mantis, they seemed so strange and delicate to me.
"That night, I dreamed about you. I came into my bedroom, and you were sitting up, reading, with your gold-wire glasses on and all that long black hair. When I reached out for you in the dream, you disappeared."
"I'm sorry," I said, squeezed tightly beside him in the twin bed of my dorm room.
"Then this dog, whom I named Tank and whom my parents wouldn't let me keep, replaced you."
The Almost Moon
"Woof!" I said.
But I did not know about his dreams until after I'd first posed for him.
I remember the pink wool dress I wore and how soft the mohair felt against my skin. I had dressed up in my best outfit only to go to a room in the art building that smelled of burning coils from an old space heater, and take it off again. Eventually, my camisole and half-slip ended up in Jake's hands as he helped me dress so we could return to my dorm and undress yet again. His fingers, wide like spatulas, were capable of incredible delicacy, but when he held out the satin camisole and slip, they seemed strangely alien to me—the chewed ends of his fingernails, blackened with charcoal and paint, looked harsh against the lace trim I had coveted in Marshall Field's. This was the image I often connected with the loss of my virginity.
When it was time to paint Emily's first bedroom, Jake remembered the donkey that his grandfather had painted on the wall of his own childhood room. Riding on the donkey was a swarthylooking man with crude features, and strapped over the animal's back was a large double basket that held flowers. What Jake remembered was the fact that, despite the bit in its mouth, the donkey seemed to be smiling, its eye closed in a sort of wakeful sleep.
While Emily lay curled inside me, occasionally kicking, he made the initial steps for the painting—sketching on the walls with charcoal. We had yet to get married and refused to admit that we both secretly worried to do so might be a mistake.
"They say that large, colorful shapes are best," I instructed Jake. "They stimulate the infant brain but don't overtax it."
Jake had dragged our mattress to the middle of the floor so I could lie there and expound such theories while he drew. He
[3 9]
Alice Sebo Id
had become obsessed with the size of my belly—how Emily announced her presence, inch by inch.
"Total power," he said when he put his hand against me. "And it isn't even here yet. Sometimes I think it's mocking us."
"It is," I said matter-of-factly. "Rounded edges are soothing to baby," I read aloud from a book Mr. Forrest had sent.
"Why are we suddenly following rules?" Jake asked.
"Okay," I said, throwing the book on the floor, where it slid a few feet and then stopped. "Jagged edges make baby happy."
"That's the spirit."
"Knives and guns and depictions of brutality lead baby into the land of nod."
Jake came over to the mattress and joined me.
"Lizzie Borden is a favorite cartoon character for baby. Why not make baby happy and draw her covered in blood?"
"Keep going," he said.
"Pad baby's walls, if needed. Chintz is always nice. And nails.
Lots of them."
"I want to fuck you," Jake said.
"Draw."
After we married, in that brief time when I pretended I liked to cook, I would cut the white fat off a slippery chicken breast and spread the flesh out flat on the broiler pan, only to imagine holding my mother's heart. Then I would stare out the window of the house we rented in Madison and see the cars lined up at the traffic light, leading away from campus like humming corpuscles lined up in an artery. It was all I could do to get my mind back and slide the broiler into the oven, knowing that one of the cars on its way to temporary faculty housing contained my husband and that he was coming home.
[ 4 0 ]
The Almost Moon
I was always careful to wash the knife and the cutting board and to hold my hands underwater until they ached red from the heat, so fearful was I of poisoning Jake or of accidentally
"That night, I dreamed about you. I came into my bedroom, and you were sitting up, reading, with your gold-wire glasses on and all that long black hair. When I reached out for you in the dream, you disappeared."
"I'm sorry," I said, squeezed tightly beside him in the twin bed of my dorm room.
"Then this dog, whom I named Tank and whom my parents wouldn't let me keep, replaced you."
The Almost Moon
"Woof!" I said.
But I did not know about his dreams until after I'd first posed for him.
I remember the pink wool dress I wore and how soft the mohair felt against my skin. I had dressed up in my best outfit only to go to a room in the art building that smelled of burning coils from an old space heater, and take it off again. Eventually, my camisole and half-slip ended up in Jake's hands as he helped me dress so we could return to my dorm and undress yet again. His fingers, wide like spatulas, were capable of incredible delicacy, but when he held out the satin camisole and slip, they seemed strangely alien to me—the chewed ends of his fingernails, blackened with charcoal and paint, looked harsh against the lace trim I had coveted in Marshall Field's. This was the image I often connected with the loss of my virginity.
When it was time to paint Emily's first bedroom, Jake remembered the donkey that his grandfather had painted on the wall of his own childhood room. Riding on the donkey was a swarthylooking man with crude features, and strapped over the animal's back was a large double basket that held flowers. What Jake remembered was the fact that, despite the bit in its mouth, the donkey seemed to be smiling, its eye closed in a sort of wakeful sleep.
While Emily lay curled inside me, occasionally kicking, he made the initial steps for the painting—sketching on the walls with charcoal. We had yet to get married and refused to admit that we both secretly worried to do so might be a mistake.
"They say that large, colorful shapes are best," I instructed Jake. "They stimulate the infant brain but don't overtax it."
Jake had dragged our mattress to the middle of the floor so I could lie there and expound such theories while he drew. He
[3 9]
Alice Sebo Id
had become obsessed with the size of my belly—how Emily announced her presence, inch by inch.
"Total power," he said when he put his hand against me. "And it isn't even here yet. Sometimes I think it's mocking us."
"It is," I said matter-of-factly. "Rounded edges are soothing to baby," I read aloud from a book Mr. Forrest had sent.
"Why are we suddenly following rules?" Jake asked.
"Okay," I said, throwing the book on the floor, where it slid a few feet and then stopped. "Jagged edges make baby happy."
"That's the spirit."
"Knives and guns and depictions of brutality lead baby into the land of nod."
Jake came over to the mattress and joined me.
"Lizzie Borden is a favorite cartoon character for baby. Why not make baby happy and draw her covered in blood?"
"Keep going," he said.
"Pad baby's walls, if needed. Chintz is always nice. And nails.
Lots of them."
"I want to fuck you," Jake said.
"Draw."
After we married, in that brief time when I pretended I liked to cook, I would cut the white fat off a slippery chicken breast and spread the flesh out flat on the broiler pan, only to imagine holding my mother's heart. Then I would stare out the window of the house we rented in Madison and see the cars lined up at the traffic light, leading away from campus like humming corpuscles lined up in an artery. It was all I could do to get my mind back and slide the broiler into the oven, knowing that one of the cars on its way to temporary faculty housing contained my husband and that he was coming home.
[ 4 0 ]
The Almost Moon
I was always careful to wash the knife and the cutting board and to hold my hands underwater until they ached red from the heat, so fearful was I of poisoning Jake or of accidentally
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