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FARIS: Oh, hello, children! Do you remember me? I’m your grand-mère!
Trilling in falsetto. Balancing an invisible cigarette. Taking a drag.
COSETTE: What’s that in your hand, grand-mère?
A glass of milk.
FARIS: A Manhattan, naturally.
Naturally.
COSETTE: The only time I ever saw my grandmother was in the pool at the Saint Lucie Condo Community. The skirt of her bathing suit was ballooned up around her in a ring at the surface of the water. You know how old people’s skin gets on their shoulders and chests—when they have so many moles that they all glob together so it looks like a solid tan?
Drinks.
COSETTE: She was a synchronized swimmer, you know.
Drinks.
FARIS: How is your mother?
Blinks.
COSETTE: My cousin Jenny got married.
Blinks.
COSETTE: And my mother said that her colors were white and baby pink. And then she asked me what my colors would be…
Drinks.
COSETTE: …when I got married. And I said, “I don’t believe in monogamy.” And she thought I said, “Pineapples and Mahogany.”
FARIS: That’s kinder.
COSETTE: And then she said, “Please be gentle, for I am a flower.”
FARIS: She did?
COSETTE: No.
Shift.
© 2007 Tuesday Magazine / a student-run organization at Harvard College
The Harvard name is a trademark of the President and Fellows of Harvard College and is used by permission of Harvard University.
faith h. zhang / webmaster