Farewell Navigator
“She could have read his obituary in the paper but she was probably dropping the needle onto a record instead. All those sock hops—a relentless schedule—meant a girl had to practice. Her legs are so swollen now they couldn’t dance if you paid them. While watching her rocket program, she props the knurly white logs on a milk crate. Look, she yells, he’s hanging in the blackness from just that tiny cord and what if it snaps?
I say from the next room: It’s made of steel. It won’t.
James Agee had a ...drinking problem. He slept around on all three of his wives. He was a socialist obsessed with Jesus. He criticized the government and other writers and his own failed self. By the time he died—of a stopped heart in a taxi, age forty-five—he was in every sense a stray.
And so smart you could hear his brain tick ten blocks away.
And so louche you could lick him off the bottom of your shoe.
It would be better if I didn’t think about him. But I do.
My mother is blattering about grace and bravery.MoreLess
I say from the next room: It’s made of steel. It won’t.
James Agee had a ...drinking problem. He slept around on all three of his wives. He was a socialist obsessed with Jesus. He criticized the government and other writers and his own failed self. By the time he died—of a stopped heart in a taxi, age forty-five—he was in every sense a stray.
And so smart you could hear his brain tick ten blocks away.
And so louche you could lick him off the bottom of your shoe.
It would be better if I didn’t think about him. But I do.
My mother is blattering about grace and bravery.MoreLess
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