Mar. 6th, 2011


The past, which I thought for a while could be promising:
  • Believe me, I don’t mistake that for information. I know everyone Jocelyn knows.
  • He’s usually looking at Alice, so I can watch him as much as I want.
  • Until that time I have my dog collar and green rinse, because how can anyone call me “the girl with freckles” when my hair is green?
  • Where we live, in the Sunset, the ocean is always just over your shoulder and the houses have Easter-egg colors. But the second Scotty lets the garage door slam down, we’re suddenly enraged, all of us.
  • I remember every hug I’ve given him. I learn one thing each time: how warm his skin is, how he has muscles like Scotty even though he never takes his shirt off.
  • He looks as old as my dad, meaning forty-three. He has shaggy blond hair, and his face is handsome, I guess, the way dads can sometimes be.
  • I stare at that view until I start to get calm. I think, The world is actually huge. That’s the part no one can really explain.
  • He looks tired, like someone walked on his skin and left footprints. He goes, The world is full of shitheads, Rhea. Don’t listen to them—listen to me. And I know that Lou is one of those shitheads. But I listen.
  • I can’t tell if she’s actually real, or if she’s stopped caring if she’s real or not. Or is not caring what makes a person real?
  • whose restless charm has generated a contrail of personal upheaval
  • There’s a charge for her in simply commanding the fickle beam of her father’s attention.
  • Te experience of music pouring directly against her eardrums—hers alone—is a shock that makes her eyes well up; the privacy of it, the way it transforms her surroundings into a golden montage, as if she were looking back on this lark in Africa with Lou from some distant future.
  • His indulgence of these women in their seventies (strangers to him before this trip) intrigues Mindy; she can find no structural reason for it.
  • Lou has never traveled for a woman.
  • ... having two daughters, his fifth and sixth children, in quick succession, as if sprinting against the inevitable drift of his attention.
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