Wanting
Janine Canan
She is carefully stepping over the important communications like cracks in the sidewalk. Even in the fluorescent lights she is inscrutable. She cultivates it: jaw down, mouth lifeless, melancholy cheekbones, eyes all depth. She wants the medal of honor. Nothing has shocked her. Nothing is more improbable than reality, she says. Fantasy can't hold a candle to it, that tiny dark room, crammed full of repetitions. She is prepared. She prays, in case. Forgets all she can, keeping her eye firmly on the present. How poised, they say, how brave. She is a success at the piano recital, she gets straight A's--a few B's cautiously woven in to placate the authorities. She can be amusing at dinner, she can cook. A charming daughter. Earnest, determined. Someone who will do something with her life. Someone with a long list of demands on life. Who will demand more with every disappointment. Who on the last day will argue with God, We want something better. Someone who can't stop, can't stop wanting.
