Chain of Events
By Joan Larkin
It started with Being and Nothingness
and hiding a pack of Luckies in my schoolbag,
tucking a matchbook in front without tearing
the cellophane. I risked taking the streetcar
downtown late at night—did they never hear me?—
and basked in the gleam of Herb Pomeroy’s band
and the tang of underage vodka in orange juice.
I quit sleeping in metal curlers, told everyone
I was an existentialist, though I kept
wearing my Peter Pan collar and “gold-tone”
circle pin, almost right up to the night
of the abortion. I gave up on the straggly
pageboy. I think that was part of what Mother
meant when she screamed, Where did I go wrong?
