{"id":1715,"date":"2020-12-17T00:24:07","date_gmt":"2020-12-17T00:24:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/?page_id=1715"},"modified":"2020-12-31T16:08:46","modified_gmt":"2020-12-31T16:08:46","slug":"linda-lenhoff","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/linda-lenhoff\/","title":{"rendered":"Linda Lenhoff"},"content":{"rendered":"

Kate Thinks She\u2019s So Special<\/h2>\n

 <\/p>\n

Just look at your hair.<\/i> That\u2019s what that little voice inside of me says when I walk by my old bedroom mirror. Just look at your hair.<\/i> I push at it and try to pouf it up a little, get some action into those bangs, but they\u2019re too long. It\u2019s all out of shape. I barely spend any time on it, really. Instead, I run my fingers across the crack in the mirror\u2019s cherrywood frame. I shouldn\u2019t have thrown my brush at it. Stupid, wrecking my grandmother\u2019s old treasure like this, an antique she kept on the wall above her dresser. I used to stand on my toes to try to look into it, although all I could see was the top of my head, stray brown hairs desperate to get away from the tight ponytail behind me. At least I didn\u2019t break the mirror itself. Imagine my luck then.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m unpacking a little faster now that I\u2019ve decided to put most of the stuff straight into the dirty clothes. Most of my clothes seem kind of baggy on me, so frankly I don\u2019t much care when they get clean. All the clothes these days, smack dab in the middle of the \u201980s, with their overpowering shoulder pads and overall hugeness, could go right into the trash for all I care. The current fashion is so oversized (like the music). I feel like I\u2019ve been unpacking the entire two days I\u2019ve been home. It\u2019s making me feel so tired.<\/p>\n

\u201cForget that stuff\u2014come and eat,\u201d Maria calls me from the kitchen. Maria, my \u201coldest\u201d friend, as they say (Maria dislikes discussions of age, her age at least), is fixing some healthy concoction for us in my kitchen. I go in there\u2014my God, she\u2019s cleaned the place, too\u2014and I watch her slice carrots, her long dark hair in her eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou could lose a finger that way,\u201d I tell her.<\/p>\n

\u201cBe careful, or I\u2019ll put someone\u2019s eye out.\u201d She points the knife at me as she follows the mothering routine.<\/p>\n

\u201cReally, you\u2019d be so pretty if you\u2019d just get that hair out of your face,\u201d I tell her.<\/p>\n

Maria was the first one I told about testing positive. She had sat there a minute, then responded, \u201cWell, your mother should be happy\u2014you\u2019ll be seeing lots of doctors.\u201d I rely on Maria for such comments. We\u2019ve known one another since we were twelve, back in the innocent 1970s, unbelievably. A lot of men under the bridge, Maria always says.<\/p>\n

She\u2019s got some dripping wet (but never sandy) spinach leaves and watercress, and some bizarre-looking brown lumpy soup. Maria must be on a diet again. Since I\u2019ve given up dieting, I know the gooey carrot cake sitting on the sink must be all for me.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t believe you actually got something with sugar in it,\u201d I say. \u201cAre you feeling okay? Maybe you should get a blood test or something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHa-ha. I missed your birthday. I\u2019ll never forgive you for not coming back in time so I could humiliate you about turning thirty.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThirty,\u201d I say, running a finger through the icing. \u201cI thought it would be better than this, at thirty, you know?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThirty sucks,\u201d Maria says. She hands me a freshly blended carrot smoothie drink with a bitter smell.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan I at least eat the cake first?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSuch a baby,\u201d Maria says.<\/p>\n

I cut a piece of cake and take a bite, letting the icing rest on my tongue. It\u2019s even sweeter than Maria probably thinks it is. I drop a few crumbs on the pink-tiled countertop.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can\u2019t take you anywhere,\u201d Maria says.<\/p>\n

*<\/h2>\n

I had left town about seven months ago, taking a leave from my position in our esteemed History Department. (I\u2019m on the American side, and there are<\/i> sides.) I didn\u2019t make a big secret of things, since I hate the idea of people discovering something about me behind my back, but I\u2019m sure they all talked about me anyway. I\u2019m sure Maria tried to get them to shut up. (She\u2019s on my side.) Rather than worrying too much about it, I packed up what I needed and visited friends across the country: Arizona, then New York City, then Syracuse, where my other college roommate (who used to snip at Maria\u2019s hair while she slept) has gone back to graduate school. We spent plenty of time sitting around and telling stories while generally maintaining a healthy attitude about mind-enhancing drugs, which you really need on a trip like that.<\/p>\n

Still, I was relieved to get back to my grandmother\u2019s four-poster bed and my little chicken-shaped salt and pepper shakers. The first day back I just walked around and around my apartment touching things, caressing them, even though they were a little dusty.<\/p>\n

Now Maria and I collapse in the living room after our hearty dinner\u2014I only finished half the cake, even though it really was a small cake. I did drink all of that thick orange stuff, which shows the extent I\u2019ll go to for a friend.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo come with me to the party tomorrow night,\u201d Maria says.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m sprawled across my ugly old tweed couch, one of my very favorite things in life. It\u2019s so perfectly worn in, and you can\u2019t get it dirty. I have my prized collection of plaid pillows all around me. Most people would call the pillows ugly, too.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d I ask Maria.<\/p>\n

\u201cOops,\u201d she says, \u201cwere you sleeping?\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve caught her. \u201cIt\u2019s eight o\u2019clock. You think I\u2019m four years old?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d never give you credit for acting more than two years old,\u201d Maria says, back to her old self.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m a little jet-laggy,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

Maria gives me a look. \u201cYou\u2019re probably just at death\u2019s door.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maria\u2019s sitting in an old soft armchair I know she greatly prefers to the couch, which she says comes off in little balls all over her clothes. The huge pink chair is so old, it\u2019s almost back in style.<\/p>\n

\u201cGod, let\u2019s talk about something other than you,\u201d Maria says.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, I\u2019ll give. What party are you talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sure there was an invitation in your mail. Ever read your mail?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy eyes are so weak,\u201d I kid her, flailing my arms around in front of me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, yeah. It\u2019s a Westside party. All the politically correct people who\u2019ve taken over all the rent-controlled apartments will be there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have a rent-controlled apartment,\u201d I brag.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think you\u2019re so special,\u201d Maria mocks me. \u201cThat\u2019s what I tell everyone, \u2018Kate thinks she\u2019s so special.\u2019 \u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSee, there\u2019s just nothing to talk about if we don\u2019t talk about me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnyway, the party\u2019s for that cause, God, what is it? Environment for Tomorrow, or Tomorrow\u2019s Environment\u2014I forget.\u201d Maria picks up some of my mail off my grandmother\u2019s mahogany coffee table and looks at the envelopes.<\/p>\n

\u201cTomorrow\u2019s Environment at Today\u2019s Prices,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, Everything Must Go! You don\u2019t have to donate money or anything. They just want to show you some pictures of the Earth rotting and serve you dumplings.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHmm, rotting earth,\u201d I say, imagining the smell to be a little like that orange drink. \u201cWill they give us samples in little bags to take home?\u201d<\/p>\n

Maria rips open one of my envelopes. She reads a letter, then tosses it on the floor. \u201cYou didn\u2019t win anything,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo kidding,\u201d I reply. I put my arm across my forehead and sigh deeply. \u201cI\u2019m just too tired for parties,\u201d I say, faking it.<\/p>\n

\u201cSpare me,\u201d Maria says.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just got back, practically.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerfect timing,\u201d Maria says stubbornly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t go to parties\u2014I have a disease,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have a pimple, and I\u2019m going.\u201d<\/p>\n

I think about my piles of laundry. \u201cI have nothing to wear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll loan you a dress,\u201d Maria says seriously, which produces a loud series of laughs from me. I\u2019ve always been the thinner, less-endowed one.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne size fits all,\u201d Maria says. \u201cIt\u2019s one of those granny-type things, long and loose. Hides all those unwanted jutting hipbones.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWas it expensive?\u201d I ask. Maria nods, so I consider it.<\/p>\n

\u201cRemember when we all wanted jutting hipbones?\u201d Maria asks.<\/p>\n

*<\/h2>\n

We find the party in an old warehouse at the little Santa Monica airport. Converted warehouses, they\u2019re called, but I can\u2019t see where much conversion has gone on around here. The walls and floors are whitewashed, although not recently, judging from the black smudges here and there. Bright white lights hang overhead, the kind that blind you if you look right into them. For decoration, someone has planted some scraggly trees in round white pots. Video monitors scattered here and there show whales swimming gracefully through the polluted seas. You can hear that whale music, whales crooning, all through the room.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhale sounds,\u201d Maria says. \u201cPeople always give more money when they hear whales crying. I think I read that in Harper\u2019s.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

I\u2019m a little cold. My coat looked so God-awful over Maria\u2019s Victorian dress that I left it in the car. The dress is really nice\u2014red with gold flecks in it, kind of a cross between a hippy dress and a flapper dress. I rub my arms a little.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe food will be hot,\u201d Maria says.<\/p>\n

Since I detect a note of genuine concern, I grab Maria\u2019s hand. \u201cI\u2019m cold. I think I might go into a seizure or something,\u201d I kid her.<\/p>\n

\u201cFuck you,\u201d Maria says, snapping out of it.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, well, I am hungry,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

Maria drags me off toward the food. A very tall, very bleached-blonde woman blocks our way. The worst part is, we know her.<\/p>\n

\u201cAlix,\u201d Maria greets her with no specific tone. Alix is in the Communications Department all the way across campus, so you\u2019d think we\u2019d never run into her. This, however, underestimates her wingspan.<\/p>\n

\u201cKate, how have you been?\u201d Alix asks with a deadly serious voice. She pretty much ignores Maria.<\/p>\n

\u201cFine, Alix, and you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMe, oh, no. I mean, how\u2019ve you been with, you know?\u201d Alix\u2019s whispers are almost drowned out by whales screaming for one another.<\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone knows, Alix,\u201d Maria says. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to whisper.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, that\u2019s so wonderful that you\u2019re telling people. Good for you,\u201d Alix says.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow\u2019s your hair?\u201d Maria asks her, but Alix grabs my arm and pulls me toward a group of people dressed in deathly pale clothing.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe were just about to eat,\u201d I say, but Alix is off and running.<\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone!\u201d Alix calls to her people. \u201cThis is Kate. She\u2019s, well, tested positive, and she\u2019s telling people.\u201d<\/p>\n

The little crowd applauds politely, and each person shakes my hand, lingering a bit too long for effect and introducing themselves. I turn to Maria, who\u2019s shocked and not hiding it.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou planned this, right?\u201d I softly kid her again.<\/p>\n

\u201cI couldn\u2019t possibly,\u201d she mumbles back through her shock. \u201cBut you know I\u2019d do anything for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I say hello to the group and try to get my hand back. These people have awfully cold hands, seems to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s just walk away,\u201d Maria says.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can handle it,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh you\u2019re one of those women we\u2019ve read about,\u201d says a woman who calls herself Beryl.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s a statistic,\u201d Maria answers her.<\/p>\n

\u201cRight,\u201d says this Beryl. \u201cIt\u2019s great that you\u2019re here tonight. Will you be speaking?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh you must speak,\u201d says Glen, a lawyer who mentioned his firm\u2019s name, but who listens to that sort of thing?<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no, I\u2019m a guest,\u201d I say. \u201cJust like you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBabe,\u201d Maria whispers in my ear, \u201cyou\u2019re entertainment.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe were just about to get something to eat,\u201d I say, \u201cso if you\u2019ll excuse us\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou should write a screenplay,\u201d Alix says. \u201cYou\u2019d be very hot. See that guy in the Armani? He\u2019s an agent. I\u2019d love to introduce you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe later,\u201d I say. I cannot get past these people.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou really should write something, you know, before, well, before\u2014\u201d Alix says.<\/p>\n

\u201cBefore dinner?\u201d Maria asks.<\/p>\n

\u201cBefore I bite it,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh!\u201d Alix looks stunned, but recovers quickly enough. \u201cOh, a joke\u2014what a sense of humor! Beryl, Kate has a sense of humor!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWow,\u201d Beryl says, hands clasped before her as if in prayer.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is so great of you, Kate,\u201d Alix says, putting her hands on my shoulders, trapping me. Then she kisses me on the cheek. A whale cries loudly somewhere over my head.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes, good for you,\u201d Beryl adds, then she kisses me, too.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I may cry,\u201d Maria says dryly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m crying on the inside,\u201d Alix whispers not too softly.<\/p>\n

I free myself from them. \u201cWell, bless you all,\u201d I say, not too thrilled.<\/p>\n

I start to get away but that lawyer guy traps me between himself and Alix. \u201cKate, that fellow in indigo over there? Ken Farell. He\u2019s running for city council next fall, you know, and well, we\u2019re having a little house gathering. Just a hundred or so folks from the neighborhood, who\u2019d be interested in meeting with you and talking. Real informal.\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m cornered like an animal about to be shoed, or maybe slaughtered, and I\u2019m starting to not be able to focus on anything or anyone. The room seems to be getting darker, and the only noise I can really make out is the slow moan of the whales. My face feels hot, but I do notice Maria mouthing the words \u201cFuck him,\u201d I think. Perhaps she\u2019s saying it out loud. Perhaps whale sounds are coming out of her mouth. Somehow my brain begins to function again, and I get an idea. A girl does what she has to.<\/p>\n

I put one hand on Glen\u2019s shoulder. \u201cYou know, Glen,\u201d I say, then I stop and make my eyes very wide. I cough loudly, then catch Maria\u2019s eye. I cough a few more times, for extra effect. I\u2019m pretty good at this.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, God,\u201d Alix cries.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease excuse us,\u201d Maria says, grabbing my arm and moving us toward the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe love you, Kate,\u201d I think Alix says. It almost sounds sincere, what with the whales crying and all.<\/p>\n

We make it out the door. I\u2019m about to laugh, but I notice I\u2019m actually trembling. Maybe it\u2019s from the cold.<\/p>\n

Maria looks at me, then finally says, \u201cI can\u2019t take you anywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

*<\/h2>\n

We walk quickly to Maria\u2019s car and get in. I wrap myself in my coat and concentrate on how Maria\u2019s car smells of peppermint.<\/p>\n

\u201cI hold myself responsible,\u201d Maria says.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen you have very high self-esteem,\u201d I say, trying to calm down.<\/p>\n

I buckle myself in, then tighten the belt. As if I\u2019m recovering from an aerobics class, I take a few deep breaths, counting to ten, breathing in through the nose, out through the mouth.<\/p>\n

The car heater begins to blow warm, friendly air at me. I put both hands in front of my vent. After a few seconds of quiet, Maria says, \u201cDamn, we didn\u2019t get any of those rubbery dim sum.\u201d<\/p>\n

She heads the car out of the lot and down the blacktopped, deserted streets of Santa Monica.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, and we never got our gift pack of whale songs,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cBest of Shamu,\u201d Maria says.<\/p>\n

\u201cShamu and Seije do America\u2019s favorites.\u201d<\/p>\n

We hit a pothole, but Maria\u2019s shocks make the best of it.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know,\u201d Maria says, \u201cif I\u2019d been wearing that dress, I\u2019d have gotten all the attention.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot if your life depended on it,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou think you\u2019re so special,\u201d Maria says, turning on the radio to a song sung by a girl I can just tell is much younger than I am.<\/p>\n

I pull down the passenger-side vanity mirror and take a look. A little on the pale side, I think. And just look at that hair. I could have someone put some red highlights in it this weekend, do something<\/i> with the bangs, before I go back to school.<\/p>\n

\u201cI feel so incomplete,\u201d Maria says. \u201cWe didn\u2019t get any of that sparkling peach cider.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe didn\u2019t even get to say good-bye,\u201d I say, running my hands through my hair, then flipping the mirror back into place.<\/p>\n

\n

\"\"Linda Lenhoff<\/strong>‘s latest novel, Your Actual Life May Vary,<\/em> was a finalist for the Santa Fe Writers Project prize and may be published in 2022. The first chapter, \u201cYour Actual Life May Vary,\u201d appeared in This Side of the Divide<\/em> by Baobab Press in 2019. Her first two novels, Life a la Mode<\/em> and Latte Lessons,<\/em> were published in 2005 and 2008, respectively; the first was translated into Russian, Portuguese, Indonesian, and two variants of the Czech language. Another novel, The Girl in the \u201967 Beetle,<\/em> is forthcoming July 2021 from Literary Wanderlust. She has also published stories in The Tishman Review, Akashic Thursdaze,<\/em> and elsewhere. She works as an editor in the San Francisco Bay Area.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Kate Thinks She\u2019s So Special   Just look at your hair. That\u2019s what that little voice inside of me says when I walk by my old bedroom mirror. Just look at your hair. I push at it and try to pouf it up a little, get some action into those bangs, but they\u2019re too long. … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “Linda Lenhoff”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1715","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1715","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1715"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1715\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1953,"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1715\/revisions\/1953"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.hawaii.edu\/vice-versa\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1715"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}