Saturday, September 28, 2013
Alligator Party Rental form
“You’re a very lucky girl, Rachel,” he says, “I don’t think you know how lucky you are.” And she does… But she doesn’t. She does in her candy floss brain. She doesn’t in her crumpled newspaper heart. Rachel made a sculpture out of clay of a woman on her back, legs lifted high. “What is that?” her mother asked. “A woman,” said Rachel. “What in God’s name is she doing?” her mother squeaked. “She’s getting ready to give her daughter an airplane ride,” Rachel sighed, looking out the window of the station wagon and thinking how she so wished Mrs. Rosa was her mother. Mrs. Rosa wore pink lipstick and plaid pants. Mrs. Rosa’s first name was… Annette. Rachel had never heard such a beautiful name. Mrs. Rosa knew how to make meringues and how to shoot a three-point-shot on the basketball court. “Rachel!” her mother hooted, “are you even listening to me?” Rachel imagined rolling her mother into a ball of plasticine and throwing her across the corn field.