Driving home after dark, chapped- lipped and thirsty. Too tired to wrestle with my bag for the lip balm tucked in a side pocket, so I open my mouth wide and stretch my cheeks back, brandishing an excited killer clown <\/p>\n
face. Not a sight to see in one\u2019s rearview mirror if one could. But I have the idea that this move, a rigorous pulling back of the cheeks and the use of some highly underrated eye muscles, will restore my lips to a more lubricated state. \u00a0A little lip calisthenics, if you will, a one- two, one- two. But instead it feels like I cracked skin, and at seventy miles per hour my body is stunned and tingling.<\/p>\n
Motionless except for my eyes, which are a little teary but strangely rejuvenated, I scan the road side to side, then look straight down the horizon and just breathe. I breathe in the white lines, red taillights, glints of chrome and tree limbs caught in high beams.<\/p>\n
I press hard on the gas and wait for the trickle of blood from my lips, but none comes. I consider a dome light inspection but push on the CD player instead.\u00a0 It\u2019s Television, a 70\u2019s punk band- more energy than I want, but I leave it.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cI remember how the darkness doubled, I recall lightning struck itself\u2026\u201d <\/em>Tom Verlaine sings, in his tight shrill voice, kind of sexy and irksome at the same time, like my lips, which lightning must have struck as well, and I almost do the clown thing again but stop myself.<\/p>\n Maybe I should grope for the Vaseline. Why didn\u2019t I in the first place?<\/p>\n But then, memory is like flypaper, catching and holding onto things until it self-destructs or falls away for lack of room. No Admittance, This Way Out.\u00a0 And to remember gem and drivel on the same sticky spot can take its toll on glue– not good glue but that white paste you used in the early grades that you could almost eat.\u00a0 So much pasting: lessons in memory graduating to papier mache and then somehow to the olfactory glands, as I recall.\u00a0 A funny label for the thing that distinguishes smells, “the old factory glands”.\u00a0 Makes me think of bad<\/em> smells actually, having been bussed alone on the turnpike past New Jersey smokestacks often enough.\u00a0 (The \u201cold factory\u201d glands worked too<\/em> well.) \u00a0I thought it should have been called the \u2018nu-factory\u2019 gland, it sounds so much more pleasant.\u00a0 But I never said so, as I recall.<\/p>\n It\u2019s all relative. An experience spot in the brain, the part with the most stick, or lack thereof: memory.<\/p>\n The car ahead of me is not even driving the speed limit. I roll my eyes which feel pretty good, and change lanes.<\/p>\n When I was five I woke in the middle of the night clammy with sweat and so thirsty it was all I could do to drag my rag doll legs into the kitchen. \u00a0I craned my neck, and on tippy- toe tugged at the freezer door.\u00a0 A cloud of frost charged out like an excited friend with cold kisses for my face.\u00a0 It felt divine.\u00a0 I remember licking my lips before planting them in the freezer on open ice still tippy toed. \u00a0And if I hadn\u2019t spotted the Baby Ruth\u2019s on top of the fridge, I would have noticed that my lips were stuck.\u00a0 Seriously stuck. Just as serious as the so-called Lifesaver up my nose, weeks before\u2014I was on some kind of streak. \u00a0And although tears may have loosened my lips it was fear that struck first and hard, like lightening might.<\/p>\n What to do? \u00a0I couldn\u2019t move without ripping something.\u00a0 Maybe I would just die there- fused to the ice.\u00a0 Maybe lose my lips.\u00a0 Mom would have been mad about the lips- but not right away, after<\/em> they were glued, or sewn, or slapped back on.\u00a0 She was handy at times. \u00a0She got the Lifesaver out; she needed it more.\u00a0 But anyway, my legs were cramping from balancing on my toes, and my toes were locked in place and it hurt to pull away. A LOT. And if I had<\/em> let go\u2026if I fell\u2026 my lips\u2026\u00a0 I looked up at a box of frozen peas and something in foil and must have yelped.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you doing<\/em>?!\u201d \u00a0\u00a0My brother\u2019s voice\u00a0and kitchen light caught me like a thief.<\/p>\n He dripped warm water on my lips and carried me to safety.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat the heck were you doing?\u201d he asked again, tucking me in.<\/p>\n \u201cI was hot!\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t tell.\u201d<\/p>\n The next morning I had the measles.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I hit my first red light on the Saw Mill Parkway at Readers Digest and have a chance to check myself in the mirror. Yes, it\u2019s me and still no blood or blotches.\u00a0 I reach for the lip balm as the light goes green and it starts to rain. A nice cup of coffee and a few Advil would do the trick.\u00a0 The wipers make time with Dave Brubeck\u2019s \u201cTake Five\u201d.<\/p>\n My dad got me into jazz.\u00a0 I used to hate it. How he would sit with his knee jerking a mile a minute, letting his cigarette ash drop to the floor- his hands busy thumping notes on the chair.\u00a0 I told him it was crazy music. He told me I was crazy.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Now merging onto I-684, and still some glue left. Snatches of time and necessary things- bits and pieces pulled off\u00a0shelves and into daylight.<\/p>\n Like the lip balm, or big brothers, or music that soothes us. And Baby Ruth\u2019s.\u00a0\u00a0 All things we need.<\/p>\n On I-84 there\u2019s a trooper hiding in the divider and I slow down.<\/p>\n It’s my exit.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Driving home after dark, chapped- lipped and thirsty. Too tired to wrestle with my bag for the lip balm tucked in a side pocket, so I open my mouth wide and stretch my cheeks back, brandishing an excited killer clown<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":123,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-84","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-essay"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p7zCq3-1m","jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":60,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2016\/04\/25\/hooker-3-woo-eee-dont-do-that\/","url_meta":{"origin":84,"position":0},"title":"Hooker #3, \u201cWoo-eee! Don\u2019t Do That!\u201d","author":"Gary Gladstone","date":"April 25, 2016","format":false,"excerpt":"\u00a0Gary Gladstone I can list four hookers I\u2019ve bumped into in my lifetime. As I write these memoirs, one sticks out especially in my mind. She is hooker number three. In 1967 I\u2019m 32 and the rare Manhattan resident who actually keeps a car garaged in the city.\u00a0 It\u2019s expensive\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Memoir"","block_context":{"text":"Memoir","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/memoir\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"Screen Shot 2016-04-09 at 6.05.00 PM","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/04\/screen-shot-2016-04-09-at-6-05-00-pm.jpeg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":6045,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2024\/10\/14\/its-a-beauteous-evening-musky-and-warm\/","url_meta":{"origin":84,"position":1},"title":"It’s a beauteous evening musky and warm","author":"Elisabeth Frischauf","date":"October 14, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"Photo by Vaidas Vaiciulis on Pexels.com Clouds frill fine tentacles; climb like jellyfishUp the autumn sky; cormorant\u2019s black silhouettePoised to plunge stands on protruding rocksLake bass unconcerned tips and flashesBangs out giant ripples; leaves on slow roll-out\u2014Dash of red, rind of orange, but mainly stubborngreen and dry brown, while cricket\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Poetry"","block_context":{"text":"Poetry","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/poetry\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"cormorant on tree at sunset","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/10\/pexels-photo-17339207.jpeg?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/10\/pexels-photo-17339207.jpeg?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/10\/pexels-photo-17339207.jpeg?resize=525%2C300&ssl=1 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/10\/pexels-photo-17339207.jpeg?resize=700%2C400&ssl=1 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/10\/pexels-photo-17339207.jpeg?resize=1050%2C600&ssl=1 3x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/10\/pexels-photo-17339207.jpeg?resize=1400%2C800&ssl=1 4x"},"classes":[]},{"id":1127,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2019\/07\/09\/crybaby\/","url_meta":{"origin":84,"position":2},"title":"Crybaby","author":"Gary Gladstone","date":"July 9, 2019","format":false,"excerpt":"As a young newspaper photographer, I saw some pretty horrific things. Arriving at accident scenes often ahead of the police, I was exposed to some raw suffering. But somehow I remained unemotional and was able to continue shooting pictures to complete my assignment. Some of the worst of what I\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Non-fictions"","block_context":{"text":"Non-fictions","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/contents\/submissions\/non-fictions\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"crybaby2","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/07\/crybaby2-300x286.png?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":320,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2016\/07\/23\/what-happened-out-back\/","url_meta":{"origin":84,"position":3},"title":"What Happened Out Back- Part 1","author":"Kathy Follett","date":"July 23, 2016","format":false,"excerpt":"\u00a0The South Onnamaqua police rescue team responding to a call on September 8 discovered a local resident up to her neck in what was described as wet mulch after an accident on her property at 11 Breakfront St.\u00a0 Sheila Redmond (47) said she had\u00a0been hosing leaves off her barn when\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Fiction"","block_context":{"text":"Fiction","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/fiction\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"Onnamaqua Herald-Gazette","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/studioandroid7142016-035.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/studioandroid7142016-035.jpg?resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/studioandroid7142016-035.jpg?resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/studioandroid7142016-035.jpg?resize=700%2C400 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/studioandroid7142016-035.jpg?resize=1050%2C600 3x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/studioandroid7142016-035.jpg?resize=1400%2C800 4x"},"classes":[]},{"id":666,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2016\/11\/21\/for-lack-of-a-hat-part-i\/","url_meta":{"origin":84,"position":4},"title":"For Lack of a Hat- Part I","author":"L Dewender","date":"November 21, 2016","format":false,"excerpt":"\u00a0 It\u2019s an old building, a refurbished hotel - circa 1800\u2019s. It must have been quite the place back when. It\u2019s a good day to duck in for a lecture; the autumn leaves are rushing around the trees like dirt devils.\u00a0 It\u2019s blustery and grey. Lady pushes on the door\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Short Story"","block_context":{"text":"Short Story","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/contents\/submissions\/short-story\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"galaxynotesept2016-110","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/11\/galaxynotesept2016-110-809x1024.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":1038,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2018\/01\/14\/a-light-through-time\/","url_meta":{"origin":84,"position":5},"title":"A Light Through Time","author":"Jeff Ginsburg","date":"January 14, 2018","format":false,"excerpt":"For most of my adult life, I would call my parents, but only once a week. Even into my retirement, I had to preserve my sense of independence. But their average age is now over ninety, so our daily phone calls reassure me they are stable and I energize them\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Non-fictions"","block_context":{"text":"Non-fictions","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/contents\/submissions\/non-fictions\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"collage (1)","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/collage-1-683x1024.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]}],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/04\/057.jpg?fit=4288%2C3216&ssl=1","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/84","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=84"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/84\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":396,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/84\/revisions\/396"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/123"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=84"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=84"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=84"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}