Friday, October 19, 2012
the last book I ever read (In Search of Cleo by Gina Gershon, excerpt two)
from In Search of Cleo: How I Found My Pussy and Lost My Mind by Gina Gershon:
The first time I fell in love, I was seven years old. I was leaving the school Halloween carnival when a pale, skinny man with dark eyeliner and a cloak came up to me outside as we were waiting to cross the street. My mom was with me and talking to a friend of hers. It was unclear whether he was in costume or just an oddball Goth guy. Ever since Dark Shadows, the original vampire series, I had become obsessed and enthralled with the undead, and I was excited by the fact that he was a possible vampire. He was staring at me intensely (the way Barnabas Collins would stare at Angelique) as he held out this tiny little black-and-white kitten in his long, skinny white hands. My breathing became shallow and I seemed to be in a trance. Goth Man looked me deep in the eyes and in a very confident manner said, "This cat belongs to you. It is yours." I had no choice but to silently accept his gift with a quiet nod of understanding. He slowly turned and floated away. My mother, who had missed the entire exchange, finally turned to me and, seeing the kitten in my arms, immediately began to protest. I quickly reminded her that in my hysteria of Harry the Third's death (I'll get back to him later), she had promised me a new pet, and the goldfish that were swimming aimlessly around in the plastic baggie in my hand were mere decoration and didn't count. There was no negotiating. My future best friend and I went home to the safety of my pink-and-red floral room.