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Just then, my phone started ringing. The ring must have been damaged by the water as well, so now it had a high, keening note - kind of the sound I imagine a mermaid might make if you punched her in the face.
Maureen Johnson
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Maureen Johnson
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: February 16
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Novelist
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Philadelphia
Pennsylvania
Make
Faces
Phone
Sound
Rings
Water
Phones
Punched
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Mermaid
Might
Started
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Well
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Damaged
Must
High
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Note
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It was fine, I said stiffly. We played Mouse Trap. Is that what they're calling it these days? she asked, throwing me a terrible grin. I have to go give Rachel a quick bath. Feel free to make yourself some cocoa or whatever you like! She stopped short of adding ...future child-bride of my only son.
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Tired, but not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.
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Spicy food and I have a close relationship—an obsessive one, in fact. If it’s spicy, I want it. I want to sweat and shake and go half blind from the searing pain . . . which, now that I put it that way, seems really suggestive. But spicy stuff is addictive. That’s a known fact of science.
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With that, I splashed some water on my face, fixed on a smile, and stepped out. I would find Jerome. I would make him explain to me what I was missing. We would laugh, then we would kiss with tongue, and all would be well.
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Something about this boat screamed, I am a very popular model in the world's oil-bearing regions. I cost more than your soul!
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You've never told me about your love life, Scarlett. You're a very pretty girl. You must have a boy shacked up somewhere for your personal delights. I'd bet it's a booky one, overtones of Harry Potter and a lot of black T-shirts.
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Sometimes it is worth any amount of suffering just to prevent giving your parents the opportunity to be right.
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Fear can't hurt you, she said. When it washes over you, give it no power. It's a snake with no venom. Remember that. That knowledge can save you.
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Can I tell you something you really don't want to hear? He's going to break up with you. - Stuart
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Which is both gross and breathtakingly romantic. He could always have just gone upstairs and brushed his teeth, but he stayed and lurked by the fish for me.
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New start or not, there was a line to be drawn, and that line was singing musicals to yourself as serious psychological motivation.
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I try to shake it loose-but these ideas, they cling. It's like I'm shackled to them with an iron chain. They rattle along behind me, dragging against the ground, always reminding me of their presence.
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Hey! Jack the Wanker! Over here! I want your autograph!
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People always say they can't do things, that they're impossible. They just haven't been creative enough.
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No one hid their interest when I walked into the room. I'm not sure if it was the news about Boo or my general appearance. At home, people would have asked. People would have been crawling all over me for information. At Wexford, they seemed to extract what they wanted to know by covert staring.
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