Scarlett Rene, Murry Sparkles and a Leap into History

Murry, her sister, and a friend at the Drag March. 

On the verge of 14. 

In San Juan

At St Marks Place baptized into the church of stop shopping. 

  

June 30^th - that’s when she came here 14 years ago,

Arriving like a Cyclone, hurling across the sky into New York City,

On the anniversary of the Stonewall.

Rene going, a flash of red coming.

A good time for the world,

Italy winning a few minutes before she arrived.

Off to Princeton and the out to Cali.

Running around Big Sur,

Back to NYC.

Garrison.

The pool.

The cousins.

Evie.

Here comes captain orange juice.

‘Murry Sparcles can be her stage name,’ said Mom.

“Good day Father.”

“Is that a good day or good riddance?”

“I love you.”

Sleeping on the floor, repelling through time,

Pushing away and finding something else.

Sharing a bathroom with a sister, roller skating together whenever they could.

Now that there is no jujitsu with Mary M.

Just protests to go to.

Paintings to create.

Step after step, story after Story.

Ducking under the table in Berlin.

Dublin to Italy.

Camino to Tokyo.

“When you just walked ten long miles in the blazing hot sun, just to walk ten more long miles,”

That’s when you have the blues.

“I’ve lived eight good years and I’m ready to die.”

Hiking through fear.

CTY to Brooklyn and back again.

Eating Lau hot soup in Hanoi, exploring the Banyon Trees in Hong Kong, the ruins of Anchor Wat.

The real adventure in the library.

Reading Twilight on New Years.

Recalling Gertrude,

My Side of the Mountain.

World According to Garp

Leo Tolstoy.

War and Peace

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."

Or was that in Anna Karenina?

Ten pages a day.

Pierre and the Freemasons.

Prince Andrei and the Natasha.

700 pages to go before 9^th grade.

Off to the coolest high school in America.

Taking it easy, but taking it during quarantine.

Zoom graduation and resilience.

“If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger,” she laughed, reading,  Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë’s tales of love and loss and long lines.

“Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!”

Heathcliff is the cutest.

Not as cute as Edward.

Or Garp,

The Technical Sargent regressing.

“They were involved in that awkward procedure of getting to unknow each other.”
wrote John Irving, The World According to Garp

Sometimes reading is a little odd.

But we do it, together.

Or watch the shadows of Nosferatu the vampyre

“Listen. The children of the night make their music.”

Chasing Ice was scarier, the uncertainly of our era always lurking, especially for those who will inherit this mess we’re leaving.

Water rising,

Ice caps melting.

The Brooklyn tides shifting.

Old movies, old souls.

The Parent Trap and Whip It, now and forever.

What about Anton?

Or Tommy?

“Imagining something is better than remembering something.”
―John Irving, The World According to Garp

Juneteenth marching through history.

“Do you really want to carry that ACAB sign,” says Dad.

“Dad, its about institutions not individuals,” she corrects me.

Each year finding herself, looking at the world.

I give her the Drunk Boat on her 14^th birthday, toasting to her.

We’re all on that boat sailing through the water, looking at time, trying to navigate fate and faith.

Battling tides.

Browsing Japanese bookstores,

Cruising the stacks at the library,

Playdates after Judson.

Arcades and Cyclones at Coney.

Roller Skating on Smith,

Riding the tandem.

Throwing baseballs in the alley.

Rounding the curve.

On our side of the mountain.

14 into forever.