Thursday, November 25, 2010
McGarvey and history
We used to just call her McGarv. McGarv was one place and her mind was somewhere else. And while she was someplace else, she twirled a long strand of her hair in her finger. Constantly. I was sure that at some point the strand would give out and she would eventually go bald. One afternoon my mother found McGarv (a teenager) in our hall closet. Talking to her boyfriend. The telephone cord was one of those long winding cords that stretched out for huge distances. If she'd had a cell phone (which hadn't been invented yet) she might have been imprisoned in the closet. The closet door had a tendency to lock on its own. It was her good fortune to have been born at the right time in history.