Showing posts with label literary sorts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label literary sorts. Show all posts

Friday, August 17, 2012

Rooming with Emily (an untrue story)

Emily as we know her

She is understandably misinterpreted, an eccentric who likes her cocktails. This means she’s always at Maggie’s, the little bar we all go to after the readings.

Maggie’s is small enough you can mill about the place the way you would in someone’s house. There are always those, too—house parties. Jonas, the summer program’s director, wants his teaching staff well-cared for, especially since we all are garrisoned in the college dorms—‘suites’ the college calls them: two bedrooms, a bath and a common room the size of a postage stamp. But they’re air-conditioned, which is a blessing.

To compensate for the spartan housing, Jonas and his wife, Anna, hold dinners to which all the visiting faculty writers are invited. Another member of the English department, a medievalist named Heloise, also hosts a dinner from time to time. So most nights we all eat together like some kind of quirky family. After dinner, on weeknights, one of us gives a reading.

It won’t surprise you that Emily is a picky eater. She’ll nibble on a single shrimp or leave the dinner table, her plate untouched. Little wonder, then, that she’s rail-thin. And the severe way she wears her hair makes her look drawn and plain.
  
But it is not true that she always wears white. She is, in fact, a provocative dresser considering that she is no longer an ingĂ©nue. Somehow, she pulls it off. Maybe it’s her air of innocence—estranged from beauty none can be/for beauty is infinity. She’s always saying that kind of thing.

A further stereotype-busting fact is that each summer Emily has a fling with someone. I’ve been her room-mate for nine years, so trust me, I know. However pale her brow, her blood runs red. And if you read her poetry closely, that should come as no surprise.