Perfect. Part 3
Which explains why we deserted the Golden State in favor of the Silver State some eighteen months ago. Dad keeps pouncing on the distressed properties that pop up regularly.
Plus, cost of living is lower here, and that includes my tuition at Zephyr Academy, the finest college prep school in northern Nevada. I don't miss California too much, except for seeing Gramps and Grandma Grace. That, and the street dance scene.
Dad Might Be Sympathetic To my missing my grandparents, but dance is not even a small blip on his radar. I mean, it would not jibe with his plans for my future.
It's an ongoing rant.
Mom, who's generally more focused on where to nip and how to tuck her patients, only brings it up once in a while. Dad is more pragmatic, and broaches the subject regularly, especially
with graduation in
plain sight. Did you decide about school?
I've had positive responses from two California colleges.
Either would be okay, I guess. "Not yet."
Stop procrastinating. Where do you see
yourself next year? Because
it won't be here. Time for a viable plan.
Dorm or a homeless shelter? Nice choice.
Thanks, Dad. My plan is art school, a frivolous career in graphic design. I'm still waiting to hear back from my top choice-the San Francisco Art Inst.i.tute. But when I told Dad that, he freaked. Apparently, "art"
plus "San Francisco" can
only mean one thing. You're not serious!
He actually yelled, all his well-cultivated
self-control out the
window. What are you? A h.o.m.os.e.xual?
It might have been funny, except for the way he looked at me- like hinging on my answer was worthiness of the Kane surname. I shook my head, agreed to rethink my future, wishing I could confess that my real dream isn't art. It's dance. My parents have no idea.
No one does, except my instructor, who gives me private lessons.
Ballet. Modern. Some ballroom. But I love jazz most of all, and Liana says I've got real talent. I don't know about that, but I do know that dance lifts me above the mundane.
Grounds me with the certainty that I am good at something. Connects me to the place inside where I find pa.s.sion.
Meaning beyond possessions. Pride, divorced from my last name. But how can I confess that to my father?
He thinks a career in art will make me a gay loser. If I told him I wanted to be a dancer, it would erase any doubt in his mind that's exactly what I am.
As For My Mom She mostly cares about wasted tuition. Art?
You might as well go to
public school. What's the point of spending
all this money to insure you have a quality
education only to have you
squander it on an indulgent flight of fancy?
Funny, considering indulgent flights of fancy bring in a good portion of her income as a plastic surgeon. Today, snow plummeting from the silver sky, Dr. Kane is working in her home office. I can hear her, purring to a patient on the phone. I understand and
your concerns are justified.
Like all cosmetic surgery, liposuction can
have side effects. But you are a perfect
candidate.... Mom will
talk that lady into letting her suck the fat
from the woman's gut, b.u.t.t, or thighs, a shortcut to perfection. d.a.m.n the bills. You'll be the finest woman standing in the bankruptcy line. Your plastic surgeon doesn't care, either.
She gets payment in full up front. Which helps pay for her ambitionless kid's unappreciated tuition. No cla.s.ses today, though. Today, even the snowplow drivers are staying inside; at least I haven't heard one go by. It's a good day to hang out at home. But I've got other plans and a stellar all-wheel-drive Audi Quattro.
Mom's still on the phone, convincing. I call out anyway, "See you later."
Her voice falls quiet, so I know she must have heard me. But she doesn't bother to say good-bye.
Cara
Don't Bother Me with promises. Vows are cheaply manufactured, come with no guarantees.
Don't bother to say you love me. The word is indefinable.
Joy to some, heartbreak to others, depending on circ.u.mstance. There is evidence that the emotion can make a person live longer, evidence it can kill you early.
I think it's akin to a deadly disease. Or at least some exotic fever. Catch it, and you'd better, quick, swallow some medication to use as a weapon against the fire ravaging body and soul.