show them! it probably took about an hour, but we had covered over a mile's distance. they thought they could leave us there? ha. little did they know.
as we were walking up the path to my house, as i was reaching under the welcome christmas mat to get the spare key, as we were preparing to go inside, turn off the christmas tree lights (kim said, dont you know thats dangerous?) and change clothes before walking the second mile to her house, sandys car pulled up.
ill never forget it- i could hear my mother crying through the windows of the car. she was leaning up, her head tiny and framed by sandys arms on the wheel. they stayed there like that for a second, sandys face steely and sharp, my mothers collapsed face contorted with tears. i was bent down by the mat, frozen by them. kim was silent, half turned towards them. the window rolled down and sandy said "kim get in the car."
my mom got out of sandys car and she passed kim on the walkway without saying anything. kim whispered "goodbye" and i shrugged my shoulders. mom didnt hug me or kiss me or say how in the world did you find your way home. she opened the door, i walked in behind her, she looked at me and said, "we thought you had died."
"but we didnt."
i might have,
but we didnt.
posted by Jessica Baxter | 2:11 PM
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