Longing

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Su mirada cae, y puedo ver todo lo que siento en su rostro. Él no odia su vida, adora a su esposa e hijos, pero si pudiéramos regresar y hacer al menos una cosa diferente, sé que ambos lo haríamos. Aquí estamos, sentados, y no estamos seguros de qué más tenemos que esperar. —Mira, hombre. —Levanta sus ojos hacia mí—. Te divertiste con ella. No digo que hayas hecho nada malo. Si el sexo es bueno, entonces disfrutan el uno del otro. Pero debes pensar en el futuro y sabes que no siempre se sentirá así. —Hace una pausa, frunciendo el ceño—. Se despertará en diez años y verá en línea una foto de un amigo de la escuela que está recorriendo Nepal o alguna mierda y mirará su propia vida y pensará en cómo se enganchó con dos niños en esta pequeña ciudad y se casó con un hombre de casi cincuenta años cuya vida está a más de la mitad de camino. Permanezco en silencio, y el peso de sus palabras en mis entrañas es como ladrillos. —¿Crees que no se arrepentirá de elegirte, sabiendo que sus mejores años casi se han ido? —pregunta. Pero no tengo que responder. Él sabe que tiene razón. En diez años, aún será joven y hermosa, y voy a merecerla incluso menos que ahora. No puedo darle todo lo que ella quiere sin importar lo mucho que mi ego piense lo contrario. Nació para grandes cosas. Es inteligente, fuerte y se merece el mundo. Merece una vida que me pasó hace mucho tiempo. Otro hombre será para ella todo lo que no soy y nunca seré, y aunque esa idea es como ácido en mi boca, estará más feliz por ello. Y sobre todo lo demás, eso es lo que quiero. Ella se hará mayor con otra persona, y esa es la vida que merece. Dutch se va, y cierro el garaje, me dirijo a la casa e inmediatamente subo las escaleras. Me detengo en el dormitorio de Jordan, la puerta se abre y la ligera brisa que sopla fuera de su ventana sopla las hojas del árbol en el patio trasero. Su leve aroma permanece, y la marca que su cuerpo hizo todavía está grabada en la almohada apoyada en su silla. Sin embargo, no entro. No es mi habitación, ya no es mi chica y está por ahí en algún lado, siguiendo con su vida, y necesito hacer lo mismo. Suficiente. Haz lo correcto. Alcanzando la perilla, inhalo su perfume por última vez. Y cierro la puerta. Dos meses después Enrollando la delgada cuerda blanca alrededor de la rueda, tiro de ella viendo como se mueve hacia mí sobre la polea. Me muevo al otro poste de madera que coloqué en el jardín y tiro de esa cuerda, probándola. No tengo idea de por qué estoy poniendo un tendedero.

• From Love 2.0: Finding Happiness and Health in Moments of Connection (2013)

  It’s that ache of sensing that something vital is missing from your life; a deep thirst for more. More meaning, more connection, more energy—more something . Longing is that feeling that courses through your body just before you decide that you’re restless, lonely, or unhappy. Longing like this is not just another mental state. It’s deeply physical. Your body craves some essential nutrient that it’s not getting, yet you can’t quite put your finger on what it is. Sometimes you can numb this ache with a deep dive into work, gossip, television, or gaming. More often than not, though, these and other attempts to fill the aching void are merely temporary distractions. The longing doesn’t let up. It trails you like a shadow, insistently, making distractions all the more appealing. And distractions abound—that second or third glass of wine, that stream of texts and tweets, that couch and remote control. Odds are, food is abundant in your life. And clean drinking water is as close as the nearest faucet and virtually limitless. You have access to reasonably clean air and adequate shelter. Those basic needs have long been met. What you long for now is far more intangible. What you long for is love. Whether you’re single or not, whether you spend your days largely in isolation or steadily surrounded by the buzz of conversation, love is the essential nutrient that your cells crave: true positivity-charged connection with other living beings. Love, as it turns out, nourishes your body the way the right balance of sunlight, nutrient-rich soil, and water nourishes plants and allows them to flourish. The more you experience it, the more you open up and grow, becoming wiser and more attuned, more resilient and effective, happier and healthier. You grow spiritually as well, better able to see, feel, and appreciate the deep interconnections that inexplicably tie you to others, that embed you within the grand fabric of life. Just as your body was designed to extract oxygen from the earth’s atmosphere, and nutrients from the foods you ingest, your body was designed to love. Love—like taking a deep breath or eating an orange when you’re depleted and thirsty—not only feels great but is also life-giving, an indispensable source of energy, sustenance, and health. When I compare love to oxygen and food, I’m not just taking poetic license.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  “We can’t get into any of the clubs. They card everyone.” “I wish you’d invite your friends to our house,” Abby said. Vix felt so deceitful. If it had been up to her she’d have gladly brought Bru to the house. But Caitlin said never . Abby was never going to know about Von or Bru. Okay, okay … Vix had to swear never to mention them although she didn’t see why. She wanted to show off Bru to everyone. She wanted to write home about him. She wanted to tell the world she was in love with Joseph Brudegher and he was in love with her. She made the mistake of admitting that to Caitlin. “Oh, please … they all say they love you during sex. It doesn’t mean a thing.” “Bru doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean,” Vix told her. “Vix … don’t make this into something more than it is. I mean, what do you think happens when we leave here on Labor Day? You think they sit around waiting for us to come back? It’s a summer romance. End of story.” It was still July. Why did she have to think about Labor Day? “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Caitlin told her. Vix remembered the redhead crying her eyes out at the pizza place. No guy will ever make me feel that bad! And she hated Caitlin for reminding her. So what if it was just a summer romance? Did that mean she shouldn’t enjoy it? Caitlin wrapped her arms around Vix. “I’m glad you’re happy. Really. I’m glad you’re in love. Just remember, no matter how many guys come and go we’ll always be together. Friends last longer than lovers.” 19ABBY ENCOURAGED THEM to throw a party for Vix’s seventeenth birthday. “You can invite the girls from work … and Daniel and Gus will bring their friends from the Harborview.” She said this as if it were a brilliant idea. “We could do a barbecue or even a clambake.” Poor Abby. She wanted so much for things to work out between all of them, to play mother to her brood. But Caitlin had her own plans and they didn’t include Abby or the Chicago Boys. She chose a remote beach on Chappaquiddick as the site for Vix’s party. And the only people she invited were Bru and Von. Vix had never been to Chappy but she’d heard plenty about the scandal involving the senator and the young political assistant, and how she’d been trapped inside his car when it rolled off the Dike Bridge and into the dark waters. “Talk about following your pointer!” Caitlin said. “And God knows what she was following.” “Maybe she thought she was in love.” “That was her first mistake,” Caitlin said. “And her last.” Vix hadn’t intended to make a joke of it but Caitlin laughed anyway.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —Mierda —digo ahogadamente. Mi frente está cubierta en sudor. Todavía estoy duro, sangre pulsando atreves de mi polla, porque todavía puedo sentir lo que sentía hace dos meses. Daría lo que fuera por tenerla en mis brazos en este momento. Levantándome, me pongo los jeans y salgo de la habitación. Paso la habitación de Cole donde sigue dormido y silenciosamente abro la puerta de Jordan. Su habitación ha estado cerrada por ocho semanas, y me siento perdido en cuanto inhalo. Ella está en todas partes, cierro la puerta y enciendo la luz. Sus revistas Home & Garden están debajo de su cama, y miro su escritorio, mis ojos moviéndose a la esquina y recordando lo hermosa que estaba esa noche. El sistema de sonido que Dutch le dio está encima, y camino hacia éste, bajando el volumen y presionando Play. Reconozco a Bruce Springsteen I’m On Fire saliendo de las bocinas, y vuelvo a ajustar el volumen, sin querer despertar a Cole. Camino a la cama, me siento y escucho la canción, mirando alrededor. No puedo alejarme de ella, y nunca quiero hacerlo. En algún momento pensé que estaba enamorado de Lindsay, pero no era así. No era como esto. Y ni siquiera se lo dije. Ella no sabe que la amo. Nunca pensé que diría esto, pero Cramer tiene razón. La hubiera amado con todo lo que tenía. Era la indicada para mí. Hubiera llegado lejos para poder hacerla feliz por el resto de su vida. Pero lo arruiné. Mirando alrededor, noto un frasco en su mesa de noche, la etiqueta dice Sueños. Muevo la mano y lo tomo, estudiando unos pequeños rollos de papel, todos de diferentes colores y amarrados con hilo dorado dentro del frasco. Mi corazón retumba en mis oídos, no quiero invadir su privacidad pero necesito saber, necesito saber que sus sueños no me incluyen o cosas que puedo darle. Su amor nubla su mente. Lo que escribió aquí, será la verdad. Abriendo la tapa, dejo caer los rollos sobre la cama y tomo uno. Deslizando el hilo, mi estómago se retuerce por los nervios mientras desenrollo el primero. Inventar mi propia tradición de Navidad. Sonrío débilmente, algo como eso suena exactamente a ella. Es creativa, y hubiera amado ver con qué salía. Dejándolo a un lado, tomo otro, lo abro y leo. Conducir un convertible con la capota abajo en la lluvia. Sí, puedo verla arrastrándome a hacer algo así, intentando hacer que me divierta. Tomando otro rollo, mi sonrisa cae, y mi boca se seca, preparándome de nuevo para ver algo que quizás no me guste. El pulso de mi cuello se acelera mientras desenrollo. Tener una biblioteca en mi casa algún día. Con estantes a la medida, hojas soplando afuera, y un sillón cómodo con frazadas calientes. Muevo las cejas y suelto el papel, tomando otro rápidamente. Me pregunto si puedo hacer que Pike se quede en cama todo el día, en un día de lluvia, para ver películas.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  “Oh, come on, Victoria … just one more time … so you’ll have something to remember me by.” She hadn’t expected him to let go so easily and was angry at herself for feeling disappointed. “Feel how hot he is for you. He’s been such a good boy, waiting patiently all day.” “Sorry, Will. Send him my regards … I mean, my regrets.” She opened the door at the next red light, grabbed her bag, and jumped out of his car. “Really Victoria … you’re hopeless,” Paisley said. “Not that I’m pushing marriage. I’m all for making a life on your own first, but if it falls out of a tree and hits you on the head, you can’t just walk away from it, especially when it comes with that kind of financial security. I mean, do you know how few straight, stable, single guys there are in this city … not to mention husband material? You could count them on one hand. One hand.” “Your southern roots are showing, Pais,” Maia said. “Maybe,” Paisley said. “Or maybe it’s that a person never gets over her first love.” “Not that old song again,” Vix said. Her life was full. It was interesting. A person didn’t necessarily have to be in love. She signed up for a yoga course, took on another student through the School Volunteer Program, vowed not to waste her introductory membership at Crunch. She met Jocelyn for lunch a couple of times and confessed she’d never experienced the creative high of Five Minutes in Heaven in the real workplace. They talked about doing a documentary together, forming their own production company. “You have to keep chasing your dreams,” Jocelyn said. A postcard from Caitlin, dated December 20, 1989, Zacatecas, Mexico. I’ve seen death and it’s ugly. Ugly and frightening . No mention of James or Donny. Vix called the Seattle number, was told it was disconnected at the customer’s request. She called Abby, trying not to show her concern, and told her she’d misplaced Caitlin’s number. Abby said, “She’s in Mexico, Vix. At a monastery. You can’t call. None of us can.” New Year’s Eve. They decided to stay at home—Maia, Paisley, and Vix—to celebrate together. They ordered in, rented Annie Hall , and Vix laughed, then cried, remembering the night Lamb had taken Caitlin and her to see it. And after, how they’d begged to ride the Flying Horses but instead had found Von in the alley with some girl’s hand wrapped around his Package. By ten, friends began to drop in—Jocelyn, Earl, Debra. Each of them brought a few of their friends. They sent out for more food. Abby and Lamb called from Mexico City to wish Vix a happy New Year. They were on their way to the monastery, hoping to see Caitlin. “Send her my love,” Vix said. “Wish her a happy New Year for me.” Daniel and Gus phoned from Chicago, where Gus was visiting his family. They sounded smashed. So what?

• From Love 2.0: Finding Happiness and Health in Moments of Connection (2013)

  Odds are, food is abundant in your life. And clean drinking water is as close as the nearest faucet and virtually limitless. You have access to reasonably clean air and adequate shelter. Those basic needs have long been met. What you long for now is far more intangible. What you long for is love. Whether you’re single or not, whether you spend your days largely in isolation or steadily surrounded by the buzz of conversation, love is the essential nutrient that your cells crave: true positivity-charged connection with other living beings. Love, as it turns out, nourishes your body the way the right balance of sunlight, nutrient-rich soil, and water nourishes plants and allows them to flourish. The more you experience it, the more you open up and grow, becoming wiser and more attuned, more resilient and effective, happier and healthier. You grow spiritually as well, better able to see, feel, and appreciate the deep interconnections that inexplicably tie you to others, that embed you within the grand fabric of life. Just as your body was designed to extract oxygen from the earth’s atmosphere, and nutrients from the foods you ingest, your body was designed to love. Love—like taking a deep breath or eating an orange when you’re depleted and thirsty—not only feels great but is also life-giving, an indispensable source of energy, sustenance, and health. When I compare love to oxygen and food, I’m not just taking poetic license. I’m drawing on science: new science that illuminates for the first time how love, and its absence, fundamentally alters the biochemicals in which your body is steeped. They, in turn, can alter the very ways your DNA gets expressed within your cells. The love you do or do not experience today may quite literally change key aspects of your cellular architecture next season and next year—cells that affect your physical health, your vitality, and your overall well-being. In these ways and more, just as your supplies of clean air and nutritious food forecast how long you’ll walk this earth—and whether you’ll thrive or just get by—so does your supply of love. It’s Not What You Think

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  But Calvin prevailed on a young gentleman of tolerable learning to undertake the journey for him. He gave him a literal Latin translation of his tracts against the Nicodemites, together with letters to Luther and Melanchthon (Jan. 20, 1545). He asked the latter to act as mediator according to his best judgment. The letter to Luther is very respectful and modest. After explaining the case, and requesting him to give it a cursory examination and to return his opinion in a few words, Calvin thus concludes this, his only, letter to the great German Reformer: — "I am unwilling to give you this trouble in the midst of so many weighty and various employments; but such is your sense of justice that you cannot suppose me to have done this unless compelled by the necessity of the case; I therefore trust that you will pardon me. Would that I could fly to you, that I might even for a few hours enjoy the happiness of your society; for I would prefer, and it would be far better, not only upon this question, but also about others, to converse personally with yourself; but seeing that it is not granted to us on earth, I hope that shortly it will come to pass in the kingdom of God. Adieu, most renowned sir, most distinguished minister of Christ, and my ever-honored father. The Lord himself rule and direct you by His own Spirit, that you may persevere even unto the end, for the common benefit and good of His own Church." Luther was still so excited by his last eucharistic controversy with the Swiss, and so suspicious, that Melanchthon deemed it inexpedient to lay the documents before him.892 "I have not shown your letter to Dr. Martin," he replied to Calvin, April 17, 1545, "for he takes many things suspiciously, and does not like his answers to questions of the kind you have proposed to him, to be carried round and handed from one to another .... At present I am looking forward to exile and other sorrows. Farewell! On the day on which, thirty-eight hundred and forty-six years ago, Noah entered into the ark, by which God gave testimony of his purpose never to forsake his Church, even when she quivers under the shock of the billows of the great sea."

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  Despite the intensity of their lovemaking, when he left, she did not ask him his name, she did not ask him to return. She gave him a light kiss on his almost painful lips and sent him away. For months the memory of this night haunted him and he could not repeat the experience with any woman. One day he encountered a friend who had just been paid lavishly for some articles and invited him to have a drink. He told George the spectacular story of a scene he had witnessed. He was spending money freely in a bar when a very distinguished man approached him and suggested a pleasant pastime, observing a magnificent love scene, and as George’s friend happened to be a confirmed voyeur, the suggestion met with instant acceptance. He had been taken to a mysterious house, into a sumptuous apartment, and concealed in a dark room, where he had seen a nymphomaniac making love with an especially gifted and potent man. George’s heart stood still. “Describe her,” he said. His friend described the woman George had made love to, even to the satin dress. He also described the canopied bed, the mirrors, everything. George’s friend had paid one hundred dollars for the spectacle, but it had been worthwhile and had lasted for hours. Poor George. For months he was wary of women. He could not believe such perfidy, and such play-acting. He became obsessed with the idea that the women who invited him to their apartments were all hiding some spectator behind a curtain. [image file=image_rsrc1RD.jpg] ElenaWhile waiting for the train to Monteux, Elena looked at the people around her on the quays. Every trip aroused in her the same curiosity and hope one feels before the curtain is raised at the theatre, the same stirring anxiety and expectation. She singled out various men she might have liked to talk with, wondering if they were leaving on her train or merely saying good-bye to other passengers. Her cravings were vague, poetic. If she had been brutally asked what she was expecting she might have answered, “Le merveilleux.” It was a hunger that did not come from any precise region of her body. It was true, what someone had said about her after she had criticized a writer she had met: “You cannot see him as he really is, you cannot see anyone as he really is. He will always be disappointing because you are expecting someone.” She was expecting someone—every time a door opened, every time she went to a party, to any gathering of people, every time she entered a café, a theatre. None of the men she had singled out as desirable companions for the trip boarded the train. So she opened the book she was carrying. It was Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I lifted a hand to my head, and put my fingers through my hair, and tried to understand what he had told me. He was married to Flora, and Flora was still with Kitty; and Kitty had a spot at the Middlesex Music Hall. And that was about three streets away from where I stood now. And Kitty, of course, was married to Walter. Are they happy? I wanted to call to Bill then. Does she talk of me, ever? Does she think of me? Does she miss me? But when he returned - looking even more flustered and damp about the brow - I said only, ‘How’s - how’s the act, Bill?’ ‘The act?’ He sniffed. ‘Not so good, I don’t think. Not so good as the old days ...’ We gazed at one another. I looked harder at his face, and saw that he had gained a bit of weight beneath his chin, and that the flesh about his eyes was rather darker than I knew it. Then the Italian called, ‘Bill, will you come?’ And Bill said that he must go. I nodded, and held my hand out to him. As he shook it, he seemed to hesitate again. Then he said, very quickly, ‘You know, we was all really sorry, when you took off like that, from the Brit.’ I shrugged. ‘And Kitty,’ he went on, ‘well, Kitty was sorriest of all of us. She put notices, with Walter, in the Era and the Ref, week after week. Did you never see ’em, Nan, those notices?’ ‘No, Bill, I never did.’ He shook his head. ‘And now, here you are, dressed up like a lord!’ But he gave my suit a dubious glance, and added: ‘You’re sure though, are you, that you’re doing all right?’ I didn’t answer him. I only looked over to Diana again. She was tilting her head to gaze after me; beside her stood Maria, and Satin, and Dickie. Dickie held our tray of drinks, and had placed her monocle at her eye. She said, ‘The wine will warm, Diana,’ in a pettish sort of voice: the lobby was thinned of people, I could hear her very clearly. Diana tilted her head again: ‘What is the boy doing?’ ‘He is talking to the nigger,’ answered Maria, ‘at the cloaks!’ I felt my cheeks flame red, and looked quickly back at Bill. His gaze had followed mine, but now had been caught by a gentleman offering a coat, and he was lifting the garment over the counter, and already turning with it to the row of hooks. ‘Good-bye, Bill,’ I said, and he nodded over his shoulder, and gave me a sad little smile of farewell.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Hago una pausa cada vez que lo digo, sabiendo muy bien que no es realmente mi casa, pero también se siente extraño decir, “La casa de Pike” o” La casa del papá de Cole”. Después de terminar la llamada, voy al baño primero y luego le informo a Carter que conseguí quién me lleve a casa. Momentáneamente hay desilusión en su rostro, estoy bastante segura que es porque perdió su ligue para esta noche. Aunque, no estoy muy segura de cómo pensó que lo sería de todos modos, especialmente después de ignorarme para hablar sobre autos y después estar demasiado feliz al dejarme para "ponerme al día" con un grupo de chicas. Nunca antes hice nada como ponerme al día, incluso en la escuela secundaria. No es que realmente haya nada malo con Carter, Selena o con cualquier otra persona aquí. Pero cuando hablan, te das cuenta que tienen cosas bonitas, como dinero en sus bolsillos. Y sus madres. Tienen esta ligereza en sus voces en la que se puede escuchar que no han sido desalojadas de un apartamento antes, o que están tratando de decidir si deben cambiar sus teléfonos inteligentes por un teléfono plegable, porque es más barato. Soy diferente a ellos, y siempre lo he sido. Estar aquí esta noche me devuelve esos sentimientos, los sentimientos que odiaba tener en la escuela secundaria, y cuando estoy con Pike, yo... Frunzo el ceño, pensando. Cuando estoy cerca de él, estoy en mi elemento, supongo. Y más que nada en este momento, solo quiero irme a casa. O donde sea que esté él. Cam llega en menos de quince minutos, y me subo en su auto sin protestar mientras corre por la ciudad hacia el vecindario de Pike. Su jefe es indulgente, pero cuanto más tiempo está lejos, más dinero pierde, así que la dejo apresurarse. —Gracias —le digo—. Perdón por hacerte venir hasta tan lejos. Está vestida con un abrigo negro hasta los muslos, atado a la cintura, y estoy bastante segura que no está vestida por debajo, simplemente se puso algo para caminar por el estacionamiento sin ser molestada. —¿Estás segura que estás bien? —pregunta nuevamente. Agarro el salpicadero con una mano mientras ella gira a la derecha. —Sí. —¿Todo está yendo bien con el papá? —Me da un vistazo—. Sabes que puedes venir a mi casa en cualquier momento. Eres bienvenida a quedarte. —Lo sé. Nada está mal. De hecho, ahora me estoy dando cuenta que todo está bien, y no lo está en el A&W. Sé lo que quiero, y sé que no puedo estar con Pike, solo necesito encontrar alguien exactamente igual a él. Me aferro a la cerveza de raíz que compré para él como si fuera una mordaza mientras mi hermana serpentea a través de las calles y finalmente se detiene frente a la casa de Pike. Gruño con mi estómago todavía dando volteretas. —Gracias. Me bajo del auto, engancho mi bolso en la muñeca y cierro la puerta.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  And one night she’d gone to a downtown party with Jocelyn and had wound up in the bathroom with a scruffy, sexy filmmaker who’d kissed her breasts while she gave him a hand job. They hadn’t exchanged names or numbers and when she thought about it the next day she was glad. Too dangerous. A heartbreaker. Instead, she satisfied herself with fantasy lovers—sometimes reliving the moment in the truck with Bru and the peonies. And once, but only once, playing out the night of Caitlin’s flamenco dance and how it might have ended. Paisley was conducting a flirtation with an older man at ABC and Maia … Maia worried every time she met a new guy about how it would end, how bad she’d feel when it did, how long it would take her to get over him, whether it was even worth the trouble in the first place. She had no time or energy for bad relationships. Celibacy was the key to making Law Review. Paisley said, “What’s the point of thinking about how it’s going to end when it’s just beginning?” “Ask Victoria,” Maia told her. But Paisley didn’t ask. Instead she said, “Some people never get over their first loves. They spend their whole lives trying to recapture the thrill. Sometimes, after fifty years they get back together. They meet at some reunion or other and realize they were meant to be together.” “Do you have anyone in mind?” Vix asked. “Or are you talking in the abstract?” “Abstract,” Paisley said. “Strictly abstract. Though it’s not a bad concept for a show. I may just write a treatment and pitch it to my boss.” As they were planning their holidays, wrapping Christmas gifts while Paisley’s holiday cookies baked in the oven, Vix heard a familiar voice on the tube and looked up to see one of the Captains of Industry, an international expert in the field of aviation, commenting on a disaster. She shushed the others and moved closer. PanAm … Lockerbie, Scotland … carrying home Americans … many of them students … Vix motioned for Paisley and Maia. Together they listened to the grim news, as the Captain of Industry spoke with representatives of the airline. He came across as sincere, honest, and caring. Vix remembered him. She remembered the ones who had the most trouble. EdHE’S WATCHING THE NEWS when she calls. As soon as he hears her voice his stomach sours. She doesn’t call more than once a month and he’s expecting her to wait until Christmas. Does she have bad news? Does she know something about Lewis? He’s not sure where Lewis is. Germany, he thinks. But no reason to believe he’d be on Pan Am when he can fly military. And Tawny? Hell, she could be anywhere, anywhere the Countess is, but the Countess isn’t traveling anymore, is she? No. He doesn’t think so. Vix reassures him. Everything’s fine , she says.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  She wants to talk to you.” She picked up the bedside phone, the one they’d installed for Caitlin the summer before. “Hello?” “Vix … I’m in Arles … you know, the place where Van Gogh cut off his ear? And it’s so fantastic … the colors of the sky, the fields, the village. You’ve got to come … just for a week. And don’t tell me you can’t. If you want to, you can. That’s all there is to it!” “It’s the middle of the night,” Vix said, still half asleep. “I know. That’s what made me think of you. I don’t want you to miss this. Joanne will give you a week off. You know she will.” She paused, then added, “And so will Bru … if he really loves you.” She wished Caitlin would stop tempting her, would just quit telling her everything she was missing. She’d get there someday. On her own. “I just hoped …” Caitlin said, barely audible, “because I’m not coming back in September …” “What do you mean, you’re not coming back?” “I’m taking a year off before Wellesley, to travel and study abroad.” “When did you decide?” “Just now,” she said. “But it’s always been a possibility.” Caitlin began to send postcards, a series of them, each one from a different place, a few cryptic words printed on the back. I am the most … You are my … In the whole world … We could be … If only … They reminded Vix of the messages printed on little candy hearts, the kind her father brought home for Valentine’s Day. At the end of the week she laid them out, trying to find the hidden message, but there were too many possibilities. [image file=Image00006.jpg] Abby convinced her to bring Bru home for dinner. “Really, Vix … this is getting ridiculous. You can’t keep him to yourself forever …” She knew Abby was right but she was nervous, afraid they would … what? Judge him and find him lacking? She didn’t have to worry. He arrived on time with a bunch of cosmos for Abby. He was polite, almost shy, endearing. Abby served a simple summer meal of grilled sword-fish, island-grown corn, salad, blueberry pie. “We think of Vix as our daughter,” Lamb said, during dessert. “We’re her Vineyard family.” “Yes, sir. I know that.” “And we’re very proud that she’s going to Harvard in September,” Abby added. “I know that, too.” He squeezed Vix’s thigh under the table, letting her know he got the message, a gesture neither Abby nor Lamb missed. “What are your plans?” Abby asked Bru. “Do you think you’ll stay here, on the Vineyard?” “I’m an islander. I’ve got a good job with my uncles’ construction firm. So long as the market for second homes holds we’ve got nothing to worry about.” “He seems like a very decent chap,” Lamb said that night, after Bru left.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Él asiente, pensando. Y luego me lanza una mirada. —Entonces, tu hijo es de su edad, ¿verdad? ¿La trató mejor que tú? Respiro pesadamente, pero permanezco en silencio. Me da una sonrisa medio complacida y se aparta, regresando a su casa. Eso no es el punto, imbécil. Sí, puedo decir con seguridad que sus relaciones con chicos de su misma edad tampoco son ganadoras, pero... ¿Pero qué? ¿No voy a ser capaz de darle todo lo que quiere? ¿No voy a crecer con ella? ¿No voy a comenzar de nuevo, y construir una familia a mi edad? Dos meses atrás, todos esos parecían argumentos válidos, pero con el tiempo se sintieron menos convincentes. Como que quizás, quién soy y dónde estoy en mi vida, no está grabado en piedra. Todavía puede cambiar. Sacudo la cabeza. No lo sé. No, hice lo correcto. Han pasado meses, y no he sabido de ella. Claramente siguió adelante. Pero Dios, la extraño. Es como si estuviera constantemente enfermo de hambre, pero la comida no me satisfará. Existe un vacío en mi interior que no puedo llenar por mi cuenta. Levanto la caja de herramientas y giró hacia la casa, pero cuando miro hacia arriba, veo a Cole de pie en la puerta trasera de la casa. Me detengo. Jesús. ¿Desde hace cuánto tiempo ha estado parado ahí? La caja cuelga de mis dedos mientras nos miramos, y estoy completamente sorprendido de verlo ahí. —Te vi en la graduación —dice, una mano en su bolsillo. Su graduación del campo de entrenamiento fue ayer, y había estado escribiéndole y acosando a su reclutador todo el verano para poder contactarlo. Aunque tenía que verlo. No podía perdérmelo. Es un logro impresionante. Lentamente, camino hacia él, incapaz de apartar la mirada. Se ve increíble. Más alto y grande, un largo verano en el campo de entrenamiento había bronceado su piel y aclarado su ahora cabello corto. Está usando su uniforme verde de camuflaje con su gorra en una mano mientras se recarga en el marco. —Solo quería verte —le digo—. No estaba seguro si me habías puesto en la lista o tu reclutador, pero no respondiste ninguna de mis cartas, así que no estaba seguro si me querías ahí.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  So I said nothing, but let him lead me away from the great glass doors with the blue, cool, Canterbury night behind them, past the archway that led to the stalls, and the staircase to the gallery, towards an alcove in the far corner of the foyer, with a curtain across it, and a rope before it, and a sign swinging from the rope, marked Private. Chapter 2 I had been back stage at the Palace with Tony once or twice before, but only in the daytime, when the hall was dim and quite deserted. Now the corridors along which I walked with him were full of light and noise. We passed one doorway that led, I knew, to the stage itself: I caught a glimpse of ladders and ropes and trailing gas-pipes; of boys in caps and aprons, wheeling baskets, manœuvring lights. I had the sensation then - and I felt it again in the years that followed, every time I made a similar trip back stage - that I had stepped into the workings of a giant clock, stepped through the elegant casing to the dusty, greasy, restless machinery that lay, all hidden from the common eye, behind it. Tony led me down a passageway that stopped at a metal staircase, and here he paused to let three men go by. They wore hats and carried overcoats and bags; they were sallow-faced and poor-looking, with a patina of flashness - I thought they might be salesmen carrying sample-cases. Only when they had moved on, and I heard them sharing a joke with the stage door-keeper, did I realise that they were the trio of tumblers taking their leave for the night, and that their bags contained their spangles. I had a sudden fear that Kitty Butler might after all be just like them: plain, unremarkable, almost unrecognisable as the handsome girl I had seen swaggering in the glow of the footlights. I very nearly called to Tony to take me back; but he had descended the staircase, and when I caught up with him in the passageway below he was at a door, and had already turned its handle. The door was one of a row of others, indistinguishable from its neighbours but for a brass figure 7, very old and scratched, that was screwed at eye level upon its centre panel, and a hand-written card that had been tacked below. Miss Kitty Butler, it said.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  Anyway, she did not see Nan King in me, I know it; and if I had an urge to cross to her and reveal myself and ask for news of Kitty, it lasted for only a moment; and in that moment the driver shook his horses into life, and the carriage rumbled off. No, my only contact with the theatre now was as a renter. I discovered that the music halls of Leicester Square - the very same halls which Kitty and I had gazed at, all hopefully, two years before — were rather famous in the renter world as posing-grounds and pick-up spots. The Empire, in particular, was always thick with sods: they strolled side-by-side with the gay girls of the promenade, or stood, in little knots, exchanging gossip, comparing fortunes, greeting one another with flapping hands and high, extravagant voices. They never looked at the stage, never cheered or applauded, only gazed at themselves in the mirror-glass or at each other’s powdered faces, or - more covertly - at the gentlemen who, rapidly or rather lingeringly, passed them by. I loved to walk with them, and watch them, and be watched by them in turn. I loved to stroll about the Empire - the handsomest hall in England, as Walter had described it, the hall to which Kitty had longed so ardently, so uselessly! for an invitation - I loved to stroll about it with my back to its glorious golden stage, my costume bright beneath the ungentle glare of its electric chandeliers, my hair gleaming, my trousers bulging, my lips pink, my figure and pose reeking, as the gay boys say, of lavender, their import bold and unmistakable - but false. The singers and comedians I never looked at once. I had finished with that world, entirely. All, as I have said, went smoothly; then, in the first few warm weeks of 1891 - that is, a year and more after my flight from Kitty - there came a bothersome interruption to my little routine. I returned to the knocking-shop after an evening of rather heavy renting to find the old proprietress missing, her chair overturned, and the door to my chamber splintered and flung wide. What had happened I never found out for sure; it seemed that the madam had been taken or chased away - though whether by a policeman or a rival bawd, no one professed to know.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  Jane Powell. Where are they now? she wrote on the back. Are they immortal because they made movies? No answer required. Just think. To be continued . Vix tucked them away in the bottom dresser drawer, next to the photo of Lamb’s parents. She had other things on her mind. She and Bru were daring that summer, testing themselves, testing one another. He finally asked her if there’d been anyone else during their time apart. She told him about Andy. He told her about Star. She cried even though she already knew. When Abby and Lamb went to a wedding in Vermont she brought him to her room at their house, the first time he’d seen it. He walked around touching the shells and rocks, studying the photos of her and Caitlin. She played the tape of them singing “Dancing Queen,” took off her clothes and lay on the bed beckoning to him, pretending to be a bad girl. For the first time he wasn’t interested. “It’s too weird, being in this room,” he told her. “I feel like I’m doing something I’m not supposed to be doing.” That was the point, wasn’t it? She trained the young Dynamo cleaners, wondering if any of them were a team like she and Caitlin once were. She met with clients, organized the office, ordered supplies. She did her job so well Joanne offered to make her a partner after graduation. “Sure you work your butt off through September. But then you get to take it easy. You can marry your guy, have a couple of kids.” Vix didn’t know what to say without hurting Joanne’s feelings. “So maybe it doesn’t require a Harvard degree but you could always teach school during the year if that’s what you want.” The problem was, she didn’t know what she wanted. Except him. She wanted him. AbbyDURING HER PARENTS’ annual visit her mother says, You look happy, Abby darling. You know that’s all we want for you … to be happy . Thank you, Mother … I am happy . But we don’t understand why that friend of Caitlin’s is still living with you. Do you think that’s wise? Wise? Yes. Having a beautiful young girl in the house is tempting fate. You’ve got a good thing going. Why risk it? Remember what happened to Dory Previn when she let Mia Farrow into her life? Goodbye Andre! And don’t forget Cousin Elinor! Cousin Elinor sponsored an au pair from Norway and two years later watched as her husband and the au pair drove off into the sunset to live happily ever after, leaving Elinor with the children. She tries to explain how different it is with Vix. Vix is the daughter I never had, Mother. The daughter I’ve always dreamed of having . Then, to assuage her mother’s fears, she adds, Besides, she’s in love . It’s serious? her mother asks and she can hear herself asking Vix the same thing.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Y aunque no quiero estar pensando en él, realmente me gusta saber que está tratando de no pensar en mí. ¿Cuánto de lo que desea, está escondiendo, enterrando o intentando reprimir? ¿Cómo es cuando ya no se controla a sí mismo? **** —Oh, Dios mío, ¿oíste lo de Jillian? —Selena Gardner le hace un gesto a otra chica, masticando intermitentemente el extremo de una pajita—. Le dice a Dean y Matt que uno de ellos es el padre, van a hacerse las pruebas de paternidad y ninguno de ellos es el padre. —Se ríe. —¡Oh, Dios mío! —Se le salen los ojos a la otra chica—. Mierda, ¿siquiera sabe de quién es? —¿A quién le importa? —Selena frunce el ceño, volviendo a apoyarse en el auto—. Yo estaría más preocupada por atrapar algo que no sea un bebé. Ya no salgo de la casa sin condones. Nunca sabes cuándo vas a necesitarlos. Como muy... Todo el mundo se ríe y simulo una media sonrisa en un esfuerzo por no estar incómoda, pero estoy segura que lo estoy, ya que apenas he dicho dos palabras en los últimos diez minutos. Llegamos al A&W hace una hora, y como era de esperarse, el lugar está lleno de adolescentes y familias con camionetas repletas de niños. La luz de la luna y los grillos compiten con todos los faros y los estéreos de los autos, y el olor de las hamburguesas a las brasas y el asfalto caliente llena el aire cuando los motores giran y las puertas de los autos se cierran. No hay una sola persona aquí con la que haya hablado más de dos veces desde que me gradué hace más de un año. —Me encanta esto —le dice alguien a Selena, acercándose y agarrando su pequeño bolso Louis Vuitton—. ¿De dónde lo sacaste? —¿No es lindo? —Selena se pasa la correa sobre la cabeza, mostrándole a la chica el bolso—. Me siento un poco mal. Le debo tanto dinero a mi padre, pero tenía que tenerlo. Dejo caer los ojos al bolso con cantidades iguales de celos y exasperación. Claro, me encantaría tener un bolso como ese, y me encantaría tener sus problemas donde puede vivir a expensas de su familia, porque para eso es una familia cuando tienes diecinueve años. Parte de mí desea poder ser así.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Algún día también voy a tener un lugar como este. Desafortunadamente, mi padre morirá en ese remolque en el que crecí. Cole entra, dejando un par de maletas sobre la cama, e inmediatamente se va de nuevo, sacando su teléfono en su salida. —¿Crees que a tu papá le importará si uso la cocina? —pregunto, siguiéndolo fuera de la habitación—. Tengo cosas para hacer hamburguesas. Sigue caminando, pero escucho su risa entrecortada. —No me puedo imaginar a ningún hombre, ni siquiera a mi papá, diciéndole a una mujer que no puede usar su cocina para hacerle una comida, nena. Sí, claro. Echo un vistazo a su espalda cuando gira a la derecha en la sala de estar y se dirige hacia afuera. Sigo yendo directo a la cocina. Solía gustarme hacer cosas por Cole. Estar allí para él más de lo que mi madre estuvo para mi padre. Tener una casa limpia, o un departamento, y verlo sonreír cuando le hacía la vida un poco más fácil, o me aseguraba que tuviera lo que necesitaba. Aunque, se ha vuelto unilateral en los últimos meses. Sin embargo, su padre está haciendo mucho por nosotros, y cocinar algunas noches a la semana es parte del acuerdo, así que no tengo problema para cumplir mi parte del trato. Bueno, nuestra parte del trato, pero Cole no va a cocinar, así que le dejaré el trabajo del jardín, lo que su padre también estipuló era su responsabilidad de mantenerse ocupado. Pike Lawson. Tuve que hacer un esfuerzo para no pensar en el teatro la otra noche. Todavía es difícil entender la aleatoriedad de toda la situación. Sigo pensando en el fósforo de la donut, y la charla que me dio sobre ir detrás de lo que quiero. Una parte de mí, sin embargo, siente que también se decía esas cosas a sí mismo. La experiencia y tal vez un poco de decepción se juntaron en su tono, y quiero saber más sobre él. Por ejemplo, cómo fue ser un padre joven. Y también pensé que era lindo. ¿Y qué? Creo que Chris Hemsworth es lindo. Y Ryan Gosling, Tom Hardy, Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa, los hermanos Winchester... No es que tuviera pensamientos sexuales, por todos los cielos. No tiene por qué ser incómodo. No puede serlo. Estoy con su hijo. Caminando hacia una de las sillas en la mesa de la cocina, saco mi teléfono de mi bolsa y abro mi aplicación, Jessie's Girl, empezando inmediatamente donde quedó, después de mi carrera esta mañana. Hago un escaneo de la cocina, así como de la sala de estar, asegurándome que ninguna de nuestras cosas esté por ahí. No quiero molestar a su padre más de lo que ya lo hacemos.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  No obstante, no quiero irme. ¿Qué tan horrible sería si el jefe llama por estar enfermo, para poder quedarse en casa y follar con su pequeña y caliente chica todo el día? Me levanto a regañadientes y camino hacia mi tocador, sacando unos jeans y una camiseta. —¿Tienes que trabajar esta noche? —pregunto. Se cubre con la sábana y me mira soñolienta. —Tal vez. Sacudo la cabeza. Siempre jugando juegos. —Tal vez estaré en casa —explica—. O tal vez tendrás que encontrarme. Cierro el cajón del tocador y abro otro, agarrando calcetines. Me vuelvo hacia ella, fijando una mirada severa en mi rostro. —Estaré en casa a las cinco. Quédate aquí —le ordeno. Y luego empiezo a caminar hacia la puerta pero giro y suavizo mi voz, agregando—: ¿Por favor? Sonríe y se da vuelta, abrazando mi almohada debajo de ella y mirándome con los ojos más dulces. —Extráñame. Ya lo hago. Me voy, cerrando la puerta tras de mí y cerrando también la puerta de su dormitorio. En caso que Cole llegue a casa, vea su cama vacía y empiece a preguntarse dónde está. Bajando por las escaleras, siento el impulso de sonreír, incluso cuando la culpa se desliza por mi estómago. Casi me siento normal. Pero más afortunado que cualquier chico que conozca. La chica de mis sueños está ahora en mi cama, y puedo llegar a casa por ella. Ella tenía razón. Tengo todo lo que necesito bajo este techo. Excepto mi hijo. Este es su hogar y no está aquí, y Jordan hace que me olvide de él. Durante diecinueve años, siempre fue él. Sacrificándome para construir mi negocio para poder darle un buen hogar y educación, y tener miedo de las relaciones después de lo que pasé con Lindsay o perder las relaciones, porque otras mujeres no querían tener que lidiar con la madre de mi niño por el resto de nuestras vidas. Mi vida giraba en torno a él, pero sin importar lo que hiciera todo se fue a la mierda. Ella lo retorció y lo usó en mi contra, y él no sabe en quién confiar.

• From St. Augustine's Confessions (2004)

  C. The most revealing story concerning Augustine’s father came when the two were in a bathhouse together and the father saw the physical evidence that Augustine had entered puberty. 1. Augustine’s father rejoices that it will not be long before he will become a grandfather. 2. The father probably celebrated this news by getting drunk. 3. At an age when Augustine needed moral guidance, his father was unable to provide it. 4. We realize that Augustine’s father had not turned away from his selfishness toward higher things; hence, he is hardly in a position to guide Augustine. III. Augustine introduces his mother, Monica, by explaining how she responded to his adolescence and his progress in school. A. Monica warned her son against adultery and preferred that he remain celibate. B. However, she also told him that if he had to have sex, not to get married because it would take him from his studies and damage his career. C. Monica believed that if Augustine received a good education, he would use it at some later time to discover and follow the Christian God. D. Augustine explains that although Monica is herself experiencing an ongoing conversion (she is already a baptized Christian), she still had a long way to go. E. However, Monica certainly was a better parent than her husband. IV. Augustine makes numerous allusions to Athens (Plato) and Jerusalem in weighing the virtues of his education. V. Having established his need for true education—a real turning toward the highest things—Augustine now tells the story of how he and some friends stole some pears one night. This story summarizes the narrative of Augustine’s need for education and his failure to obtain it. Suggested Readings: A Reader’s Companion, chapter 3. Cooper, chapter 2. 22 ©2004 The Teaching Company. O’Connell, St. Augustine’s Confessions: The Odyssey of Soul, chapter 4. Garry Wills, Saint Augustine’s Sin, pp. 3–28. Questions to Consider: 1. How does becoming an adolescent make life more complicated for Augustine? 2. Is Augustine the writer too tough in his criticisms of his parents during his teen years? 3. Are there ways for children to get a real education in the Platonic sense if teachers and parents are unable to provide it because they themselves do not have it? ©2004 The Teaching Company. 23