A Map of the World Read Online Free Page B

juice spigots hanging down like goat tits. There were oak drawers and shelves built into the walls, one drawer in the kitchen solely for pens, sorted by color. I don’t know what prompted me to look in the dresser in the hall, an unlikely place to stash a swimming suit in summer. I yanked the drawer open to the chaos of old shoes, pens and bolts, masking tape, and moth-eaten sweaters and my map, my map of the world.
    I hadn’t thought about my map for years. I took out the sheaf of papers and knelt down, spread them on the floor, ran my fingers over the lime-green forests, the meandering dark blue rivers, the pointy lavender mountain ranges. I had designed a whole world when I was a child, in secret. I had made a series of maps, one topographical, another of imports and exports, another highlighting mineral deposits, animal and plant species, another with descriptions of governments, transportation networks, and culture centers. My maps had taken over my life for months at a time; it was where I lived, the world called Tangalooponda, up in my room, my tray of colored pencils at my side, inventing jungle animals, the fish of the sea, diplomats and monarchs. Although there were theoretical people in my world, legions of them, all races and creeds, when I imagined myself in Tangalooponda I was always alone, composed and serene as an angel in the midst of great natural beauty. I remembered that ideal solitude as I squatted on the floor last summer, and I laughed at my young foolishness.
    I carefully rolled up the maps and put them in the back of the drawer. I stood, thinking, until I remembered that I’d hung the suit in the shower, the logical place after all. I left the dresser drawer open and looked. Yes, itwas there, in a puddle clogging the drain, along with a melting bar of soap. I picked up the soap and the suit. The soap I carefully placed on the filmy ledge. I went over to the sink and rinsed the suit in cold water, and then first wrung out the bodice, and then the skirt. It was a suit that had been designed to obscure as much of the body as possible without losing its integrity as a swimming costume. It had been one of the more peculiar presents my mother-in-law had given me. I wrapped the thing in a towel, set it on the floor, and stepped on it to get it as dry as possible. At the moment I couldn’t think of anything more uncomfortable than putting on a cold wet suit, even on a hot Monday morning. Finally I picked up the towel with the suit inside, walked down the hall, and took the stairs one at a time to the living room.
    Emma and Audrey were feeding their dolls at the blue plastic table. Claire was sitting on a stool putting pennies in her mouth.
    “Claire,” I cried, throwing the towel aside, kneeling down and fishing in her mouth, “You know better than that! What’s wrong with you?”
    I began picking up the money that was on the floor and in Claire’s lap. “I like them,” Claire said.
    “I know you do,” I said, “but they’re not to eat. They’ll hurt you.” I shouldn’t have said, what’s wrong with you? That was a terrible thing to say to anyone. “You’re a good smart girl,” I told her, “but money isn’t food.” I looked up to see if anyone had choked on coins and died.
    “Where’s Lizzy?” I said, to no one in particular.
    No one answered.
    “Lizzy?” I called. I paused to reach between my legs and pull a hanging thread from the back of my shorts. It was tickling my calf. “Did you see where she went, Claire?”
    She shook her head, her straight black hair flouncing from side to side. The older girls were under the table, whispering. “Emma,” I said, “make sure Claire doesn’t put pennies in her mouth while I look for Lizzy, will you please?” Emma was jeering at me. I would have liked to pound her. I lifted my hand and brought it down on my own thigh and then I picked up Claire and started through the house. “You’re heavy, Claire, too heavy for me to lug