Dreaming : Hard Luck and Good Times in America (9780307807274) by See Carolyn

Author:See, Carolyn [See, Carolyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-80727-4
Publisher: Random House Digital
Published: 2011-10-19T04:00:00+00:00

Katharine Sturak visiting with her half sister, Clara, in Topanga. Little hippie chicklets.

Tom came over, as he did once a week, to fix a “healthy” dinner for Lisa and Clara. He paused in his task of grating beets and beet tops together, and braising up a nice batch of kidneys and lamb hearts, to go to the bathroom. Along the way he paused to snoop in my closet. He came out the door holding up my precious new brown linen suit, swinging from its hanger. “All right!” he raved, “Who is he? Why does he keep his clothes in here?” I was depressed. I knew that dressing for success would be forever beyond me.

That night, on the balcony with Rose, the inside of the house seemed unbearably inviting. The brown-paneled walls made a sweet enclosure. Through the window just behind us, above the table, a big crazy oil painting of Tom Sturak shone in the lamplight. It had been painted by Joan, the tormented woman who’d seen Evil when she dropped acid right in that room, but when she’d done the picture she’d been in a better mood. She’d taken grousing Tom and laid him out on the couch, perched a toy helmet of Clara’s on his head, piled up Clara’s toys around him, and begun to paint. She’d caught him, his blond brows scrunched down over his eyes, his blond mustache safely covering up his lips, his eyelids safely scrunched closed. But she’d caught the ridiculousness of this position too. All those defenses, but for what? Couldn’t he break down and open up his eyes, for crying out loud?

Rose and I lounged on the metal cot older than the century, covered with mattresses and those pillows bleached cleaner and cleaner by the sun. Around us the Canyon turned deeper and deeper black. You could hear it (the cats, coyotes, squirrels, rats, voles, rabbits, raccoons, skunks, snakes, shrews) but you couldn’t see a thing except the stars in the sky.

We took the drug and in fifteen minutes felt that scrabbling in our chests. The sky, with those bright stars, got really busy. Whenever a plane flew over, looking like some marvelous Oriental caravan, carrying blue and green and red lights in its underbelly, and leaving ribbons of that color behind it, it would push the stars out of the way. They’d whirl back to their original position, some of them swirling in a circle like certain kinds of breakfast pastry. (It came as another dopey revelation—how Van Gogh had seen the sky, where bakers down through the ages had gotten their ideas.)

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