Today is Day 18 of A March of Marys, a literary experience where I share a sequential chunk of American Mary, my first novel, right here online every day throughout the month of March. I’ve got two short ones for you. We’re getting close to the end.
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Her friend gets pissed at her a lot but she thinks it’s mostly misplaced sexual tension. She likes things that are bad for her, like unavailable men and carcinogens. She tries to read at least one new book a week. She is fascinated by people but has a hard time keeping up the volley when talking with a recent acquaintance. She has grown wary of revealing too much of herself after repeated mistakes she never learns from. She still manages to break her heart again over again in a low jinx fashion. When she has to, she’ll call herself a grownup. But she isn’t sure of anything.
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She babysits for a family with a new baby. The dad spends his days in a studio carving rustic looking tables by hand that he sells for upwards of $8,000. She forgets what the mom does for a living, but she remembers that the mom is good at math so it probably has something to do with medicine. She watches short videos designed to stimulate the infant mind. She writes in a journal. She tries to subvert the form. She hears her name in cloying synth pop. After putting the baby to bed she takes short cigarette breaks on the family’s back patio. The breaks are never long enough even though she smokes 100s. Maybe they would be longer if she switched to american spirits. She washes her hands as soon as she gets inside and watches hot water flow over her wrists and down the drain in a soapy spiral. She tries to live a fulfilling life outside of her job. She tries to subvert the form. She wants to be better and twists her assumptions. She decides it is working. She laps up the mundane. She regurgitates glances and keeps her hands like gnarled roots at her sides. She thinks this is an easy job but it is boring.
Missed the last post? Read it here.