Wild Things
“—Proverbs 9:17 As I walked through the warm haze of early fall to the train the next morning, I went through my usual school year routine, stopping in for a cinnamon bun from the bakery that was just out of sight from my parent's house. I'd been stopping in for this treat regularly since I was in my teens. Then it had been in defiance of my mother's demand that I fit into her first cotillion dress for my first cotillion — my mother always was and always will be two sizes smaller than me. She'd ...always bragged of a figure the same size as Jackie Kennedy's, that is until Jackie remarried. After that Jackie was never mentioned. My daily cinnamon bun was an old delicious habit with a dash of defiant memory.
On State Street I changed to the El, which would take me to Washington Park for the faculty shuttle. The uneventful ride gave me the opportunity to rest my eyes after a poor night's sleep. My thoughts turned constantly to my sister's plight. Poor Meg. What would she do now? My worry for Meg kept me from thinking about the troubling feelings Renee had reawakened.MoreLess
On State Street I changed to the El, which would take me to Washington Park for the faculty shuttle. The uneventful ride gave me the opportunity to rest my eyes after a poor night's sleep. My thoughts turned constantly to my sister's plight. Poor Meg. What would she do now? My worry for Meg kept me from thinking about the troubling feelings Renee had reawakened.MoreLess
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