Seen on the Purple Line to Linden at about 9 a.m.
writes down the list with wrinkled hands attached to freckled arms. So
freckled, in fact, that it’s hard to see her original, unmarred skin color. Her
cheeks are the same way, speckled with brown dots, no rosy blush in sight. When
she was young, in California, Irina loved to lie out in the sun. She’d smear
her thin, strong body with tanning oil, close her eyes, and fall asleep in the
warm, humid hug of the summer air. The boys couldn’t stop staring.
the sun isn’t a good friend. It burned her up, and now she’s a ruined old
woman. Ruined and dying. That’s why she’s writing the list. The melanoma is all
over her chest and belly, and the doctors keep telling her it doesn’t look
good. Obviously it doesn’t look good. Strangers can’t stop staring.
So Irina is making this list of things to do
before she dies. It’s not as long as she expected. One item is to go to the
beach. She’ll probably forego the sunscreen. What’s the point? Irina would like
to die at the beach, waves lapping at the soles of her feet.
Yeah, you can tell I went to see a Chekhov play last night. Stole the name Irina.
This weekend is ridiculously busy. Today we have couchsurfers arriving from Austria. Tomorrow I have to go out to the burbs for my cousin's wedding. Sunday I have a gogo show with The Fortunate Sons. Sleep is for the weak.