The Hunt Ends

I have food posioning or something. An errant piece of ham, most likely, but I have yet to vomit.

S. doesn't want to come over and be my antidote. H did offer to bring me films and ice cream, but I resisted. He was sick Wednesday night and I rested his warm head on my lap and his father tossed racists remarks about Navajos in my general direction. That man is a fat white pig. A real piece of errant ham.

Anyway, I wish S. would come over and lay cool, damp pieces of cotton over my forehead the way they do in movies, even though I don't have a fever. I want to curl in his lap. I want to be coddled. And feel like I am back home.


Kayenta was as Kayenta does.

Visited the Pink House trailer park, and everything was identical, is would seem. Does Kayenta just exist in a perminent state of rust and distingration? The playgrounds were always old and the merry-go-round made the same noise. I peered in through the fence at the Pink House's lot. My brother's foot prints, and my hand prints were still there, stuck in the concrete, right next to our initials. All the peach trees were gone.

I saw my Wonderwall, I saw her for the first time in two years. She's in Utah working at a rehab center where she must prevent rich girls from eating the nuts and bolts that hold their beds together. She told me she had a new best friend. She's the same. Our formula is. I looked out the window at the line of people I no longer knew and cried a little bit.

I realize now how much trouble I am getting myself into by writing about that place for my grant...I have to open the scariest books I know.

My mother commented on how apart we looked in this photograph, where cowboy hats bob like apples in the background. I wish I could show you all how beautiful she is.


What scares me is she is like Seth.The same dripping water fingers, and the
strange lips. They are two skinny people who never finish eating what you give to them. They hide those skinny shy bodies under baggy clothes and they both wear skate shoes. I always wonder what is real with both of them. But maybe they are realer.

Later Bee asked me: "Did all we talk about in high school was suicide?"
I wanted to tell her that I didn't know we were saying any such thing.