Pink Smog Read Online Free
Author: Francesca Lia Block
(30), Abe (10), and Rebecca (8) Steinberg. Orthodox Jews. Arthur is a teacher. Their apartment smelled like fresh baked bread and simmering meat.
Unit 9: Brandy-Lynn Bat (35), Weetzie Bat (13).
Unit 10: Bob (33) and Nancy (27) Levine, assistant professor and homemaker, lovey-dovey newlyweds. They answered the door with their arms around each other, wearing matching aprons.
Unit 11: Tim (30) and Andrea (29) Shore, movie grip and secretary. They fought almost as much as my mom and dad.
Unit 12: The Mendoza familyâJose (40), Teresa (37), Wendy and Mary (15). A very nice family. The twins went to my school.
Unit 13: ???
The only interesting new person I saw was a tall, lanky lady with a thick accent I didnât recognize, long black hair, and huge eyes that were such a dark shade of blue they were almost purple. Maybe they were just reflecting her pantsuit. She gave me a nasty look and shut the door of Unit 13 on me before I could even ask her anything. There was something vaguely familiar about her but I couldnât place it.
As soon as I got home, all the energy in my body just drained away. There were dirty dishes in the sink and empty bottles everywhereâthe trash cans hadnât been emptied and bills were scattered all over the kitchen table. I hated our condo. It was like as soon as my dad stopped making money and we lost the cottage, my mom had to suddenly pretend we were rich and glamorous. She had to decorate with fake golden cupids and baby-blue velveteen and thick shag carpeting. I remembered the simple cottage with the wooden floors and the flowers everywhere. I remembered my mom dancing around in her cotton dresses.
My mom looked like she hadnât gotten out of bed all day. I brought her Brazil nuts and ginger ale and red licorice. I would have tried to cook but I always burned the grilled cheese sandwiches or let the rice bubble over. The only thing I could make was instant mac and cheese but she didnât want that and neither did I. I wished she had taught me to cook when I was littler and she was happy and loved to make dinner but now it was probably too late.
While we watched Tony Orlando & Dawn , I stared at Tonyâs huge mustache and his backup singersâ glittery dresses wondering how they could have landed a whole show for themselves based on a song about a yellow ribbon around an oak tree. The music wasnât distracting enoughâI thought about my dad and when he was going to call. When the program was over and my mom was asleep, passed out in front of a cop show, I went into my parentsâ bedroom, into the closet, and I put my face in my dadâs shirts and sniffed his tobacco and woodsy-smelling aftershave and wished he would appear inside his suit and hold me and hug me and say that he loved us and would never leave again.
But my dad didnât even call that night.
I tucked my mom in and turned off the TV, wishing that Cher was on. There was nothing more beautiful to me than Cher in her sheer dresses with the strategic beading and her belly button showing. And the way she flicked her black Arabian horse mane off her bony shoulder and laughed like she didnât want to show her cute tiny vampire teeth but she couldnât help it and her shiny lips would part and her teeth would show. And her voice would crack. Sometimes sheâd be an Indian American with feathers, straddling a horse, and sometimes sheâd be a showgirl with feathers. No matter what she wore she was sexy and beautiful but she didnât look like anyone else on TV. I thought about Cher in her feathers because it was better than thinking about my dad and how he hadnât called and because it was easier to wish for a TV show than for the person you loved more than anyone else.
Then I realized that the new woman in our building looked a little like Cher and for some reason that took away the comfort Iâd been feeling. Suddenly, even Cher made me sad.
I turned off the lights
Unit 9: Brandy-Lynn Bat (35), Weetzie Bat (13).
Unit 10: Bob (33) and Nancy (27) Levine, assistant professor and homemaker, lovey-dovey newlyweds. They answered the door with their arms around each other, wearing matching aprons.
Unit 11: Tim (30) and Andrea (29) Shore, movie grip and secretary. They fought almost as much as my mom and dad.
Unit 12: The Mendoza familyâJose (40), Teresa (37), Wendy and Mary (15). A very nice family. The twins went to my school.
Unit 13: ???
The only interesting new person I saw was a tall, lanky lady with a thick accent I didnât recognize, long black hair, and huge eyes that were such a dark shade of blue they were almost purple. Maybe they were just reflecting her pantsuit. She gave me a nasty look and shut the door of Unit 13 on me before I could even ask her anything. There was something vaguely familiar about her but I couldnât place it.
As soon as I got home, all the energy in my body just drained away. There were dirty dishes in the sink and empty bottles everywhereâthe trash cans hadnât been emptied and bills were scattered all over the kitchen table. I hated our condo. It was like as soon as my dad stopped making money and we lost the cottage, my mom had to suddenly pretend we were rich and glamorous. She had to decorate with fake golden cupids and baby-blue velveteen and thick shag carpeting. I remembered the simple cottage with the wooden floors and the flowers everywhere. I remembered my mom dancing around in her cotton dresses.
My mom looked like she hadnât gotten out of bed all day. I brought her Brazil nuts and ginger ale and red licorice. I would have tried to cook but I always burned the grilled cheese sandwiches or let the rice bubble over. The only thing I could make was instant mac and cheese but she didnât want that and neither did I. I wished she had taught me to cook when I was littler and she was happy and loved to make dinner but now it was probably too late.
While we watched Tony Orlando & Dawn , I stared at Tonyâs huge mustache and his backup singersâ glittery dresses wondering how they could have landed a whole show for themselves based on a song about a yellow ribbon around an oak tree. The music wasnât distracting enoughâI thought about my dad and when he was going to call. When the program was over and my mom was asleep, passed out in front of a cop show, I went into my parentsâ bedroom, into the closet, and I put my face in my dadâs shirts and sniffed his tobacco and woodsy-smelling aftershave and wished he would appear inside his suit and hold me and hug me and say that he loved us and would never leave again.
But my dad didnât even call that night.
I tucked my mom in and turned off the TV, wishing that Cher was on. There was nothing more beautiful to me than Cher in her sheer dresses with the strategic beading and her belly button showing. And the way she flicked her black Arabian horse mane off her bony shoulder and laughed like she didnât want to show her cute tiny vampire teeth but she couldnât help it and her shiny lips would part and her teeth would show. And her voice would crack. Sometimes sheâd be an Indian American with feathers, straddling a horse, and sometimes sheâd be a showgirl with feathers. No matter what she wore she was sexy and beautiful but she didnât look like anyone else on TV. I thought about Cher in her feathers because it was better than thinking about my dad and how he hadnât called and because it was easier to wish for a TV show than for the person you loved more than anyone else.
Then I realized that the new woman in our building looked a little like Cher and for some reason that took away the comfort Iâd been feeling. Suddenly, even Cher made me sad.
I turned off the lights
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