50,000
“Foreclosure?”
“Yes. They will lose that house.”
“Isn’t there a homestead act in Florida?” I feel intelligent knowing this. Then I feel sick at how good I feel asserting intellectual ability, especially to be contrary.
“The loan is out of a bank in Texas.”
TEXT MESSAGE: “I’m going to lose fifty g’s fuck NO”
“Saints are winning, Mom.”
“It will be so good for the city—they’ve been through so much.”
“isn’t that cute? Football is so fucking fixed Mom. It’s like earthquakes and hurricanes, all this stuff and everyone’s losing their house and their kids are facebooking all day—we need this all American under-dog win! It’s like we need something like that to remind us that the American dream is alive and real even though we see it crumbling every second of every day” Spit is coming out of my mouth but it feels good.
I get one of those looks, a completely patronizing one that says something like, “Oh, Jordan.” I picture myself at thirteen with green fingernails defending my choice to refuse meat as not “rebellious” but “evolved.”
TEXT MESSAGE: “Q is the rabbit litter in closet”
I order a scotch on the rocks. Oban. The waiter asks for my ID, and then says something to my mother about having a beautiful daughter as if I’m not right there.
“Go get my drink.”
“Jordan! Do you have to be rude when someone gives you a compliment?”
“That wasn’t a compliment. Do you have a kleenex?”
“It’s rude to blow your nose at the table.”
“Mom. My nose is fucked up because I’ve been diving and unless you want snot on the table, I’d like a kleenex.”
“Jordan, go outside and cool down.”
I went outside. I’m not sure about cooling down. There were a few too many valets, an uncomfortable amount really—how many men does it take to park cars so that people don’t have to walk in the nice Florida evening? One starts talking to me. Two of the others giggle and it makes me uncomfortable—men make me uncomfortable still in groups when they are bold. I say something about needing a joint and he told me I was really pretty. Looking into his eyes I called him an asshole. I turned around and walked back inside. Cigarettes—that pack I bought for nine whole dollars, and why did I leave them inside?
Bathroom to respond to text message. I take a moment to hate myself for letting it interrupt my life and for being that girl who can’t make it through dinner without looking at her phone a million times. “dad, i need you to talk to mom about her hearing. it’s bad.”
