Maryland Captivity - Beautiful Swimmers

He’s the keeper of the keys

Last night, my sister told me that she is working with high schoolers in some kind of integrated dance. She is in 7th grade. While I am all for the mixing of ages and genders, I tend to feel that this involves 12 year old girls hanging out at nursing homes, feeding elderly, non-threatening men. I do not like it when she tells me that she is “Upset, because, like, the 10th grade guys called dibs on all my friends, but not on me. I mean, really?” I don’t like that she talks like that either. I do, however, like that she made that comment at dinner, ending our record streak of 14 minutes of silence, during which the loudest noise was the ineffectual ticking of the heater.

After dinner, I ate the last onion bagel. I should have just drenched myself in my family’s blood and run in front of my father naked. He probably would have taken it better (or even thanked me). I also drank the last of the milk a few minutes ago. We’ll see if he can top his choice epithets from last night: “You shit!” He exclaimed. “I had saved that bagel for when I was watching Keith Olbermann! Fuck! I hate blueberry bagels! I can’t believe how well your mother has trained you to hurt me.”

Further complicating the situation, my sister decided that the time was ripe to draw a family portrait. She divided a piece of paper into quarters. For me, she drew one lip and 2 eyes, with a cloud of smoke around my head. For my father, she drew a bowling ball, with a head on top with bloodshot eyes, his arm in a sling and a sign labelling him as “Pregnant.” For herself, she accurately depicted her new haircut: a mullet. In the fourth box, she drew a tombstone with wings and a halo, with “R.I.P. Edward” written on it. Edward is our dead dog. She forgot to draw her mother.