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C4 antho - Chamber Four

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Liz Phair and the Most Perfect Sentence ~17~<br />

and I wrap her sandwich in it the next day.<br />

Liz Phair and I like to go on long walks, and we like to<br />

drink beer in pubs. Her son joined the Peace Corps and got<br />

sent away to Zimbabwe, so we don’t have to deal with him<br />

much, and her ex-husband got remarried and then he surprised<br />

us all by also joining the Peace Corps. So it really is just<br />

the two of us, Liz Phair and me, taking long autumn walks<br />

along our neighborhood, hand-in-hand, my arm healed completely,<br />

bone tucked back inside. We crunch piles of ochre<br />

leaves with our sneakers and tell each other stories about our<br />

childhoods. Sometimes we pass some of my ex-girlfriends<br />

and they get this look of misery on their faces at seeing what<br />

they missed out on. Liz Phair tells me about car trips to the<br />

muggy Florida beaches while I describe strawberry cupcakes<br />

on my grandmother’s front porch, white wicker furniture and<br />

ice-cold lemonade. That reminds her that lemonade was her<br />

favorite childhood drink too, and she stops right in the middle<br />

of the sidewalk to stand on her tiptoes and kiss my forehead.<br />

When she leans back, I look at her. Puffs of fall breath<br />

burst out of her mouth. I see that Liz Phair really is bathed in<br />

a glow that is separate from any lighting source I can find in<br />

the physical world. Pre-winter trees scissor the sky behind<br />

her head―a purple sky, with a big orange sun. It is not a glow<br />

that I have ever seen anyone in before. I cannot think of a<br />

word to describe it, my first time ever.<br />

At first it is just a rough patch, a few weeks sitting in<br />

front of the blinking cursor, but by Thanksgiving I have fullon<br />

writer’s block. I can only pace the hallway and peek in to<br />

Liz Phair’s guitar room to see what she is up to. It is always<br />

something genius. Everything that comes out of Liz Phair’s<br />

mouth is genius. She has a way with words, and a warbled<br />

voice that infuses her songs with a vulnerability that I can<br />

never seem to capture sitting at my desk in my room. All of<br />

my stories are gone. Sometimes I am able to hit a stride, just

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