| I’m the homecoming king! I should have been there.” “You could have still gone.” “I did go,” he said. “Oh. You went?” “I’m the homecoming king,” he said. “I had to go. But that’s not the point.” “What’s the point? That the homecoming king shouldn’t have to go to prom alone?” “The point is you’ve been extremely weird lately.” “Since when have I been weird?” He lowered his voice. “Ever since that night your mom had the psychotic episode.” “It wasn’t a psychotic episode.” “Whatever it was. You’ve been a little distant.” “I don’t know what’s going on with me,” I said. And I really didn’t. I was confused. I wanted to see Peter. Peter was my first real boyfriend. “Do you want to come over?” I asked. “Why don’t you come here?” Peter asked. By the time I got to Peter’s, he had forgiven me. Mostly because he wanted to complain about how much prom sucked. Prom was actually a shit show, Peter said. Everybody got too drunk, way too quickly. And then Valerie’s heel broke. And then Rick dumped her. “Because her heel broke?” “No,” Peter said. Apparently, Rick was in love with someone he met at NYU, which was confusing because he wasn’t even at NYU yet. “How did it happen then?” I asked. “Some internet group,” Peter said. “I guess he’s been chatting with some girl who is going to be in his dorm. They’ve already had cybersex.” “That’s fast,” I said. “We haven’t even had |
dog. The dog circles around our legs and then rushes ahead of us out the door. “Where’s my dog!” the woman shouts. “Frankieee!” The woman is struggling to grab all her luggage. The dog is out the door on the subway platform, not waiting for his owner. The woman shouts louder and louder, and I can hear in her voice that she knows she is losing her dog. Frankieeeee! That is how these things happen. One footstep at a time, one wrong glance left instead of right, and soon it’s not her dog. One swerve right, one deer in the road, and soon you are not my sister. I run out of the train and grab the dog for her. When the woman sees me, she kneels down with all of her bags, and she laughs as the dog licks her face. I don’t know why, but reunions like this always make me want to cry. Inside the apartment, Ray drops an Alka-Seltzer tablet into the water, and I feel calm as I watch the water foam. We pack for home. Ray packs all his fancy shirts, which are the only shirts he has. I hate Ray’s shirts. They are too formal, too shiny to wear with cargo shorts. Brooks Brothers shirts, the kind that promise never to wrinkle, and under the kitchen lights, I can see the slick coating that makes them wrinkle-free. He wears them everywhere. To the bowling alley with our friends; to brunch in his flip-flops |
