Post by Alice Wilde on Nov 9, 2008 21:52:59 GMT -5
Our story begins with a birth. As I pulled into the driveway of my aunt's house, my four-months-pregnant mother greeted me in her bathrobe. I held my tongue and two cups of gas station coffee while she hurried toward me. Today was going to be the day when I met him.
Daniel Handler. My favorite author for the past seven years.
And my mother was ruining it. Again. She knew we couldn't be late.
"Your niece's cat popped." My mother said.
I frowned. My mother was forever referring to my aunt's daughter, my cousin, as 'my niece'. Call it a Freudian slip.
My cousin's cat, Alex, had gotten out some months before and had been swelling ever since. My typical greeting to the engorged cat was "kitty, you look ready to pop". I heard mewling the moment I followed my mother into the house. There, in a box caddy-corner to my aunt's kitchen, was Alex, five kittens laying around her.
I squealed. This was the first time in my life I had held a newborn creature though I suspect, given my mother's condition, it will not be the last. I demanded that one of the kittens be named Daniel. Adorable as they were (they were so cute so cute so cute), it would take a lot more than a box of kittens to deter me from seeing Daniel Handler.
My mother finished getting ready and we were on the road. She snapped that I could not drive as I gained speed on the highway. That I would cause an accident and kill her and the baby. That I should pull over and let her take the wheel. It would take an hour to arrive at the book signing and we had been driving all of five minutes.
I changed the subject to how I wanted my book signed. The aforementioned seven years and ruined attempt at meeting Daniel, I had grown disillusioned. I did not want the book signed to me. I wanted it signed to my sibling in vitro.
My unborn sister is a girl. An obvious statement, I feel. But my mother insists, "We don't know what it is yet."
"It was on the ultrasound. The doctor showed us. It was graphic. I felt awkward staring at her naughty bits. Remember?"
"We won't really know until the baby is born." She said. "I don't care what the doctor says."
"What do doctors know? They only specialize in that sort of thing, after all." I muttered as I changed lanes. My mother threatened to call the police if I did not stop the car right then and yelled at me for trying to get off on the shoulder.
We arrived at the signing and purchased a book and a 'Snicket ticket'. The lady that sold us A Lump of Coal said 'Snicket ticket' as though she sounded impressed with herself for coming up with the rhyme.
"She reminds me of your niece, you know?" My mother gestured to her hair. "With the haircut and all."
"My cousin." I said, grinning at my book and my ticket. Then I noticed two other books laying on the table with A Lump of Coal. One was called The Composer Is Dead and made me regret spending my money on a story that I could have read for free on the internet. The Composer Is Dead wasn't supposed to be released until next year!
But then I remembered my sister.
"Oh yeah." My mother said. "I keep forgetting."
"What, that I'm your kid?" I peered over a paperback version of Adverbs. The lady that reminded my mother of my cousin looked between the two of us the way policemen look at two drunken people screaming insults at each other. A fight was sure to ensue.
My mother shrugged. "You don't seem like it. You live with grandma and not me. You seem so much older. You're more like my sister, one of my mom's kids, now."
I looked around at the elementary school students and wondered what the hell she had meant by 'older'. Then a full-grown man in socks and sandals entered the room, looking like a pedophile, and I felt better about my age.
My mother and I got in line and had to explain to a woman giving out sticky notes that I wanted the book made out to "sibling". My mother whispered to me, after she had gone, that Daniel would like that. That he would remember "sibling", that he would think it was funny. I hope she was right.
Then I heard it. Daniel's voice. I have no idea what he said. None. All I knew was that I was in the same room as Daniel Middle-Name-I'm-Assuming-Is-Joseph Handler. My idol. My moral compass. The one man for whom I would endure a car ride with my mother.
I was shaking and my mother told me I looked splotchy. I didn't care. The line was whittling down with Daniel's voice wafting throughout the room like the smell of cakes in a bakery. My palms sweated and I wiped them on my jeans.
My mother got out of line as we got closer to get a picture of he and I together. We were close now, close enough for me to see him. The first thing I thought was man, his hair looks gray. My mother is a year younger than Daniel and she hasn't got a gray hair on her head. I looked around for the pedophile again, feeling old.
The second thing I thought was that Daniel's tie was the most amazing shade of orange I had ever seen and how badly I wished that he didn't have that ring on his left ring finger. He was talking to a man ahead of me. "Steven and Elizabeth." He read the man's sticky note and looked up. "You must be Elizabeth?"
The man laughed and nodded.
"I believe that I've seen your nightclub act." Daniel said and I laughed. A blond signing worker glared at me as did her pale yellow T-shirt. I twisted my scarf in my hands. Elizabeth wandered off and a sixth-grade girl took his place.
"Have you read this book?" Daniel asked her, looking at her copy of The Wide Window.
The sixth-grade girl nodded.
"Have you read all of these books?" Daniel gestured to the copies of the Lemony Snicket books behind him.
The sixth-grade girl nodded.
"Why? Surely you must have had something more pleasant to do with your time."
The sixth-grade girl spoke. "I'm partially determined."
Daniel laughed now. "Partially? Oh I see. Well, it was partially nice to meet you then."
The sixth-grade girl nodded for the last time, took her signed book and walked away.
There were two people in front of me. Two people between Daniel Handler and I. I was surprised I managed to stay conscious. One was a boy and the other his father. His father broke away from the line to take a picture.
"Does this man always take pictures of you?" Daniel asked.
The boy said something to which Daniel responded, "Yes, I take your picture too. Sometimes while you're sleeping. Your room's a mess, by the way."
The boy took his book and I blacked out. The girl in the pale yellow T-shirt glared again and told me to go forward. I took two steps. Daniel looked at me. I felt woozy. He read my sticky note.
"Sibling?" He asked.
"We don't know what it is yet." I pointed to my mother. She pouched her stomach out.
Daniel turned back to me. "I believe," He said calm as a man reading the weather. "that is a woman."
That was the ice-breaker. I cracked up. "No, no. She's pregnant."
He began to sign my book.
"Mr. Handler," I said. "My name is Alice. I'm a member of the 667 Dark Avenue forum. You answered our questions last year."
Daniel stopped and smiled. Smiled at the mention of our forum. I think we can surmise, dear readers, he likes us. Daniel Handler is fond of us.
He extended his hand. I took it. I was shaking his hand. Daniel Handler's hand. We made physical contact. The pedophile somewhere behind me had nothing on the near-sexual rush I got from that. Sorry. I'll just report the rest of our conversation without commentary.
"Ah, yes." He said after wrenching himself from my grasp. "I met one of your compatriots at the Columbus signing."
I laughed. I was laughing at a lot and I could feel yellow T-shirt's glare from somewhere behind me. "Yeah. I saw the photo. He looked fabulous." Fabulously gay, I added in my mind.
"He was wearing a rather nice suit." Daniel said.
"I cannot say the same for myself." I looked down at my jeans and turtleneck. God, I felt old.
Daniel was pressing my book into my hand. "That's just as well. I generally prefer to be the best-dressed person in the room."
"You are, today." Flattery, Alice, flattery will make him yours forever.
That did wrangle another smile out of him. "Thank you. It was so nice meeting you."
You have no idea, I thought. "Nice meeting you." I mumbled like a non-crazy person. The pedophile, somewhere, was applauding.
My mother squealed and we ran out of the signing together. "How do you feel?" She asked when we were in the car.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I thought about my answer. Driving my pregnant mother around. Bringing her coffee. Wearing turtlenecks. Being considered her sister rather than her daughter. All of those elementary students. And finally meeting the man, for seven years, I dreamed of meeting.
"Like an adult." I said.
My mother paused. "You are."
She said this and nothing else the ride home, no matter how many times I changed lanes.
When I got home, I read what Daniel had written in my book: "To some sibling or other."
Our story began with a birth, reader, and ends with one as well. For now, more than ever, I see that I am not a child reading a children's book series. I am a sister, to my mother, to my unborn sibling, whatever gender my mother thinks she is. To my fellow forum members. Yesterday was the birth of my sisterhood.
And becoming my mother's sister, reader, is a fate that the author of a Jewish incest comedy, Daniel Handler, my laughing god, might appreciate.
If not, however, he got a kitten named after him at least.
Daniel Handler. My favorite author for the past seven years.
And my mother was ruining it. Again. She knew we couldn't be late.
"Your niece's cat popped." My mother said.
I frowned. My mother was forever referring to my aunt's daughter, my cousin, as 'my niece'. Call it a Freudian slip.
My cousin's cat, Alex, had gotten out some months before and had been swelling ever since. My typical greeting to the engorged cat was "kitty, you look ready to pop". I heard mewling the moment I followed my mother into the house. There, in a box caddy-corner to my aunt's kitchen, was Alex, five kittens laying around her.
I squealed. This was the first time in my life I had held a newborn creature though I suspect, given my mother's condition, it will not be the last. I demanded that one of the kittens be named Daniel. Adorable as they were (they were so cute so cute so cute), it would take a lot more than a box of kittens to deter me from seeing Daniel Handler.
My mother finished getting ready and we were on the road. She snapped that I could not drive as I gained speed on the highway. That I would cause an accident and kill her and the baby. That I should pull over and let her take the wheel. It would take an hour to arrive at the book signing and we had been driving all of five minutes.
I changed the subject to how I wanted my book signed. The aforementioned seven years and ruined attempt at meeting Daniel, I had grown disillusioned. I did not want the book signed to me. I wanted it signed to my sibling in vitro.
My unborn sister is a girl. An obvious statement, I feel. But my mother insists, "We don't know what it is yet."
"It was on the ultrasound. The doctor showed us. It was graphic. I felt awkward staring at her naughty bits. Remember?"
"We won't really know until the baby is born." She said. "I don't care what the doctor says."
"What do doctors know? They only specialize in that sort of thing, after all." I muttered as I changed lanes. My mother threatened to call the police if I did not stop the car right then and yelled at me for trying to get off on the shoulder.
We arrived at the signing and purchased a book and a 'Snicket ticket'. The lady that sold us A Lump of Coal said 'Snicket ticket' as though she sounded impressed with herself for coming up with the rhyme.
"She reminds me of your niece, you know?" My mother gestured to her hair. "With the haircut and all."
"My cousin." I said, grinning at my book and my ticket. Then I noticed two other books laying on the table with A Lump of Coal. One was called The Composer Is Dead and made me regret spending my money on a story that I could have read for free on the internet. The Composer Is Dead wasn't supposed to be released until next year!
But then I remembered my sister.
"Oh yeah." My mother said. "I keep forgetting."
"What, that I'm your kid?" I peered over a paperback version of Adverbs. The lady that reminded my mother of my cousin looked between the two of us the way policemen look at two drunken people screaming insults at each other. A fight was sure to ensue.
My mother shrugged. "You don't seem like it. You live with grandma and not me. You seem so much older. You're more like my sister, one of my mom's kids, now."
I looked around at the elementary school students and wondered what the hell she had meant by 'older'. Then a full-grown man in socks and sandals entered the room, looking like a pedophile, and I felt better about my age.
My mother and I got in line and had to explain to a woman giving out sticky notes that I wanted the book made out to "sibling". My mother whispered to me, after she had gone, that Daniel would like that. That he would remember "sibling", that he would think it was funny. I hope she was right.
Then I heard it. Daniel's voice. I have no idea what he said. None. All I knew was that I was in the same room as Daniel Middle-Name-I'm-Assuming-Is-Joseph Handler. My idol. My moral compass. The one man for whom I would endure a car ride with my mother.
I was shaking and my mother told me I looked splotchy. I didn't care. The line was whittling down with Daniel's voice wafting throughout the room like the smell of cakes in a bakery. My palms sweated and I wiped them on my jeans.
My mother got out of line as we got closer to get a picture of he and I together. We were close now, close enough for me to see him. The first thing I thought was man, his hair looks gray. My mother is a year younger than Daniel and she hasn't got a gray hair on her head. I looked around for the pedophile again, feeling old.
The second thing I thought was that Daniel's tie was the most amazing shade of orange I had ever seen and how badly I wished that he didn't have that ring on his left ring finger. He was talking to a man ahead of me. "Steven and Elizabeth." He read the man's sticky note and looked up. "You must be Elizabeth?"
The man laughed and nodded.
"I believe that I've seen your nightclub act." Daniel said and I laughed. A blond signing worker glared at me as did her pale yellow T-shirt. I twisted my scarf in my hands. Elizabeth wandered off and a sixth-grade girl took his place.
"Have you read this book?" Daniel asked her, looking at her copy of The Wide Window.
The sixth-grade girl nodded.
"Have you read all of these books?" Daniel gestured to the copies of the Lemony Snicket books behind him.
The sixth-grade girl nodded.
"Why? Surely you must have had something more pleasant to do with your time."
The sixth-grade girl spoke. "I'm partially determined."
Daniel laughed now. "Partially? Oh I see. Well, it was partially nice to meet you then."
The sixth-grade girl nodded for the last time, took her signed book and walked away.
There were two people in front of me. Two people between Daniel Handler and I. I was surprised I managed to stay conscious. One was a boy and the other his father. His father broke away from the line to take a picture.
"Does this man always take pictures of you?" Daniel asked.
The boy said something to which Daniel responded, "Yes, I take your picture too. Sometimes while you're sleeping. Your room's a mess, by the way."
The boy took his book and I blacked out. The girl in the pale yellow T-shirt glared again and told me to go forward. I took two steps. Daniel looked at me. I felt woozy. He read my sticky note.
"Sibling?" He asked.
"We don't know what it is yet." I pointed to my mother. She pouched her stomach out.
Daniel turned back to me. "I believe," He said calm as a man reading the weather. "that is a woman."
That was the ice-breaker. I cracked up. "No, no. She's pregnant."
He began to sign my book.
"Mr. Handler," I said. "My name is Alice. I'm a member of the 667 Dark Avenue forum. You answered our questions last year."
Daniel stopped and smiled. Smiled at the mention of our forum. I think we can surmise, dear readers, he likes us. Daniel Handler is fond of us.
He extended his hand. I took it. I was shaking his hand. Daniel Handler's hand. We made physical contact. The pedophile somewhere behind me had nothing on the near-sexual rush I got from that. Sorry. I'll just report the rest of our conversation without commentary.
"Ah, yes." He said after wrenching himself from my grasp. "I met one of your compatriots at the Columbus signing."
I laughed. I was laughing at a lot and I could feel yellow T-shirt's glare from somewhere behind me. "Yeah. I saw the photo. He looked fabulous." Fabulously gay, I added in my mind.
"He was wearing a rather nice suit." Daniel said.
"I cannot say the same for myself." I looked down at my jeans and turtleneck. God, I felt old.
Daniel was pressing my book into my hand. "That's just as well. I generally prefer to be the best-dressed person in the room."
"You are, today." Flattery, Alice, flattery will make him yours forever.
That did wrangle another smile out of him. "Thank you. It was so nice meeting you."
You have no idea, I thought. "Nice meeting you." I mumbled like a non-crazy person. The pedophile, somewhere, was applauding.
My mother squealed and we ran out of the signing together. "How do you feel?" She asked when we were in the car.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I thought about my answer. Driving my pregnant mother around. Bringing her coffee. Wearing turtlenecks. Being considered her sister rather than her daughter. All of those elementary students. And finally meeting the man, for seven years, I dreamed of meeting.
"Like an adult." I said.
My mother paused. "You are."
She said this and nothing else the ride home, no matter how many times I changed lanes.
When I got home, I read what Daniel had written in my book: "To some sibling or other."
Our story began with a birth, reader, and ends with one as well. For now, more than ever, I see that I am not a child reading a children's book series. I am a sister, to my mother, to my unborn sibling, whatever gender my mother thinks she is. To my fellow forum members. Yesterday was the birth of my sisterhood.
And becoming my mother's sister, reader, is a fate that the author of a Jewish incest comedy, Daniel Handler, my laughing god, might appreciate.
If not, however, he got a kitten named after him at least.