Resort

"Which is not to say that the world owes M., or anyone, a living; alas, the way things are with her, she most likely could not make a poem, a good one, that is; still, she is important, her values are balanced by more than the usual measure of truth, she deserves a finer destiny than to pass from belated adolscence to premature middle age, with no intervening period, and nothing to show."

-from New York by Truman Capote

For the third time this summer, I am going to go back to Michigan. There have been so many long car trips, so many back-seats, so many reminders that I am somebody's child and I had better buckle up and put headphones on, because it will be nine hours and four states until we get there. I long for these trips, for the 500 miles that get put between myself and the State of Disarray, but the family vacation is so bitter; it takes such dedication to make it sweet.

Just this morning, there was the reminder from my mother that four out five doctors think I'm worse than sick: I am wretched. I stood in the kitchen and sliced limes and felt the gentleness shrivel up inside of me, and anger without even a sliver of gentleness makes a person believe they really might be wretched, and so there ensued this great adolescent scene of fleeing to my bedroom, where I could cry properly, and knowing all the while I was only sealing my sad little fate. Sixteen-year-old girls have got to sit in the back-seat, and if nine hours seems long, or if they do not relish a week with their parents and extended family, surely it's because they are at a difficult age. Still.

For the perpetually coming-of-age, Michigan is a trap with all the trappings. It is a lake, a wood, a house, a cottage, a boat, a road, a lawn, a pond, a swamp, a garden, a garage, a field, a canoe, a television, a steak dinner, a croquet set, and an antique pickup truck all in one. It is no reason to leave, and no way out if you wanted to go, anyway. The visitor comes and goes, but I won't. My family has come here to relax. They don't want to drive anywhere. Why on earth should they drive anywhere? Of course they shouldn't drive anywhere. We have each other, at this lakeside complex, and all the driving will be to madness, while we cheerfully see off friends who have done us the invaluable favor of dropping by.

Photos: Courtesy of my sister, Kylie, who sometimes takes me away for little trips in her car, and when we're both bound to the Cutcher complex, makes things seem infinitely more idyllic and lovely.