The Price of a Magazine

I’ve spent this whole week organizing my life before my new job starts. It seemed like the wisest thing to do. I have some fear about getting to work at 8 o’clock and some fear about actually knowing how to use their computer programs or manage their website. I spent some time this past week learning a little bit about that, but after a while it seemed inefficient to try and predict what I was going to have to do. It seemed like a better use of my time to make sure my home life was as smooth as I could make it. I got my car serviced and bought new clothes and new glasses and today I got my teeth cleaned. I’m thinking about getting a spray on tan tomorrow but I have to balance my checkbook. I’m spending money at an alarming rate. Even though I’m getting paid for two extra weeks, I feel like I’ve spent way beyond that. A quick little romp with my bank statement would clear all that up but I seem to be more interested in organizing my anti-war documentation.

I was almost finished with my giant junk room that I managed to turn into a fairly utilitarian writing/art studio when I heard someone knock on the door. It sounded friendly like maybe it was one of my boys or maybe my lover-boy. It was a cute young boy I’d never seen. He stood far away from the screen door and raised his hands up while he tilted himself sideways in a pleasant non-threatening gesture. I knew almost immediately he wanted to sell me a magazine subscription. I don’t know why they haunt my neighborhood. Maybe college kids are an easy touch. I asked him if he was going to sell me a magazine and he said, “No. I’m here to earn points for college tuition.” I knew he was lying but he was cute and chatty. He told me he was going to take creative writing and filmmaking. We talked about writing and filmmaking and about his twin sister and how hot it was in Texas.

When he finally asked me to buy a magazine I told him, “No, sorry I don’t do magazines.” He crumbled in defeat… “Oh, don’t tell me no… OK… I’ve got something else you can do. You can buy a kid’s magazine and donate it to a hospital.”
“OK,” I told him. This way I was actually helping him and the kids at the hospital. He gave me a list to choose from and I told him I had to go back in the house to get my glasses. He asked if he could sit down and I told him to grab a seat on the porch. When I came back out he asked me if I was single. “I am now,” I told him. “Yeah, but you’re happy. Right?” he asked.
“It’s OK. You know, I guess I actually am. I wasn’t very happy at first but that’s why I went to college and lots of good things have happened to me since then, so I guess I am happy.” I told him.
“Yeah. My parents are divorced and they’re both still young. They had me when they were 17. So they’re having a good time now.”
“Really? Wasn’t that hard on you?” I asked.
“At first. They used to use us like a sounding board. We had to referee all their fights. But we were already used to that. It’s not that bad. They’re both totally cool and like I said, they’re happy. So hey, life goes on. Right?”
“Yeah. It does.” I said. He’d been filling out my order while we talked and when he handed it to me I knelt down so I could balance my checkbook on my knee. “How did you know I was single?” I asked him. “You weren’t wearing a ring. I notice things like that.” He said.
“Oh yeah? That’s a good quality for a writer.” I told him. “Well, actually I was checking you out because you’re cute.” He said grinning at me.
“I’m totally flattered and totally too old for you” I said waving my pen dismissively at him. “Why? How old are you, 37?” he asked.
“OK, now I’m even more flattered. You know you don’t have to do this. I’ve already bought the subscription. Look, you even have the check now.” I said passing the check over to him. “How old are you, 40?”
“Way older than that.”
“How old?” he asked starting to look a little scared.
“58.” I said, thinking that it was a perfect age to let him know that he was out of his league. “No, way! Man, I can’t believe that. I dig older women. The oldest woman I ever slept with was 46. You look good. I’d do you anytime. I’m serious. No kidding, you’re 58?"
“No kidding” I told him and then added “I take good care of myself and I’m happy.”
“Most people get all nasty after they get 50.” He said looking me up and down, “but you look good.” I was laughing by now, wishing that Falcon could witness this, wanting to tell this young boy how young my lover was and then reminding myself that I didn’t have a lover anymore. Then I reminded myself how different I looked with my clothes off.
“Hey, do you want a backrub or anything?” he asked.
“No. I don’t think so.” I told him. “Good Lord,” I wondered “do they teach this stuff to men in magazines?”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I’ve got a couple hours.”
“I’m sure. I’m totally flattered, but lets just leave it at that.” I said turning to go back inside. He stood up and hopped down the stairs. “Seriously” he called back. “You should go out. You’re completely cute.”
“Thanks,” I called back. “Hey, by the way, how old are you?”
“22” he said.
“Oh Jesus!” I said shaking my head no.
“What?” he said stretching himself up and pointing at his chest as if to assure him self that he was old enough.“No. It’s just even more flattering. Thanks.” I said walking back in the house thinking, “all that for only $24.”