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But I have found a way to foil them. I am out on the fire escape. It’s about thirty degrees out here, and snowing, by the way, but guess what? So far no one has followed me.
Fortunately I bought one of those pens that’s also a flashlight, so I can see to write. The sun went down a while ago, and I have to admit, my butt is freezing. But it’s actually sort of nice out here. All you can hear is the hiss of the snow as it lands on the metal of the fire escape, and the occasional siren or car alarm. It is restful, in a way.
And you know what I’m finding out? I need a rest. Big time.
Really. I need to like, go and lie on a beach somewhere, or something.
There’s a nice beach in Genovia. Really. With white sand, palm trees, the whole bit.
Too bad while I’m there, I’m never going to have time to visit it, since I’m going to be too busy christening battleships, or whatever.
But if I lived in Genovia . . . you know, moved there, and lived there full time . . .
Oh, I’ll miss my mom, of course. I’ve already considered that. She’s leaned out the window about twenty times already, begging me to come inside or at least put on a coat. My mom’s a nice lady. I’ll really miss her.
But she can come visit me in Genovia. At least up until her eighth month. Then air travel might be a little risky. But she can come after my baby brother or sister is born. That would be nice.
And Mr. G, he’s okay, too. He just leaned out and asked if I wanted any of the four-alarm chili he just made. He left out the meat, he says, just for me.
That was nice of him. He can come visit me in Genovia, too.
It will be nice to live there. I can hang out with my dad all the time. He’s not such a bad guy, either, once you get to know him. He wants me to come in off the fire escape, too. I guess my mom must have called him. He says he’s really proud of me, on account of the press conference and my B minus in Algebra and all. He wants to take me out to dinner to celebrate. We can go to the Zen Palate, he says. A totally vegetarian restaurant. Isn’t that nice of him?
Too bad he let Lars take my door down, or I might have gone with him.
Ronnie, our next door neighbor, just looked out her window and saw me. Now she wants to know what I’m doing, sitting out on the fire escape in December.
I told her I needed some privacy, and that this appears to be the only way I can get it.
Ronnie went, “Honey, don’t I know how that is.”
She said I was going to freeze without a coat though, and offered me her mink. I politely declined, as I cannot wear the skins of dead animals.
So she loaned me her electric blanket,
which she has plugged into the outlet beneath her air conditioner. I must say, this is an improvement.
Ronnie’s getting ready to go out. It’s nice to watch her put on her makeup. As she does it, she keeps up a running conversation with me through her open window. She asked me if I was having trouble at school, and if that was why I’m on the fire escape, and I said I was. She asked what kind, and I told her. I told her I am being persecuted: that I am in love with my best friend’s brother, but that to him it is apparently all this really big joke. Oh, and also that everyone apparently thinks I am having an affair with a mouth-breathing violinist who happens to be my best friend’s boyfriend.
Ronnie shook her head and said it was good to know things haven’t changed since she was in high school. She says she knows what it is like to be persecuted, because Ronnie used to be a man.
I told Ronnie that it really doesn’t matter, because I’m moving to Genovia. Ronnie said she was sorry to hear that. She’ll miss me, as I have really improved conditions in the apartment building’s incinerator room since I insisted on installing separate recycling bins for newspapers and cans and bottles.
Then Ronnie said she has to go because she’s meeting her boyfriend for cocktails at the Carlyle. She said I could keep using the electric blanket, though, so long as I remember to return it when I’m done.
God. Even my next door neighbor, who used to be a man, has a boyfriend. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME????
Uh-oh. I hear footsteps in my room. Who’s coming now?
Friday, December 19, 7:30 p.m.
Well. You could knock me over with a feather.
Guess who just came out onto the fire escape and sat with me for half an hour?
Grandmère.
I’m not even kidding.
