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<\/h1>\n<\/h1>\nby\u00a0Jean Ryan<\/p>\n
Garret has a head cold. Naturally he\u2019s in a foul mood. His world has stopped.<\/p>\n
His supervisors won\u2019t be happy either. They need his nose, and especially now. There\u2019s a big contract looming and they want the formula he\u2019s been working on: an energy drink for a new company called Game On. Other flavorists could fill in, but when it comes to crafting power potions no one is better than Garret.
\nEnergy drinks, Garret says, don\u2019t have to taste great, they just need something that suggests potency: spikey notes, a punishing edge. Carbonation is not enough. Garret is working with a chemical that makes your tongue tingle, along with another compound that turns your lips numb, at least for a minute or two.<\/p>\n
He works for Perception, the biggest company in this city. They\u2019ve been making flavors and fragrances forever, and on days the wind doesn\u2019t blow you can smell all sorts of things. Some days it\u2019s bubble gum, as if there\u2019s a big pink tent of the stuff stretched above our heads; other days, the odor of Peking Duck wafts through our doors and windows.<\/p>\n
Most of our friends work at the plant (I say \u201cour,\u201d but they\u2019re really Garret\u2019s friends). Every month or so Randy, Koby, Guy and Christie come over for pizza and beer. Randy is married, though I\u2019ve never seen his wife. Koby and Guy are single\u2014no mystery to me. The oddest duck is Christie. Built like a wrestler, she\u2019s a one-of-the-guys kind of girl\u2014swears like a sailor, loves to watch football, uses the word \u201cdude\u201d too much. Her hair is platinum and she has a fake tan, but she\u2019s a long way from pretty. They always stay late, talking politics or sports or movies\u2014anything but work. Firms that buy flavors from Perception are not keen on people knowing what deals they\u2019ve made with the company, so everything is done on the QT. The smallest slip of the tongue and you\u2019re gone. Secrecy is such a big deal that outside the plant, co-workers don\u2019t mention their work, even to each other. Still, I\u2019ve learned plenty. I\u2019ve lived with Garret for over two years and he\u2019s told me some things you wouldn\u2019t believe, like why a certain company\u2019s French fries taste so good. I\u2019m saving all these tidbits. I write them down in a little spiral notebook that I keep under the bathroom sink in a box of tampons. Lately, Garret hasn\u2019t been sharing any secrets and I bet he wishes he\u2019d never confided in me. I want to think he stays with me out of love, but who knows?<\/p>\n
I am at the kitchen counter quartering some nice fat Chandler strawberries. \u201cDo you want some of these?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
He lowers the newspaper and looks at the bright heap of berries on the cutting board. \u201cNo thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, you have to eat something\u2014you\u2019re sick. You want some toast?\u201d<\/p>\n
He frowns, considers. \u201cYeah, okay.\u201d<\/p>\n
Garret is afraid of colds; he\u2019d sooner suffer a broken arm. He starts thinking he\u2019ll never be able to smell again and I have to keep assuring him that he\u2019ll be fine.<\/p>\n
The nose is everything, I\u2019ve learned. We taste with our noses. We discover with our noses. We remember with our noses. The brain, Garret says, began with the nose.<\/p>\n
My friend Dawna fell in love with a psychiatrist. He made good money and he was reasonably attractive, but she wound up leaving him because she couldn\u2019t shake the fear that he was analyzing her. I know what she went through. Living with Garret, I worry about how I smell, especially, you know, certain times of the month. As you can imagine, I\u2019m extra careful, and not just with that. I get my teeth cleaned four times a year now.<\/p>\n
I pop a slice of multi-grain into the toaster and pour a glass of orange juice, and then I use the tip of my knife to turn a strawberry into a little red fan, which I place on Garret\u2019s plate.<\/p>\n
I look at food differently now; I think about the insides, the chemistry. There\u2019s a lot going on in this berry, hundreds of different molecules, some we can smell, some we can\u2019t\u2014unless something is evaporating we can\u2019t smell it at all. In Garret\u2019s lab at the plant there are thousands of little brown bottles filled with different flavors. One time he brought one home for me that smelled just like a Mojito. He was proud of that one. I think they turned it into a breath mint.<\/p>\n
It takes a lot of expensive equipment to break down the chemical structure of something and then figure out which molecules matter most. At Perception they call this process \u201cchasing zero\u201d and it can take years. Sometimes it feels like that\u2019s what I\u2019m doing with Garret, trying to get to the truth of him. I listen to everything he says, even when he\u2019s just complaining, even when he\u2019s had too many Bud Lights; I watch how he eats his dinner, which foods he goes for first, what he leaves behind; I study the positions he sleeps in, the way he shoves a fist under his chin; I even open my eyes when we\u2019re having sex so I can see the expressions on his face. He grimaces a lot, makes faces that used to scare me. Sex is strange business.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
After Garret leaves for work I feed the turtles. One strawberry apiece, plus a turnip leaf, a slice of mushroom and an earthworm. Richard always goes for the live food first; Liz goes for the most colorful\u2014she loves berries.<\/p>\n
Garret is not much interested in these turtles. He inherited Richard from a friend who died and I think he\u2019s still resentful of the care involved (even though I\u2019m the one doing all the caring). Richard was a bachelor when I moved in. He spent his days moving back and forth between a shallow pan of water and the clay pot he hid under. The first time I saw him, alone in that big wooden box, I couldn\u2019t understand.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou just have the one?\u201d I asked, turning to Garret.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe eats,\u201d Garret shrugged. \u201cHe\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
I did not believe that. I will never believe that. I read an article once about a man in California who wanted to stage a live nativity scene. He somehow acquired a camel for this purpose, which he decided to keep as a pet. This guy had plenty of land, the climate was suitable and there were no prohibitive zoning laws. Below the story was a photograph: this large improbable beast with a chainlink fence in front of him and vineyards in the distance. The new owner was standing a few feet away, pointing at the animal, a wide stupid grin on his face. And all I could think was how awful it would be to never again see your own kind, to be, as far as you knew, the last camel on earth.<\/p>\n
Garret wasn\u2019t thrilled about getting another turtle, but when I told him I didn\u2019t mind being the one to clean up after them, he relented. An hour later I walked into The Turtle Club\u2014the pet store where Garret buys Richard\u2019s crickets and cuttlebones\u2014and there she was, a female Chinese box turtle posed on a branch in her tank, waiting for me. I brought my face close to the glass and she pulled her neck out of her shell and we got a good look at each other. She was even prettier than Richard. Her glossy shell was the color of dark honey and vivid yellow streaks ran down her neck from the back of each eye. The top of her head was brown, her cheeks were golden. Her expression was calm, resolute, infinitely patient, and my adoration was swift and fierce. I wanted to know what she knew.<\/p>\n
Richard, I assumed, would be thrilled to have a mate, which is why I named her Liz. I wanted to see how quickly he\u2019d come to her, so I set her down a couple feet away from him, stood back and waited. I am still waiting.<\/p>\n
Two springs have passed and Richard, to my knowledge, has never approached Liz. When she noses up to him, he gradually turns his shelled back to her. And he does something else now that Garret swears he never did before: Every once in a while he stands up against the wall of his enclosure and hangs there for several minutes, as if asking, in his silent turtle way, for help. I don\u2019t like it when he does this and I tell myself that he is just stretching.<\/p>\n
I wonder if he took an instant dislike to her, if Liz is simply not the mate he had in mind. I imagine myself as a pet: a great hand setting me in front of the only man there is. \u201cMate,\u201d says The Hand. What if that man disgusted me\u2014worse, what if I disgusted him?<\/p>\n
Time is what turtles have in abundance and maybe that\u2019s why they\u2019re slow to court. I still have hope for these two. I picture the day when I look into their box and find Richard on top of Liz. I can\u2019t speak for her, but it would mean a lot to me.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Washing the breakfast dishes, I manage not to drop or break one. I have a condition, something no one can seem to figure out. My hands will be fine and suddenly they won\u2019t; they\u2019ll start to twitch and tremble, and I have to stop what I\u2019m doing until they go still again. Sometimes the spells last only a minute or two; other times my hands shake all afternoon. It\u2019s not MS and it\u2019s not Parkinson\u2019s. One doctor said it could be an auto-immune disorder too new for a name. Garret says it\u2019s all in my head.<\/p>\n
Naturally I had to quit my job. I made $64,000 a year as a dental hygienist, along with full medical coverage and free dental care. Now I have no insurance at all. If we were married, I could get on Garret\u2019s plan, but he hasn\u2019t made the offer.<\/p>\n
When my hands first started to go wrong, he was concerned; he even went to a couple appointments with me. But after three months, six doctors and I don\u2019t know how many tests, he started getting annoyed. Now I don\u2019t dare talk about my hands; without insurance there\u2019s not much I can do about them anyway.<\/p>\n
He wants to leave me, but I have this ailment and no income, and he feels trapped. That\u2019s what I think. He was getting bored with me even before this happened. He was all set to dump me, then this.<\/p>\n
And the things he\u2019s told me, all those trade secrets he wasn\u2019t supposed to share. All it would take is one measly letter to the editor, a little human interest story about who buys what. You can bet he\u2019s thought about that.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Hell\u2019s Kitchen. That\u2019s what Dawna calls the company Garret works for. \u201cNo good comes out of that place,\u201d she said, which is something I told Garret one day, kiddingly, and he about went nuts. (He doesn\u2019t like her anyway. Dawna is overweight, and fat people irritate him. Garret himself is lean as a race dog.) I started to defend her, saying that some folks just like to go natural.
\n\u201cDoes the cow know that there is no molecular difference between a synthesized extract and a natural one?\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned back to the laundry I was folding. I wished I\u2019d never said anything.<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes she have any idea what would happen to the vanilla bean crop if that\u2019s all we used? What a stupid bitch.\u201d Garret has told me about vanilla, how it\u2019s the world\u2019s favorite flavor, and thousands of tons of it are made from things like wood pulp waste and petrochemicals. You can even make it out of cow dung. Think about that next time you reach for a sugar cookie. Same thing with citrus\u2014the key ingredient, citral, is found is all sorts of plants. The lemon sorbet in your freezer probably started out as a Chinese mountain pepper.<\/p>\n
Never say \u201cartificial\u201d around Garret. He hates that word. He says that\u2019s where all the trouble started. \u201cCrafted\u201d is the term he and his buddies use. Another thing that makes him mad is when people assume that all they do at Perception is make bad food taste good. I came home one day with a package of white cheddar rice cakes and he poked a finger at it and said, \u201cYou know what these would taste like without the flavoring? They\u2019d taste like baseboard.\u201d I don\u2019t blame him for being prideful. Along with creating the magic behind French fries and Easter candy, Perception makes good things taste better, which is pretty significant when you consider how hard it can be to get old people and cancer patients to gag down anything.
\nDawna doesn\u2019t care that Garret doesn\u2019t like her\u2014she feels the same way about him, which is why she only comes by when he\u2019s working. She thinks he doesn\u2019t treat me right. She says I have self-esteem issues from being a foster child and that\u2019s why I put up with him. I have my doubts about that. For one thing, my foster parents\u2014I had three sets\u2014were not terrible. In fact, after hearing what some kids suffer at the hands of their real parents, I\u2019m glad I didn\u2019t come from one of those Leave It To Beaver homes. I lived in apartments here in Cincinnati, and yeah they were kind of crummy, but I had enough to eat and decent clothes, and I liked my last mother a lot. Her name was Bonnie. She was good at making the most of things. One day I came home and found her cutting up the newspaper. She was folding the pages into little fans and cutting notches to make snowflakes; the living room window was covered with them. She looked up at me and said, \u201cYou have to make your own fun in this world, Emily. It\u2019s nobody\u2019s fault but your own if you don\u2019t.\u201d I have a brother but I don\u2019t know where he is\u2014I do feel sad about that. The other thing that\u2019s hard\u2014especially when I\u2019m filling out medical forms\u2014is not having a clue about what diseases my parents had. (On the other hand, maybe it\u2019s better this way: if I knew what ailments I could get, I might start waiting for them.) I wonder sometimes if my mother\u2019s hands shook like mine, and if so, did anyone find out why.
\nI\u2019ve told Dawna that Garret has a tender side she doesn\u2019t see. When his dog Ace had to be put down last year, Garret cried for three days; and he calls his mother every other week no matter what; and when I talk to him he listens, which is something most guys aren\u2019t good at. Garret isn\u2019t the best sex I\u2019ve ever had, but we do pretty well\u2014except for lately. I\u2019ve been renting porn to spice things up and it helps a lot. Say what you want about porn films\u2014they\u2019re demeaning to women (I think they\u2019re demeaning to both sexes), the actors have pimples, the acting is awful\u2014all that\u2019s true, but a lot of people have jobs thanks to this industry and if it puts people back in the bedroom, well what\u2019s wrong with that?<\/p>\n
I did tell Dawna that Garret\u2019s been acting more remote, not talking very much, and she shrugged. \u201cDoesn\u2019t surprise me,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m worried that he might want to break up with me but he feels bad about me losing my job. And, you know, my hands.\u201d I looked up from the dishwasher I was unloading. \u201cWhat do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n
Dawna leaned back in her chair and shook her head. \u201cI don\u2019t think his conscience is that keen, sweetheart.\u201d She gestured at the dishwasher. \u201cYou cook his meals, you wash his clothes, you do the shopping\u2014you even take care of his damn turtles. Why would he want you to leave?\u201d I didn\u2019t say anything.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m used to how blunt Dawna can be. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t count on him marrying you though,\u201d she added.<\/p>\n
I shoved the dishwasher door shut. \u201cWho says I\u2019m looking to get married? I\u2019m not. Things are fine the way they are.\u201d This is a lie. I\u2019d marry Garret in a heartbeat, and not just for his insurance. I love him beyond reason.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood.\u201d She folded her arms over her ample bosom and studied me with a small, knowing smile. Dawna is my best friend and nobody\u2019s fool.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
In the summer Garret puts the turtle pen outside so that they can get some sun on their backs. Even though box turtles hibernate in the winter, it gets too cold here for the Chinese variety, so in the fall they have to come back inside and sit under basking lamps to make up for the sun. The lamps and other lights keep their enclosure at 75 degrees\u2014any lower and they\u2019d \u201cbrumate,\u201d which is like a false hibernation where they stop eating but keep using up fat and energy, meaning they could die. Keeping box turtles inside shortens their lives, but what can you do? It\u2019s not a perfect world for any of us.
\nTurtles are not near as rugged as they look. They get parasites and respiratory infections and funguses, and they dehydrate easily, which is why Richard and Liz spend so much time in their water pans. I have to wash out these pans every day and mist the pen with spring water, and every other week I switch out the bark. I don\u2019t mind any of this; I like giving the turtles a fresh start. They have to live their whole lives in a four-by-three-foot box and keeping it nice is a way of apologizing. In the fall I tuck in a few pine cones, also rocks and branches. These objects may not fool them, but deep inside their leathery bodies, where the healing happens, I think the turtles are soothed.<\/p>\n
I am partial to Liz. I love her face. I know that turtles don\u2019t really smile, but the way Liz\u2019s beak is shaped, you\u2019d swear that\u2019s what she\u2019s doing. I look at her and smile myself, and every so often I place my hand on her back and let it rest there. Liz is just under six inches long and her plated shell fits sweetly in my palm. Maybe some of what she knows is being transmitted into my skin. Maybe touch is a language we don\u2019t know the half of.
\nRichard is an inch longer and he never smiles. I guess he can\u2019t.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
I finish the vacuuming, then sit down at the kitchen table and look over a community college catalog we got in the mail. I\u2019m thirty-six, still young enough to pick and choose. Garret told me one time that I should do something different with my life. \u201cYou\u2019re smart,\u201d he said. \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t have to clean teeth for a living.\u201d Garret never gave me much credit for being a dental hygienist, even though I made plenty of money and liked what I did.<\/p>\n
\u201cDoesn\u2019t it gross you out?\u201d he said, not long after we met. \u201cAll those rotten mouths.\u201d He shuddered.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019re not all rotten,\u201d I told him, \u201cand no it doesn\u2019t gross me out.\u201d<\/p>\n
Garret gave me a long look, his dark eyes pinning me \u2014he\u2019s a handsome man, no one would argue that. He shook his head and frowned. \u201cThat\u2019s just weird.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turn the pages slowly, overwhelmed by the range of careers, the fact that I can sit at this table and pick a life out of a catalog. Hazard one and I ruin the rest. I might as well put on a blindfold and choose with my finger. Only I can\u2019t. I have to think about jobs that don\u2019t ask too much of my hands.
\nBakery Chef. Accountant. Teacher\u2019s Assistant. Hotel Manager. I like to cook but I suppose that\u2019s off the table. Accounting? Too much typing. Just as I start to imagine myself looking after children on a playground, my hands start to quiver. I hold them out in front of me and watch them move on their own. My heart pounds. It\u2019s happening more. This is the fourth time in the last three days. I shove my hands under my thighs and take deep breaths, try to think of something else.<\/p>\n
It feels like I am lost and there is no one looking for me.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
This summer Garret went on another \u201cFlavor Hunt.\u201d Every three years Perception\u2019s key players get to go to places like Indonesia and South America, where they rifle the jungles for the next great taste sensation. I can understand Garret\u2019s participation in this; what I can\u2019t figure out is why they asked Christie to come along. Christie works with soy products, tries to make them taste like the burgers or sausages they\u2019re pretending to be. Last year she supposedly hit a homerun with \u201cWonder Dogs\u201d\u2014I tried them and, believe me, she\u2019s not there yet.<\/p>\n
With scientists around the world ransacking what\u2019s left of our rain forests, searching for everything from treats to treatments, you might think there\u2019s not much left to work with. You\u2019d be wrong. Garret says we have barely begun. Finding a new fruit isn\u2019t the hard part. Turning it into something you actually want to eat or drink, that\u2019s where the real work starts. Garret says that most exotic fruits taste awful. If they are not rejected right away, they are stripped down to zero and paired up with something we know and love\u2014strawberries, peaches, bananas. Lots of exotics wind up nameless, used to bolster other products. That\u2019s what happened with wild ginger\u2014they figured out that it intensifies the pungency of spicy foods and cools off your tongue afterward.<\/p>\n
I would love to go on one of these Flavor Hunts, travel over forest canopies in a hot air balloon, see how lemurs live. No way they\u2019ll let me, though. Garret won\u2019t even ask.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
By the time Garret gets home my hands have stopped shaking and the chicken pot pies I made from scratch are ready to come out of oven. I pour him a beer and myself a glass of wine, and we sit down in the living room like we always do before dinner. He coughs a couple times and blows his priceless nose.
\n\u201cHow\u2019d it go at work?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
\u201cFine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do you feel? Can you taste that beer?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA little, yeah.\u201d He takes a long pull on his Bud Light and sets it down on the coaster. Garret is neat, which I appreciate. He never leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor or whiskers in the sink. Actually there\u2019s nothing out of place or extra in this sleek high-rise apartment. \u201cHe has no soul,\u201d Dawna murmured the first time she saw it. Without looking up at me he says, \u201cI need to tell you something.\u201d<\/p>\n
I can feel my heart speed up, my cheeks getting red. This is it, I tell myself, trying to prepare the part of me that will be hurt.<\/p>\n
He lifts his gaze my way but can\u2019t hold it there. He looks back at the bottle he is spinning on the coaster and tells me, in a rush, that he is in love with someone else.<\/p>\n
My spine stiffens; already, thank god, I\u2019m beginning to hate him. \u201cDo I know her?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, you do.\u201d He looks up, almost defiant now. He aims, pauses, delivers. \u201cIt\u2019s Christie.\u201d<\/p>\n
Christie? For one startling instant I see her: big thighs, gutter mouth; hair and tan just as fake as her hot dogs. I\u2019m not exactly gorgeous but I\u2019m a whole lot prettier than Christie. It takes me a moment to get my voice back.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSince June.\u201d<\/p>\n
My mind does a fast calculation. June. That was the month they were in Paraguay. Screwing in the jungle. Screwing here too, evidently\u2014next week is Thanksgiving.<\/p>\n
\u201cI wanted to tell you\u2026\u201d he trails off, takes another swig of beer.<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand.\u201d I say. \u201cYou were chicken shit.\u201d<\/p>\n
His eyes narrow at this and he stands up and heads for the kitchen. \u201cYou know we haven\u2019t been good for a long time,\u201d he says, his voice accusing.<\/p>\n
\u201cAt least since June,\u201d I reply.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
\u201cBig surprise,\u201d Dawna said when I told her about Garret\u2019s confession. \u201cWho is she, do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cChristie. His co-worker.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dawna\u2019s mouth opened. \u201cThe one who comes over? The butch?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded. \u201cThat\u2019s the one.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dawna frowned and looked out the window. \u201cGuys will screw anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
Loathing moved through me when she said this. All I could think about were those adult films I\u2019d been renting the last couple months. The bastard had been getting Christie, me and porn.<\/p>\n
We were sitting at the table in her kitchen, a large warm, rather messy room that comforted me\u2014the plants rooting in jars over the sink, the hanging wire baskets with their browning bananas and sprouting potatoes; the canisters of rice and noodles, grains I couldn\u2019t name; three or four loaves of bread on the shelf\u2014raisin, sourdough, pumpernickel. There was bounty in this room; the kitchens I grew up in were nothing like this.<\/p>\n
It took Dawna about half a second to invite me to move in with her.<\/p>\n
I shook my head, \u201cThat is so nice, Dawna, but I can\u2019t let you do that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh? Where are you going to go then?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want to be in the way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have this whole house,\u201d she said, \u201cand look at you\u2014you\u2019re no bigger than a minute.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t have a job.\u201d I said. \u201cNot at the moment anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, you do\u2014if you want it. I need someone to help with the dogs. I could teach you.\u201d Dawna owns a mobile pet grooming service; considering the five employees she already has and this house she bought last year, she must be doing pretty well for herself.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t like it, no big deal. You can do it till you find something else.\u201d She reached out then and touched my arm. \u201cAnd don\u2019t worry about your hands. The dogs shake so much they won\u2019t even notice.\u201d She smiled at me. \u201cYou\u2019re going to get better, kiddo. You just need to get out of that apartment.\u201d<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
There\u2019s not much of mine at Garret\u2019s place and leaving doesn\u2019t take long. The only thing I need help with is the turtle pen, which Dawna helps me carry into the elevator, across the lobby and down the steps. Carefully we shove it into the dog grooming van. Richard and Liz are hiding in their flower pots. His back is facing out, but Liz is looking at me, her head tucked partway in her shell. She trusts me. I\u2019m moving her life someplace else and she is willing to cooperate.
\nThe turtles were all I wanted and Garret had no problem letting me have them. At first I was only going to take Liz. I didn\u2019t want her to live in the same box with a male who ignored her. I would get her a new box, a real mate. Then I thought: What if Richard is ready? What if two years is not so much time for a turtle to make his move? So I decided to give him another year. If he doesn\u2019t come forward in a year, I\u2019ll put another male in there and let him take over. Then I thought: maybe that\u2019s what Richard needs, a contender. Maybe it\u2019s not his fault that the urge to reproduce hasn\u2019t kicked in\u2014he just needs to fight for Liz.
\nDawna doesn\u2019t give me a chance to get weepy. We are in and out of Garret\u2019s apartment in less than half an hour. I clear out my drawers in the bedroom, my clothes from the closet, the stuff I keep in the bathroom. The last thing I do is pull that little spiral notebook out of the tampon box and prop it against the mirror. Then I take a piece of note paper out of my purse and write: Yes, I made a copy. I draw a happy face and beneath that I write: Best of luck! Emily.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t make a copy\u2014turns out I\u2019m not that sort of person. I couldn\u2019t resist writing the note, though. It\u2019s like Bonnie said, you have to make your own fun in this world.<\/p>\n
###<\/p>\n
Jean Ryan, a native Vermonter, lives in Napa, California. Her stories and essays have appeared in a variety of journals and anthologies. Nominated several times for a Pushcart Prize, she has also published a novel, LOST SISTER. Her debut collection of short stories, SURVIVAL SKILLS, was published in April 2013 by Ashland Creek Press and was short-listed for a Lambda Literary Award.<\/p>\n
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