The boys took off with the plates and stickers and I went to the corner, where a group of neighbors were gathered. It was two a.m., and I stood with a black bicycle thief, his friend, and a family of five with Southern accents. The little girl was named April, and like everyone else in her group, she was barefoot. One of her teenage brothers had a big cross tattooed on his forearm. Then there was her mother and her grandmother, who said, “Them boys was drunk. I mean, drunk.” She reached for a cigarette, then called to her grandson, “Skeeter, you got my lighter?”
When the cops finally came, the grandmother told them that the boys had been drunk and that she’d had a time of it earlier, trying to keep everyone’s prints off everything.
By this morning the drunk boys’ trunk had been jimmied open and all four tires were gone. Once a car gets a flat in this neighborhood, it’s considered abandoned and is stripped.
August 12, 1988
Chicago
Amy made it into the Second City touring company. They chose six people out of two hundred fifty. Nothing can keep her down. Amy’s success means success for the whole family. I’m so proud I’m splitting open with it. She has something extra. Anyone can see it.
August 15, 1988
Chicago
I listened to AM radio church shows while I worked yesterday. One preacher denounced feminine men. “Now, when God took Eve out of Adam, He took all of her out,” he said. “He didn’t leave any behind. Then I see these men with the weak elbows and wrists, dressing like women, and I say, ‘No.’ I say ‘No’ to that.”
I’ve pretty much decided to take Neil to the vet tomorrow. She shit all over the house this weekend and then peed on the rug. She’s seventeen, so I can’t really write this off as a phase. Her shit is liquid. Food just goes in one end and comes out the other.
August 16, 1988
Chicago
We took Neil to the vet today and on the way there she peed on me. She peed on my lap and then she just sat there. She didn’t even try to get away from the urine. She’s being cremated now, and I’ll get the ashes in a few days. I’d always expected her to die at home. The vet said that’s what everyone wants. He examined her, her shrunken kidneys, her bad breath, which indicates severe digestive troubles, and asked if Neil had stopped being a pet. “Has she withdrawn?”
I said yes. She quit cleaning herself six months ago, and from then it’s gone from bad to worse.
Now my life is post-Neil.
August 20, 1988
Emerald Isle
Names of beach houses I saw today:
Clambaker
Crow’s Nest
Dune Castle
C&C by the Sea Upstairs
Skinny Dipper
God’s Gift
Buck’s Stop Here
Captain’s Country
Skipper’s Chip
Sea Mist
Sea Shape
Pelican’s Perch
Footprints
Duck Inn
Breezy Outlook
Tip Top
The Scotch Bonnet
Rip Tide
Beach Nut
Lazy C
Summer Love
August 23, 1988
Emerald Isle
At the dinner table, Mom fed the dog a piece of steak off Dad’s chair, and he called her a big dummy. He was wearing a pair of shorts that hadn’t been washed in weeks so I didn’t see what the big deal was. No one did but him.
September 5, 1988
Chicago
Tomorrow I go to school to have my ID picture taken. Teachers wear them on lanyards around their necks so they’ll have something to fool with when they get nervous. One week from tomorrow, I’ll have my first class, and I’m still working on an outline.
Tonight I remembered that I don’t know anything about point of view, or about anything, really. So far I’ve gotten along OK, but as the teacher, you’re kind of supposed to be on top of it. My greatest fear is having someone like N. in my class, the editor of the school paper. He writes articles about the nuisance of cigarette smoke and City Hall’s feelings about artists’ spaces. Were he in my class, he could easily point out my inadequacies. I can point them out too, of course, but I’m not the student, and I worry that in defending myself I’ll sound too desperate.
September 6, 1988
Chicago
Tomorrow is the cocktail party for faculty, and today I found a $5 bill on the street. I’m thinking I’ll spend it on magazines. One thing I’ll buy is this week’s New Yorker, which has a Joan Didion “Letter from Los Angeles” in it.
September 8, 1988
Chicago
Last month, Evelyne’s electric bill was $345.
Kim’s was $109.
Shirley’s was $280.
Mine was $35.
September 9, 1988
Chicago
I came upon two evangelists on State Street this morning, both conservatively dressed white women in their late thirties. One handed out pamphlets while the other preached. “Oh, just look at that,” she said into her microphone as a young woman walked by. “The way she’s dressed, she’s asking for it, begging to be raped. And when she is raped, she’ll deserve every single minute of it and eventually burn in hell.”
It seemed harsh to me, her judgment. If the young woman had stopped to listen, would she have been redeemed?
September 13, 1988
Chicago
I realized I was a teacher when I felt warm during class and got up to open the door. Later on there was noise in the hallway, so I got up and shut it. Students can’t open and close the door whenever they feel like it. For my first day I wore a white linen shirt with a striped tie, black trousers, and my good shoes. At the start of the session, I had nine students. Then one dropped out, so now I have only eight.
September 22, 1988
Chicago
I played my class a taped speech given by a woman named Nancy Sipes. It’s about selling Amway, and while (my sister) Amy and I think it’s just the best thing ever, one of my students thought differently and dropped the course during our fifteen-minute break. Then I was down to seven, but luckily two more students added the class, so now I’m up to nine.
September 24, 1988
Chicago
I started a small job for Malik, the Indian man at R.J. Paints who has dark brown spots in both his eyes, not far from the pupils. All I’m doing is stripping a door. To make less mess, I took it off the hinges and carried it outside to his small backyard. I worked alone until three women in saris stepped out and took seats in lawn chairs. They’d ask me a question in English and then speak among themselves in a language I wasn’t familiar with.
One of the women told me she studies chemistry at Northwestern and asked me if I was a student.
I said no, I was a teacher. Then she said something to the other women in their language and they all laughed. She asked how much I made teaching one class, and that drew even more laughter.
One of the women, the oldest of the three, was a card. Her friends doubled over at her wry observations. I worried I might ruin their afternoon in the sun with my harsh-smelling chemicals, but once it had been established that I made the least amount of money, I became invisible, and they carried on as if I weren’t there.
September 26, 1988
Chicago
This morning Malik answered the door in what was either a pair of pajamas or an Indian about-the-house suit: a knee-length shirt with a Nehru collar and a loose pair of matching trousers. His neck, face, and chest were blotched with powder. I couldn’t tell if it was fresh or if he’d worn it to bed. In the afternoon I met his five-year-old son, who was very sweet and asked kind questions.
At Mitchell’s restaurant, Amy and I sat next to an insane woman who was missing her front teeth and who had shredded her napkins and place mat. The paper littered the floor around her, as did torn-up bits of pancake. She spoke in three distinct voices, one of them rough and deep, like Linda Blair’s in The Exo
rcist.
After sitting for a while, talking to herself, the woman got up and went to the bathroom. She was in there for a long time, and when Amy couldn’t stand it any longer, she went to see what was going on. The door was locked, but she could hear the woman on the other side, cursing in one voice and defending herself in another. Five minutes later she came out, pushed her bangs away from her face, and said to the waitress, “Sorry ’bout the mess, love,” in an English accent, as if she were Hayley Mills and had just spilled a glass of wine.
After she left, the manager said, “Go check the washroom. She walked out of here too happy.”
The waitress ignored him, so Amy went in and reported that there was water all over the floor. The john was packed with toilet paper, paper towels, and part of the Sun-Times. All the soap had been bitten in half, and there were crumbs in the sink.
September 27, 1988
Chicago
This afternoon Professor Sedaris addressed a dead audience. Even S., the mother of two who answers questions with questions and is usually confrontational, said nothing. I drowned in the silence. Then I babbled, hoping someone would maybe stick an oar in just to shut me up.
“Sometimes that just happens,” said Sandi, a fellow teacher, when I saw her in the office.
Jim says that maybe next semester I can teach two classes, but right now that sounds like a nightmare. It would make me eligible for health insurance, which I’ll need after I slit my wrists. What did I do wrong today?
October 1, 1988
Chicago
Charles Addams died two days ago.
On Friday I worked for Malik, who answered the door in a breezy skirt, shirtless, and with more splotches of baby powder on his body. His son Zeshan kept me company, as he was home from school with a cough. When his mother gave him medicine, she said, “Zeshan, you gut to take dis because I hate people what cough.”
The boy described the medicine as “ugly.” His voice is raspy and I like how reasonable his questions are. He’s only five but told me he has four children, the oldest of which is nine years old. I want this kid. If he were mine, though, he wouldn’t be so charming.
At three o’clock, Zeshan’s sister Najia came in with three other girls, cousins from upstairs. Everyone was very excited because one of them had won a goldfish at school.
If any of the children in my building got a goldfish, the excitement would come from watching it twist to its death on the gas burner, but these kids were genuinely innocent. It was like a first-grade primer, a chapter titled “The Goldfish Excitement.” I return on Monday and look forward to it.
October 3, 1988
Chicago
At the departmental potluck, I kept my mouth pretty much shut, afraid that if I spoke, everyone would realize that I don’t know what I’m talking about. Not that I didn’t ask a few questions. A couple of teachers talked about throwing people out of their classes—troublemakers. Their talk made me realize the subtle ways I’m being taken advantage of by certain students. I’d been looking for the criminal with the livid scar on his face and all the while I’d been getting my pockets picked.
M., the independent-study kid I picked up last week, is a liar and a poor student. I shouldn’t have let her in after the third week, and allowing it has marked me as a teacher chump. Teacher chumps get a reputation, as do easy teachers. Come next semester, your class is full of lazy people expecting just to coast along.
October 5, 1988
Chicago
I’ve been taking great joy in grading papers. My evaluations are typed and, for me, startlingly honest. I read them over late at night and am frequently struck by how mature and wise they sound. “A child raised in a violent sexual environment should know at least three different terms for a dog’s balls, and ‘thingofabobs’ is not one of them.”
I write what works and what doesn’t. I don’t want to embarrass anyone in class or tamp down discussion, so the notes are just for the students.
Today in my box I got J.’s story. It ran one and a half pages and was followed by a P.S.: “My typewriter ran out of ribbon and it’s pretty late.” Another student, C., gave me torn half pages that were written in the cafeteria, probably while he was having a conversation. Last week he seemed interested, but this week he comes to class without his book and sits there looking mean and bored.
October 24, 1988
Chicago
I met with a woman named Betty who owns a three-flat on North Kenmore and would like to have one of the apartments painted. Someone started the job a few weeks ago but was fired for laziness. Asked to remove the hardware and spray it with gold paint, he left the hinges and doorknobs in place and spray-painted them anyway. It looks beautiful, much better than it would have if he’d followed directions. It’s like the knobs are spreading good cheer to the comparatively sober white doors.
October 29, 1988
Chicago
Two well-dressed, white-haired women at the IHOP tonight. I noticed their looks as they walked out, but before that they were just whiny voices at the table behind me. The pair divided the bill right down to the penny. Each owed $3.77. Then they addressed the subject of the tip and decided they should leave 70 cents. Neither said, “Aw, what the hell. Just make it a dollar.” That’s how tight they were.
One of the women had injured her finger earlier in the day and was concerned regarding its treatment. This was the one named Lil. “I caught it in the door, but I’m holding up,” she said. “Most people would have fainted, but not me.”
“Finger?” the other woman said. “You’re talking about a finger?”
“I almost lost a nail!” Lil said.
“Don’t talk to me about one finger,” the other woman said. “I caught three of them in a car door once. Nikki slammed it and it shut all the way!”
“You could see stars,” Lil said.
“Three fingers and the door was completely shut,” the woman repeated. “And they swelled up terribly and changed color from blue to purple to yellow.”
“Sure they did,” Lil assured her.
“Anyone else would have fainted. Nikki, for instance. She saw what she’d done and suddenly all the color drained out of her face. She was standing there—”
“I love that raincoat,” Lil said, changing the subject.
“I live in this raincoat,” the other woman said.
“I live in mine too,” Lil said. “Now can you help me put it on, because with this damaged finger, I’m useless.”
November 23, 1988
Chicago
I have been a bad employee lately. I went to Betty’s with a drug hangover and fell asleep on her floor. I had a terrible headache and woke up several hours later with a carpet burn on my face.
1989
January 5, 1989
Chicago
I weighed myself this morning and tip the scales at 146 pounds. Last April I went on a diet and weighed only 141. Now look at me! At the IHOP tonight, I sat facing the rotisserie on which three chickens turned and dripped juices. Tonight I’ll just have a steak and some spinach, then tomorrow I’ll have less.
January 9, 1989
Raleigh
Last night I wondered if other teachers get stoned at night. Can I be the only one? Classes start next week and I am not at all prepared.
January 15, 1989
Raleigh
I will never again drink at a party I am hosting.
I will never again drink at a party I am hosting.
I will never again drink at a party I am hosting.
I drank at a party I was hosting. After four beers, I had three screwdrivers, then I started taking bong hits. It was around then that things started spinning. I ate an apple yesterday, and a tiny sandwich. There were fifty people here. I tried to sit down and watch my guests dance, but the sight of them made me nauseated so I stumbled into my office and collapsed.
On the other side of the door I could hear John Smith, who talked about playing Pictionary with a dull partner
who didn’t know who Henry James was. I listened and tried to get up. Then I decided it was better to just quietly slip away.
January 17, 1989
Chicago
Today was the first day of the new semester, and I’m teaching two classes. There are twenty students in the first one. I asked everyone to list the last three books they’d read (answers included Jonathan Livingston Seagull and a Danielle Steel novel) and then I asked what they’d do were someone to give them each $500. One person said he’d get more tattoos; many wanted sound systems; and three wanted plane tickets to warm places.
Because there are so many students, it’s easy getting them to talk. One person ate in class, and another said “Shit” way too many times. Before they left, I had them each write a few paragraphs explaining to me how they’d lost their feet.
Something has changed, and now, when I look at my students, I see only people who are going to eat up my time.
Meanwhile, my diet is working. I went down a belt notch and was comfortable.
January 19, 1989
Chicago
This is the last day of Ronald Reagan’s presidency, and on All Things Considered they asked a variety of people how he had affected their lives. The person I most identified with said that after the past eight years, she will never trust a Republican again. There were many people who cheered him, and a few who hated him in a personal way. One woman blamed Reagan for her parents’ divorce. She was from a farm family and said that the stress brought on by the president’s agricultural policies ruined the marriage, which under previous administrations had been happy.