I sit wearing one coat of red next to Carol who is doing someone else's nails. Shop stylists run past me for their next hair appointment or maybe for a quick stop to the bathroom.
Carol says: My daughter doesn't want to leave. She's terrified of Ms. Fontana, who's the substitute teacher there. She says, Mom, she yells alot. That's not good, a girl being scared of school. She's only six years old. She never used to be like that. She's always loved school. She's scared of leaving me. I stand there in the morning. She says, Mommy, I don't want to leave you. I talked to my landlord because her daughter's in the same class and she's having the same problem. So it's not just her. Her little girl doesn't want to leave her in the morning either. That's a terrible thing for a six year-old not to like school. We have to see if we can have them transferred from Ms. Fontana's class. Or maybe there's another substitute teacher. I can't stand Ms. Fontana. My girl never was afraid of her old teacher.
My nails are already chipped. I'm back at home now, dreaming of the colors blue and green outside my patio window that hold the trees and sky in a rapture I can only imagine. It must have something to do with love and the power of forgiveness, moving on with self-knowledge as a gyroscope. My son and daughter are green and I am sky blue. They are growing and I am expanding. The universe is always expanding, but scientists do not know at what rate.
At the center of the universe there's a crossroads where everything has been reduced to the common denominator of commerce. It's all in the numbers. A sort of Star Wars intergalactic bar where everyone can dig the dirt, music, and the action. A man sits there with a peaceful look on his face like he's been masturbating for the last half hour. Off to the left, there's a store where you can find row after row of international best sellers that can be translated into any language. There's one case of slightly more literary and less formulaic books. They cost more. The numbers keep these books in their place.
Through a Romanesque arch, there's the snack area with beverages, mostly flavored waters in different colors, plus drugs and toiletries for those who have run out of cold or sinus remedies, vitamins, immune system boosters, or just a standard pair of nail clippers. They're there. Magazines and newspaper are loaded on throw-away minicomputer screens with profiles about the latest candidates and why they are any better or different or more attractive than the next person on the overhead flat TV screen. Or for those who need to buy a gift, there's an assortment of mugs, t-shirts, shot glases, tote bags, or paraphenalia from the local sports teams. Be prepared to spend more.
For me, I'd like to rent a sleep cubicle for a week and listen to the conversations of people as they pass through this area. So what if my children are off and doing there own things. Because once obsessed, always obsessed. The particulars are a matter of focus.
Music: Lou Reed, "The Raven"
What's Been Happening: Return from Matthew's bar mitzvah
On a Personal Level: at home with a cold
Keywords: dream therapy, pre-approved