Got into a sparkling new cab this morning. The seats,
dashboard and windows shined. Riding my finger along the metal detail on the
passenger door, I thought, the only time Rory and I were ever this clean was
for one lone hour at a photography studio on 3rd Avenue
I repel wool. I can’t even look at someone wearing it
without itching. That morning, Mom made us put on wool pants and red wool
vests. Having a shirt under the vest was useless. In my mind, the wool was
right on my skin just like the pants. Mom scrubbed our necks and washed our
ears and put Brylcreem in our hair. I hate oil on me.
On the way over, Rory was in the stroller and I was about a
half block behind them trying to walk in such a way that my legs centered in
the pants so there was no wool making contact with my skin. To do so, every
step was calculated. Since we were late for the appointment, Mom left Rory
unattended a few times to come back and drag me. When she did, Rory climbed out
of the stroller and ran back towards us. Part of the trip was uphill between
2nd and 3rd Avenue 2nd Avenue
When we got there 25 minutes late, Otto the photographer was
livid. His bald head was loaded with sweat and he was breathing heavy like Mr.
Fields, the landlord in the “Abbott and Costello” TV show. This didn’t stop
Rory and me from having a fight over who’d ride one of those horses with four
springs that you go up and down on and get a little bit of side to side action.
Mom took me off the horse in a headlock. When he saw this, Rory immediately
cheered up. Otto and Mom quickly combed our hair and moved us into the
position.
Mom said, “Smile nice, not stupid, or I’ll kill you.” Rory,
extremely photogenic, nailed his pose. Somehow, I didn’t screw it up. How did I
know? After Otto snapped the picture, I saw Mom smiling and looking at us like
the last hour never happened.
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