We are driving to the Florida panhandle for the GIA conference. Janet has arranged with an old friend for us to stay in her house right on the water. It's a tall, rambling old wooden beach house. We actually have to cross a floating dock on foot to get there. Once inside, I realize it's filthy, there's grime everywhere. The staff aren't the only people staying there, too - all these theater people from Seattle have come down for the conference and are staying in the house with us.
Janet tells me I'd better go inside and select a bedroom before everyone else starts fighting over them, so I go upstairs and pick out the least dirty room, with a single bed and an old recliner in it. I leave my duffle bag [an object I have never owned or used in real life] on the floor and head back downstairs to start cleaning and making dinner.
From the kitchen I can see down a wide staircase into the basement. There are five enormous dogs sleeping on the floor down there, fanning out in a circle like rays from the sun. I realize there is actually a grown man in the circle sleeping with them; I think, who is Janet's friend, who leaves her dogs and her grown son and her mess for us to take care of?
The young man comes upstairs and immediately starts talking my ear off, blathering on a million miles a minute. He shows me a small plastic cup, the kind that take-out salad dressing or salsa would come in, and he asks, "Do you have one of these yet?" I look at him in utter confusion, and he continues: "You know, to siphon off your breast milk." I'm dumbfounded and alarmed. He says, while miming demonstration, "You pull down your nursing bra, and you hold the cup right beneath the nipple, turning it slowly. All of the residual milk will collect in the cup." I'm horrified that we are having this conversation. [NB: I hosted a baby shower today. Coincidence?]
I extract myself quickly and return to my room, where Keira McDonald has settled into the bed. It's been forever since I've seen her, and it's great that she's there, but I am NOT giving that bed up. I tell her that I'd already called it, but she points out that my duffle bag was on the floor, and not on the bed. She says to me, "You snooze, you lose!" [Keira is not without sass in real life, but I can't imagine anything like this actually happening.] I sputter, "But Janet told me to come up first!" (... the implication being that because she's Miranda's mom, what she says goes). I recognize the weakness of my argument, so I leave. I guess I'm stuck with the dirty old recliner.
I head back across the floating docks to the conference center. As I'm walking, I pass dozens of teenagers, paddleboarding and jetskiing in the water. It's too shallow to swim in, and I'm really disappointed.
When I arrive at the conference center, I head into a large classroom where people are cutting up paper. I have to pee, so I go out into the hallway to find the restroom. The line is winding down the hall, probably 30 or 40 people long. I stride past them all, including Margaret, dressed in a French maid's uniform. I feel bad for not stopping, but this can't wait.
When I return to the classroom, it's empty but I can hear the Everly Brothers singing. It's beautiful, and I can tell it's live, it's coming from nearby. The room is empty and glowing, transcendent. I'm alone and I'm overwhelmed with the beauty of their voices in the air, so close. They are singing Chris's song, Recidivist. It's perfect, I don't ever want it to stop.
No comments:
Post a Comment