Palm Springs, 1985

Abstract

These girls across the hallway, I think I like them. I hang out with them lately in the dorm, lying around, eating Pepperidge Farm goldfish and Domino's pizza. One is the daughter of some senator in Virginia. Randolph. Her name is Adelaide Randolph. She's tall and skinny like all the girls who still call themselves cows even though I'm like thirty pounds heavier than they are. What am I supposed to say whenever they sit around saying they hate them selves, that they're disgusting for eating a Frito, calling themselves fat cows? Adelaide has brown hair and green cat eyes. Long nails with French tips. She dresses like Michael Jackson. Completely. The black hat, the black and red leather jacket. The black pants, white socks, black loafers. She even has the gloves. Crazy. And she pulls it off, that's the thing. I'd look like I was smok ing something if I walked around use like that. Even though I'm the black one, she totally owns the look. Some people can get away with anything. Her roommate is this mellow girl named Lavendar. Her actual name. Dar for short. But everybody calls her Nurse, because of her major. Her parents were hippies or something and now they're loaded and living in Berkeley. Nurse always wears her hair in two long braids and a baseball cap. San Francisco Giants. Jesus. Just like Lasorda, I bleed Dodger blue, but I like Nurse, so we don't talk about baseball, except for spring training and who's going to be better this year. Dave LaPoint or Orel Hershiser. Please. Like it's even a contest. You got to let people have their deluded dreams, though. It's spring break and they want me to go to Palm Springs with them. I don't have any money, though. My work-study job and student loans get me from one month to the next. No extras.