Microchondria II: Short Short Stories Collected by Harvard Book Store
Life Lesson #43
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If the Meek Inherit the Earth, They'll Have Sons-of-Bitches for Lawyers
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"Risking death to see the Matisse paper cutouts seemed like a good idea at the time."
I ended up at law school, when I couldn't figure out what else to do with my life. So far, I had found growing up to be a process of flip-flopping between bad and worse. I thought , as a lawyer, at least I wouldn't have to wear a uniform ever again, not realizing when I was twenty-five, that a moisture-absorbent wool suit is just another kind of uniform.
"...that country boy caroused, seduced by revolutionary politics, prying up cobblestones, burning cars, and screwing dozens of girls, as he told my 12th grade government class later, fearing not “ze AID” but “only ze crab”."
One summer night, a 12-year-old boy told me he loved me. I was a grown woman, a stranger being offered candy by a kid.
"More than even gifts, Abby Crosby loved wrapped-up boxes. Loved the anticipation. It was the same with Christmas Day."
"Not that it was ever quiet in New York, but there are moments when the children's voices fade away down the hall and I'm alone on stage, when I shut my eyes and breathe in the dusty air of the high school theater I can almost taste in that sweaty air fecund with hormones and hope what it was like to be so ambitious and full of dreams again..."
"She'd calculated her motions to conserve energy: one forward to flick free a scorecard, one to pluck a miniature yellow pencil kids were always pocketing ouf of the perforated silver jar, and a left side swipe to retrieve a brightly colored golf ball in whatever shade the kid shrieked out."