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One of them hung a pink bra from our lighting fixture. I left it there. It was a nice bra

Maureen Johnson

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Maureen Johnson
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: February 16
Author
Novelist
Writer
Philadelphia
Pennsylvania
Left
Fixture
Bras
Pink
Lighting
Hung
Nice

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I had one class in the morning, the mysteriously named Further Maths. It was two hours long and so deeply frightening that I think I went into a trance.
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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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Kissing is something that makes up for a lot of other crap you have to put up with...It can be confusing and weird and awkward, but sometimes it just makes you melt and forget everything that is going on.
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You don't know me yet, I said. Rory was telling me she lives in a swamp, Charlotte said. That's right, I said, turning up my accent a little. These are the very first shoes I've ever owned. They sure do pinch my feet. Jerome gave a little snort.
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I still have a whopping bad case of what you call scag magnetism. I thought i had gotten rid of it there, but it looks like scary guys still materialize from thin air in my presence. They are drawn to me. I am the North Pole, and they are the explorers of love.
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You can never visit the same place twice. Each time, it's a different story. By the very act of coming back, you wipe out what came before.
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She was standing in the airport of Copenhagen, staring at a doorway, trying to figure out if it was (a) a bathroom and (b) what kind of bathroom it was. The door merely said H. Was she an H? Was H hers? It could just as easily be his. Or Helicopter Room: Not a Bathroom at All
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I guess life is full of maybes.
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I sleep better knowing that a naked cork-eater is not sneaking around at night, stealing my underwear.
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One question, I said. Did you tell me all that because you think I'm going to die? No, he said. It's because you're doing something brave, and I felt I should too. I'll take that as a yes, I said.
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Ah, he said. I had an . . . artistic disagreement with the director of the panto. As it happens, I take issue with the objectification of women in Cinderella, and the reliance on shoes as a means of identification. Surely you understand.
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A pause while my mother made high-pitched sisterly devotions of gratitude.
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Also, when on a campaign to convince a stranger that you aren't a few fries short of a Happy Meal, throwing around phrases like tangentially Swedish is not the best way to go.
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I could pretend, at least, and if I pretended long enough, maybe I could make it into a reality.
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We study there a lot because... what other choice does society give us, right? It's Starbucks or death, sometimes.
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The locker at the end of her bed had no lock, and one of the hinges was busted. She opened it up. There was a thing in it. The thing might have been a sandwich at some point, or an animal, or a human hand...but what it was now was fuzzy and putrid. A minute later, Ginny was down the stairs, out the door, and gone.
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But we made our own fun, mostly. I recall a time, many years later, when American children seemed unable to amuse themselves without a fortune in electrical and electronic equipment. We had no fancy equipment and did not miss it.
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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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I had always assumed the weekend was a holy tradition, respected by good people everywhere. Not so at Wexford.
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