Book Read Free

Everything Must Go

Page 22

by Jenny Fran Davis


  March 7

  Dear Flora,

  My name is Joelle Jackson, and I heard your piece on NPR. I was so impressed by the vending machine! I’ve definitely gone through the experience of feeling like my body was a vending machine—the kindness thing you were saying with Sylvia Plath (even though she was misquoted) is exactly it. I am working on my own project where I’m from (Birmingham, Alabama), and I was wondering if you would want to come see it when it’s done. If you write back to me, I will give you all the details.

  Best wishes,

  Joelle

  Flora Goldwasser

  Pigeonhole 44

  The Quare Academy

  2 Quare Road

  Main Stream, NY 12497

  March 8

  Dear Flora,

  I wanted to tell you a funny story about something my friends and I did after hearing about your vending machine. I am in the tenth grade at a public school in Des Moines, Iowa, and my friends and I are tired of being taken advantage of by boys. We are also against the fact that vending machines in our school are constantly stocked with foods that are bad for us. So we broke into the school late at night and replaced all the junk food with our belongings. We got in huge trouble, but we made a statement.

  Please write back! Or at least send your autograph.

  Love,

  Judy Lincoln, Sandra Nimes, and Clara O’Keefe

  Flora Goldwasser

  Pigeonhole 44

  The Quare Academy

  2 Quare Road

  Main Stream, NY 12497

  March 9

  Flora,

  Way to go. Sticking it to the man! I had a feeling this was what you might be doing. Have you heard from Elijah yet? I’m sure he’s heard your interview on NPR. I feel like he’s the kind of person who listens to All Things Considered religiously.

  Obviously, I’m hardly wise in the ways of love (need I remind you that my lips have yet to meet those of another?), but my instinct says you’ll get over him. Maybe not right this second, but very soon. You didn’t know him, Flora, and he didn’t know you. It’s exactly what you said it was: a transaction. The only thing to do now is blaze on ahead.

  Love,

  Lael

  Flora Goldwasser

  Pigeonhole 44

  The Quare Academy

  2 Quare Road

  Main Stream, NY 12497

  March 9

  Flora,

  Holy shit!!!!! We heard the thing on NPR. Are you SERIOUS? You need to call me RIGHT NOW—I mean, whenever you get this letter. India is here, and we’re freaking out. Use the headmistress’s phone or something if you don’t have service! She’ll definitely let you now that you’re a CELEBRITY!!!!!

  Also, a quick piece of news: Do you remember Jasper, that Dalton boy who India was really into last year? Well, right after you left, we went away for MLK Day weekend to the Hamptons, and at the last minute he and his friends decided to come over, and she totally hooked up with him in the indoor pool. Not hooked UP, hooked up, but made out with him … hardcore. Then Zachary Brunelli started throwing pool toys at them, and they snuck into the pool house, where I’m assuming they finished the deed (though India says that a lady never kisses and tells—but I’m calling bullshit, am I right?).

  Anyway, things at Bowen are sucky as usual. PSAT bullshit. College bullshit. APUSH bullshit. Calc bullshit.

  But I want to hear about you. Call us!!

  Love & other indoor sports (remember when you signed off like that?),

  Cora

  Flora Goldwasser

  Pigeonhole 44

  The Quare Academy

  2 Quare Road

  Main Stream, NY 12497

  March 9

  Dear Flora,

  My name is Wink DelDuca, and I’m the editor in chief of Nymphette, a feminist teen magazine for girls, boys, and everyone in between (we like to think of ourselves as the teen answer to Ms.). We, the editorial staff, were moved by the piece about you on NPR, as well as the myriad other articles and interviews we’ve gotten our hands on. We’d love to interview you at some point in the future. We’ll be in touch!

  ;)

  Wink

  Amsterdam Dental Group

  1243 Amsterdam Avenue

  New York, NY 10027

  March 9

  Flora,

  Your father listened with great interest to the segment on National Public Radio on which you were featured. He expressed dismay that he had not heard about any of this until now. He hopes you will call him as soon as you get the chance. He just got off the phone with Miriam Row, who seems to have succeeded in assuring him that you are not, and have never been, in any immediate danger.

  Kindly,

  Linda Lee Lopez, Receptionist

  To: All-staff

  From: Wink DelDuca

  Subject: vending machine girl

  March 9, 3:07 p.m.

  Hey, gurls,

  I’m sure you’re aware that the feminist message boards have been all a-twitter (and by a-twitter, I mean they’ve lit the fuck up) about feminist performance art’s newest darling: Flora Goldwasser. Haven’t heard of her? She’s the totally radical chick who’s pulling an Emma Sulkowicz (well, sort of) at her boarding school upstate.

  Check out the piece here to see what the buzz is all about: http://www.npr.org/from-vending-machine-a-lesson-in-the-idea-of-transaction.

  Nymphettes, unite! We need to be at the forefront of this. This is exactly where we should pounce—she’s really adding nuance to the idea of consent.

  Grace, I’ll put you on possibly contacting her for a Latest Obsession? And hey—while you’re at it, see if she wants to write for us. I wrote to her after the NPR piece aired, and, believe it or not, snail mail seems like the best way to go (the school is way up in the boondocks).

  In other news, the Miss T tees have really taken off. Sales have skyrocketed. Soon we’ll be able to hire a full investigative team to find her! (Kidding … mostly.)

  ;)

  Wink

  Editor in Chief, Nymphette magazine

  Nymphette is an online feminist arts & culture magazine for teenagers. Each month, we choose a theme, and then you send us your writing, photography, and artwork.

  Journal entry, early morning of March 10

  God damn it. Sam run-in.

  I was walking back to the hovels after dinner. It was dark—a black soup night, as Sinclaire calls them. Sam caught up with me and cornered me on the footbridge. It was so dark that I didn’t realize he was there until he was standing right in front of me. His eyes were all glowy and scary behind his Buddy Holly glasses.

  He was all, “Flora, a word?”

  And I just said, “WHAT?” Because honestly, I was getting sick of this whole thing—his moping around, begging me to forgive him.

  He was clearly scared of me in that moment, because he jumped back.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I just wanted to ask how you were doing.”

  He touched my shoulder. I almost screamed.

  “Sam, I’m sorry, but I’m still upset,” I said, trying to stay calm. I shouldn’t have apologized, I know, but it just slipped out.

  He repeated the same thing he always says about how he’d been meaning to hurt Elijah, and he’d never hurt anyone (meaning me) this badly, and he feels horrible, but he just wants to know what happened because we were such good friends and …

  “You seem to already know every detail,” I snapped, “so why are you even asking me?”

  His face looked all stricken.

  “I don’t know what it’s going to take for you to forgive me,” he said. “I have no idea why I did that. Seriously, it defies explanation. I can’t even come up with a good excuse.”

  He reached out for me—to hug me or smother me, I don’t know—but I turned and ran to my cabin, slipping and sliding across the footbridge and cutting my heels on the spiky brush.

  I have half a mind to send that e
mail linking to the embarrassing video, the one that’s sitting in my drafts folder. But I don’t know. I’d feel so dirty, I guess, doing that.

  To: Sinclaire O’Leary

  From: Flora Goldwasser

  Subject: omg sam

  March 10, 2:21 a.m.

  Sam confrontation. It was bad. I ended up running back to the hovel and cutting my feet. So that’s why you saw me dressing my wounds on the porch.

  Just thought I’d let you know. If you wanted to come work on the machine, that’s where I’ll be.

  To: Flora Goldwasser

  From: Sinclaire O’Leary

  Subject: Re: omg sam

  March 10, 2:34 a.m.

  horrible

  he is being a huge gonard

  be there in three

  To: Flora Goldwasser

  From: Dean Elliot

  Subject: play

  March 10, 9:14 p.m.

  Email me the latest draft of your play by tonight so I can prepare for our meeting with Susan.

  Also, I’m sorry I haven’t been as present for you as I could have been. I know Elijah (obviously), but I’m here, you know, if you ever want to talk about any of this.

  To: Dean Elliot

  From: Flora Goldwasser

  Subject: Re: play

  March 10, 9:20 p.m.

  Elijah was not very nice to me.

  To: Flora Goldwasser

  From: Dean Elliot

  Subject: Re: play

  March 10, 9:22 p.m.

  I know. So what happened?

  To: Dean Elliot

  From: Flora Goldwasser

  Subject: Re: play

  March 10, 9:27 p.m.

  When he came to campus in December, we had sex. In the guest cabin. And then in the morning he seemed all distraught, and left and avoided me and kind of ended things between us (I guess it’s not like they’d ever really begun), and I felt like he’d just … used me, or something, and I let myself be used because it didn’t occur to me to do anything else. And then Sam did that boneheaded thing, which was seriously fucked up because it violated Elijah’s privacy and mine. And I feel weird because he’s kind of famous, or whatever, and I feel like part of the reason people are supporting me (at Quare, at least) is that they’re so caught up in the whole scandal and not because of me, per se.

  To: Flora Goldwasser

  From: Dean Elliot

  Subject: Re: play

  March 10, 9:37 p.m.

  Okay. Got it.

  Elijah is really weird about all this emotional stuff. I obviously don’t know the details of what happened between you two last year, but I’m sure it was fucked up. It’s not your fault that he jumped ship so suddenly. It was shitty of him to turn away from you like that. You deserve someone who sticks around. He can be such a freaking Sadboy.

  But people are supporting YOU, and it’s not because Elijah is known. They’re supporting you because YOU’RE reclaiming your body, YOU’RE doing an amazing art installation, and YOU’RE growing and changing a fucking ton. Maybe you haven’t figured everything out quite yet, and maybe you’ll have to swing all the way to one end before you swing back to the middle, but YOU’RE getting there.

  You’re golden, Goldwasser.

  Cora Shimizu-Stein

  95 Wall Street, Apt. 33A

  New York, NY 10005

  March 11

  Dear Cora,

  Things here are crazy—I guess junior year is wild everywhere. Papers, tests, you name it. Thanks for being so sweet and concerned, but you really have nothing to worry about. (And I’m hardly a celebrity!) I think I’m really coming into my own here (ew, cheesy, I know). And you should see my cabin: there are practically no decorations. I’m like a nun now. Just call me Sister Goldwasser.

  OMG, I just can’t re: India and Jasper. And Zachary Brunelli is such a dickhead.

  And believe it or not, Quare now requires two history seminars in the second year, so instead of getting rid of World Issues II: Conflict and Resolution and replacing it with US Narrative History, we’re doing both. Did I mention how busy I was?

  Gotta run, but please write me about the visit to your dad… . I want to know everything about the Channing Tatum prison guard! (Did you see his gun? Ha-ha.)

  All my love,

  Flora

  Attempt 11

  Elijah Huck

  245 West 107th Street

  New York, NY 10025

  March 15

  Elijah,

  Fuck you Why did you

  To: Cora Shimizu-Stein

  From: India Katz-Rosen

  Subject: everything

  March 16, 4:12 p.m.

  You’re not going to believe this.

  I just got back from Emma Goldwasser’s apartment to look for all the stuff Flora’s borrowed from me over the years and never returned. Flora’s room is so depressing—I feel like she took all the stuff she really likes with her to school, so all that’s left is some random art on the walls and her old textbooks and stuff. Not what her room should look like at all.

  So I was rifling through the closet, looking for this one black belt I never got back, when a shoe box tumbled down and flew open. About forty letters spilled out, so I sat on her bed to put them back in.

  Then something caught my eye: Elijah’s name. Elijah Huck.

  It was the letter to us—only Flora never mailed it. It wasn’t even in an ENVELOPE. I’ll let you read it in person, but here’s the deal: she was low-key obsessed with him, and it kind of seems like he didn’t give THAT much of a shit about her. If anything, he was obsessed with somebody named Miss Tulip, who was, like, Flora’s alter ego or whatever. Also, he’s an emotional virgin. And he’s why she went to Quare. And he’s why she’s different now.

  After I had absorbed this information, I reread all the letters Flora sent us. Plus the ones she sent Lael. It didn’t exactly take Nancy Drew (throwback to that Halloween, by the way) to figure out that the guy who Flora’s vending machine project is based on is Elijah Huck. It’s really the only possible explanation. He showed up at Quare at the end of last semester—we know that much. He must have been such a major asshole to her. He really, really hurt her. And that’s all we need to know, honestly.

  I say we find the bastard and take him out.

  Part IV

  My interview in Nymphette magazine (March issue)

  nymphettemag.com

  WORD IMAGE SOUND SEARCH JOIN CONTACT

  NYMPHETTE MAGAZINE

  Latest Obsession: Flora Goldwasser

  By Grace Wang, Features Editor

  If you haven’t heard of her by now, you’re about to. Our latest obsession is Flora Goldwasser, a junior at the Quare Academy in Main Stream, New York. Nymphette sat down with Goldwasser to talk about her bomb-ass performance art piece, Vending Machine, or Everything Must Go, a reflection on sex and transaction.

  NAME: Flora M. Goldwasser (Editor’s note: Flora doesn’t divulge what the M stands for. We find this to be extremely badass –GW)

  AGE: Seventeen

  HOMETOWN: New York, New York

  WHY WE’RE OBSESSED: Flora built a performance art piece that addresses sex and transaction. Vending Machine, or Everything Must Go is an interactive piece that invites its audience to select and pay for one of Flora’s items, all of which line the shelves instead of snacks.

  Hello! April’s theme is RISK. What have you put on the line, Nymphettes? Let’s see what you’ve got! Send your work to submissions@nymphette.com.

  ABOUTNYMPHETTE

  Nymphette is an online feminist arts & culture magazine for teenagers. Each month, we choose a theme, and then you send us your writing, photography, and artwor
k.

  FEMINIST HEROINE(S): Ruth Bader-Ginsburg and Audre Lorde

  WHAT’S YOUR END GOAL WITH VENDING MACHINE, OR EVERYTHING MUST GO?: “I’d love to continue it for as long as possible—as long as I still have stuff to get rid of. I’ll keep some clothes, but I’m trying to sell everything else.”

  ARE GIRLS LIKE VENDING MACHINES?: “No. I don’t think we are. Or at least we don’t have to be. You can certainly have stuff and not be a vending machine, and you can have sex and not be a vending machine. But I do have a hunch that everyone might be exploiting everyone else all the time.”

  DESCRIBE YOUR SENSE OF STYLE IN THREE TO FIVE WORDS: “It would have always been ‘Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis.’ But now I’m not really sure.”

  To: Guild

  From: Dean Elliot

  Subject: auditions for “vending machine” play

  March 18, 7:32 a.m.

  Hey, guys*,

  We’ll be having auditions for Flora Goldwasser’s play, tentatively titled Everything Must Go, on Monday afternoon. Haven’t heard of it? Do you even go here? Do you even live in this world?

  Enjoy the weekend. Be at Woolman Theater at four p.m. DE

  *I know there’s historically been some resistance to the term guys because not all of you identify as guys. But it’s a nongendered term of endearment, and I’m going to keep using it.

  Lael Goldwasser

  Harvard College

  2609 Harvard Yard Mail Center

  Cambridge, MA 02138

  March 19

  Lael,

  Yesterday, after doing a phone interview with this reporter from the Bard College student newspaper, I ran into my sort-of friend Agnes. He was taking out the compost, his post-dinner job, and I walked with him up the hill and all the way to the garden. He’s really easy to talk to—just laid-back and Southern and everything. We’re also in Guild together.

  As he was dumping the compost from the bins into the huge piles in the garden, he was lavishing me with praise—saying how I’m the darling of Quare now and a feminist icon and all that. I just blushed (you know how I hate to be complimented) and tried to change the subject. It was weirdly warm out, so we sat on the two swings on the swing set and just talked.

 

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