(Untitled) (Rory and Jennie 1967)
6:00 PM
"What do you want to do when you get done with school, Jennie?"
Rory and I were laying on a blanket spread out on the hood of his car and staring at the stars. We were bundled to the teeth in our coats, scarves, gloves and knit wool caps. It was the first clear night the city had had all fall and the only reason it was clear was because of the very unusual occurrence of there being snow on the ground.
Snow in October. I'd never heard of such a thing-- even if it was a minuscule amount.
I could see the air vacating my lungs.
I shivered with bones that touched.
"I want to be John Lennon. I like the way he screams on records."
"Lennon is moody."
"Oh, I don't mean literally. I just mean-- sometimes I wish I were a man. I'd have the world at my feet. I would play guitar loud and see everything from trains, planes, cars and hotel rooms.
I'd sit at the kitchen table and listen to the radio with my shirt off."
"Oh yes. You can always hear the radio better with your shirt off. That's why I love being a man."
We let out laughter that the night quickly made frozen.
"I don't know," I replied in earnest, "I'm terrified. I don't want to be a secretary or a hairdresser or a school teacher. I want to be an artist-- I think--of some sort. I want to play guitar until my fingers bleed. I want to paint portraits of fetuses in wombs and skeletal remains. I want to make films."
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