SEVEN FOR SALVATORE By Durga Chew-Bose
I.
When she closes her eyes she sees pink glass baubles, the early morning shadow of a mother holding her baby, dried chili peppers in a photograph of Lucia Berlin. She sees a cat with one eye missing. She sees a row of houses set back on their lawns. She sees pulled threads on old towels and cracked ice floating on a winter river. She sees a hand drawn map with directions to a nearby diner. She sees the letter “i” written in lowercase when all of the other letters are written in uppercase. She sees the view from the ninth floor and the distance traveled were she to fall out. She sees a storm drain filling up, the cinched center of Irving Penn’s mozzarella, a drawer that never fully closes. She sees the faded spine of a book in the most original shade of blue. She sees how her ankles look different in white tights, but finds comfort in knowing all women feel that way. When she closes her eyes she sees a countdown from ten that starts again before it reaches six.
II.
If you are in someone’s kitchen and you spot a bottle of pink dish soap, you will be tempted to take a photo. If you are in your friend’s car while she is driving and you notice her legs splayed just enough to stretch the frayed knee of her jeans, you will be tempted to take a photo. If you see lotion that isn’t fully rubbed in, you will be tempted to take a photo. If you are waiting for the bus in the rain and you notice your knuckles growing pink and cold, you will be tempted to take a photo. If you see someone pulling off his red sweater over his head, you will be tempted to take a photo. If you see bad posture and a bowl of grapes, you will be tempted to take a photo.
III.
Lynne had loaned them to Jules who was supposed to wear them to Ren and Kirk’s rehearsal dinner, but Jules left them in Dakota’s car, so Dakota started wearing them for a week or so but then she lost one while dancing with Celia and Jean M. at Jean S.’s birthday party which went on until sunrise and it was only a month later that Jean S. found the missing half under the couch next to a tortilla chip which she considered putting in her mouth before stopping herself and texting Dakota who was on a train with Leonor, who used to date Lynne, who gave Lynne those earrings, who suddenly missed Lynne and decided to text her that night when everyone had fallen asleep after watching only half of Paper Moon: “I really think you would like this movie. Start it. Watch half. And then let’s finish it together?”
IV.
Everyone always talks about her blue eyeshadow, her strawberry blonde hair, her sparkly tap shoes, or how effortlessly she moves to King Crimson’s “Moonchild,” spotlit and moody at the bowling alley. But not nearly enough has been said about her cardigan, all droopy and long in the sleeves, slipping down her shoulders and covering her small hands. The cardigan, like her hair — which she keeps pushing away from her heart shaped face — is that extra thing, beautiful like a smudge, something to adjust. We love you, Christina Ricci.
V.
She only wore her glasses when she drove. Movies were blurry, but she was used to the blur. Street signs were obvious because she was in her thirties and familiar with them, the way she was familiar with her thighs in the mirror or her hands in June by the pool. When nobody was looking she might squint to read a subtitle or squint to study a painting at the museum or squint to confirm that a jacket’s pattern was perfectly understated, navy instead of black. She was nervous to start wearing her glasses because then she would always be wearing her glasses and she’d noticed a few years ago how things had started to feel, too often, like always.
VI.
Listen. She wanted to watch a movie that had absolutely nothing to say. That if someone asked her, “What was the movie about?” She wouldn’t have an answer. She would say, “There were red shoes.... Oh, and some night driving on a country road.” She would misremember the main character’s name as Trudy when really it was Tracy, or was it Nicole? She wanted to watch a movie where there was a scene with a rainstorm, the kind of rain that falls in streaks without reprieve, and instead of thinking about the scene she was thinking about how they made the rain fall. She liked taking naps at the movies. She liked waking up and seeing a new face on the big screen, having heard their voice in her dreams just moments before. Intimacy, for her, was not knowing what something was about — like a movie — but loving it regardless, without motive or reason but because there was night driving and red shoes.
VII.
Handle only the stems. Most will keep best if cut when nearly open but some keep best if cut in the bud stage. Stand in a bucket of cool water and place indoors in a cool dark place. Arrangement shapes include: Crescent, Circle, Triangle, Oval, Diagonal Line, Simple Vertical, Spiral. Good design has two aims in mind — order and beauty. Warm colors have more visual weight. Cool colors recede. A pattern can be formed with solids and spaces. Textural contrast can add interest to the design. Roses are velvety. Zinnias are dense. Baby’s breath provides air.