1.
This fall Margaret started kindergarten at a school that requires uniforms. In fact, technically she started school in August at one school that requires uniforms and then switched in October to another school that requires slightly different uniforms. Her second day at the new school was also picture day, and she didn’t have the right navy blue polo shirt for the class photo, which meant after dinner I had to drive out to the only Target east of the 405 that stocked the right shirt in the right size.
I left the house right as the day was exhaling and watched the last streaks of afternoon pink and orange mellow to violet over the 210 freeway. I pulled into the Target parking lot right as the radio launched into “Bloodbuzz Ohio,” the sky all streaky and swollen, and I was right there in the immense center of things, light and singular, inhaling the blank possibility of a big box parking lot at 6pm on a Tuesday.
I could have gone anywhere then, but I went into Target.
Inside the store, other parents were sifting through the jumbled racks of post-back-to-school sale items. A dad with tired eyes was filling a hand basket with packages of extra-small ankle socks. I thought about all the times as a child I had suddenly remembered at 8pm that I absolutely had to have graph paper and glitter glue and unlined index cards by 8am the following morning, and my father put back on his shoes and left after dinner to drive around Los Angeles looking for the one Ralph’s that had neon orange poster board. Was it possible, I thought, that he had been the main character all along?
2.
Last month I found myself taking Apollo and their best friend to a concert, which meant driving into downtown Los Angeles during rush hour on a Friday night, while Google Maps sent me on a tour of every unprotected left in Silver Lake, a detour that shaved two minutes off my drive time and ten years off my life. As we drove, I made little comments. “There used to be a punk club here,” I said, and, “I used to like that diner.”
Apollo and their friend paid no attention to me at all, engrossed as they were in screaming-singing Lemon Demon songs while spilling caramel corn all over the backseat.
We made it to the theater just in time.
“This is an amazing parking spot!” I said aloud to nobody.
No longer the main character in your own life, you’re not even the foil or the sidekick or the quippy best friend, just an extra with one speaking line–”this is an amazing parking spot”–and I delivered it like it might be my big break.
After I dropped them off, I walked over to Angel City Brewery to have a beer and read a book while I waited for them to finish. I had to call to the bartender three times before she noticed I was there. It’s possible, I considered briefly, that I no longer exist.
The experience of driving a teenager and their friends is like that of being a ghost haunting your own life. I remembered my best friend’s mom, who always picked us up in a wood-paneled navy blue minivan, unfailingly cheerful, always playing the oldies station, always with an open can of Tab in the driver’s seat cup holder, asking if we’d had fun at the pool as we made a lot of loud, giddy jokes and draped sopping wet beach towels all over the upholstery of her car. Was it possible that she, too, was real?
3.
I left Target with several small navy blue polo shirts, heavily discounted. The sky was now a dull dark gray, a closed curtain. I still felt good, buzzy, but it was fading. I thought about my dad, her mom, the guy with the socks, all the accumulated pools and punk shows, layer on top of layer.
I hope we all live forever. I think we might.
What I Should Be Doing
Reading. Always reading.
What I’m Actually Doing
Training our new puppy (!); building a deck; rebuilding a balcony; competing in three different county fair events this year
Also, I’m committing to calling my representatives every day in May to push for a permanent ceasefire in Gaza and oversight and accountability for U.S. military aid to Israel.
If you’re someone like me, who hates making phone calls, I highly recommend the 5calls app that automatically provides all the phone numbers you need as well as suggested scripts for this and many other issues. You can dial directly from the app! This is as painless as a phone call gets.
Also I'm Very Excited About
News in Slow French; my friend and grad school co-conspirator’s Substack, RMC Book Club; diffusing! (why did I wait so long?)
If you’re looking for a good Mother’s Day gift, I highly recommend a donation to the National Bail Out fund to get mothers reunited with their kids. You can find out more about the organization here.
The Fine Print
I have a Ko-Fi page that allows readers to send me small payments to support this newsletter and my writing in general.
OMG a new puppy! I have one, too; my daughters' way of keeping me young or killing me off. The jury is still out. She's three months today and has been with us for a month and shows signs of understanding potty training even if she doesn't really care yet.