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Now That I Can Dance
*~*~*
Chapter One
Harvard & Yale
Baby
Lisa's unhappy that she didn't bring enough shoes. If you ask me two pairs are enough, but not to Lisa, she has one pair per dress. And those ten pairs take up all the floor space in our tiny closet, and still she complains. And her bad mood is filling the room like a rain cloud, making it impossible for me to read my book, "Plight of The Peasant". So I'm leaving, going to explore the main house.
A house this big is just wasteful, and the amount of food they put on the plates is just too much. And what are those waiters doing? And what does Max mean by telling them to romance the daughters? But then at this kind of place that would do something like that, keep the whole family happy. Make it so you never have to leave for anything. Not food, not dates. A full self-contained bubble, safe from the outside world. No monks burning themselves in protest here, if something like the Cuban Missile Crisis happened we'd probably never know, so safe in the Kellerman's bubble. Keep the daughters safe, my father would like that. Keep us safe by fixing us up with people from Harvard and Yale, the waiters. Keep us safe from people like, well like him. Definitely not from an Ivy League school, more like a high school of four thousand where the education system fails all but the brightest. If he went to high school at all.
He has a certain pulchritude about him. Pulchritude-now there's a word that sounds nothing like its meaning. It seems like it should be used to describe a sexually transmitted disease or a type of bacteria that lives in unclean water. But it doesn't mean anything like that. It is a word that could be best used to describe this boy-this man. He's probably about the same age as these waiters, but he's lived far longer.
Pulchritude, at least in the way I've always thought of it, means beauty where you'd least expect to find it. A multifaceted rainbow in an oil spill, the colorful intricacy of graffiti. Black sunglasses like Lisa's and as dissimilar to Lisa's as they possibly can be, jacket slung over his shoulder, small beads of sweat gathered at his hairline. People dressed in black, I have always been taught, are harbingers of everything you don't want. Everything about him is wrong.
The waiters seem to know it too. They tease him about Max's words. He doesn't seem to mind, the waiters may enjoy romancing the daughters, but he just doesn't look like he has the patience to put up with a teenage girl's ideas about love. But this man, no he wouldn't want to talk about what love means, he wouldn't care about Lisa's matching shoes. Not the way the waiters would. They would want everything to match, to them the daughters are a device to show off with, to him they don't even exist. It doesn't make him better or worse then the Ivy leaguers, just too different to compare.
Now That I Can Dance
*~*~*
Chapter One
Harvard & Yale
Baby
Lisa's unhappy that she didn't bring enough shoes. If you ask me two pairs are enough, but not to Lisa, she has one pair per dress. And those ten pairs take up all the floor space in our tiny closet, and still she complains. And her bad mood is filling the room like a rain cloud, making it impossible for me to read my book, "Plight of The Peasant". So I'm leaving, going to explore the main house.
A house this big is just wasteful, and the amount of food they put on the plates is just too much. And what are those waiters doing? And what does Max mean by telling them to romance the daughters? But then at this kind of place that would do something like that, keep the whole family happy. Make it so you never have to leave for anything. Not food, not dates. A full self-contained bubble, safe from the outside world. No monks burning themselves in protest here, if something like the Cuban Missile Crisis happened we'd probably never know, so safe in the Kellerman's bubble. Keep the daughters safe, my father would like that. Keep us safe by fixing us up with people from Harvard and Yale, the waiters. Keep us safe from people like, well like him. Definitely not from an Ivy League school, more like a high school of four thousand where the education system fails all but the brightest. If he went to high school at all.
He has a certain pulchritude about him. Pulchritude-now there's a word that sounds nothing like its meaning. It seems like it should be used to describe a sexually transmitted disease or a type of bacteria that lives in unclean water. But it doesn't mean anything like that. It is a word that could be best used to describe this boy-this man. He's probably about the same age as these waiters, but he's lived far longer.
Pulchritude, at least in the way I've always thought of it, means beauty where you'd least expect to find it. A multifaceted rainbow in an oil spill, the colorful intricacy of graffiti. Black sunglasses like Lisa's and as dissimilar to Lisa's as they possibly can be, jacket slung over his shoulder, small beads of sweat gathered at his hairline. People dressed in black, I have always been taught, are harbingers of everything you don't want. Everything about him is wrong.
The waiters seem to know it too. They tease him about Max's words. He doesn't seem to mind, the waiters may enjoy romancing the daughters, but he just doesn't look like he has the patience to put up with a teenage girl's ideas about love. But this man, no he wouldn't want to talk about what love means, he wouldn't care about Lisa's matching shoes. Not the way the waiters would. They would want everything to match, to them the daughters are a device to show off with, to him they don't even exist. It doesn't make him better or worse then the Ivy leaguers, just too different to compare.