The Things We Don't Count

That Town

It’s a town where every high school kid’s expected to graduate and head off to college, but not just any college, an ivy league university or private liberal arts college that must be prestigious enough for their parents to brag about to their friends on the 19th hole veranda at the country club, after a twilight round of Friday evening golf. It’s where kids steal their parents’ overpriced vodka, replacing it with water, pilfering it every Saturday night from the wet bar, which is a distinct type of bar with a miniature sink that produces miniature ice cubes, usually connected to their father’s study or the formal living room that’s meant for adult only dinner parties, and their parents don’t even know that the liquor has been stolen due to an overabundant supply of it. The kids sneak their pilfered booze out into the private pool villas and unoccupied guest quarters back behind the main house on the three acre sprawling grounds of their parents' ten thousand square foot homes and drink with their friends until they puke into the hydrangeas while their parents are summering on Nantucket and the Vineyard. And each morning, as I’d make my way downstairs in my own home, grateful my kids are still so little that I wouldn’t have to worry about if they missed their curfew the night before because they were off in the woods drinking some other parents alcohol and I know where they are at all times, I’d reach for my morning coffee and catch a glimpse of the carafe of vodka on our own wet bar. Realizing I’d lost track of how many martinis I drank the night before - was it two or three - it’s always so hard to remember the end of my night, I’d notice that the bottle’s almost empty and that’s the reason why my head throbs with a slow and steady ache, and the memories would return, like a bruise that’s been forgotten about until it’s firmly poked. That town.

---

This was a piece I wrote in response to a writing exercise for Jeannine Ouellette’s week one writing intensive on the power of place. It’s a prompt based on an excerpt from the first chapter of The Emperor of Gladness by Ocean Vuong.

I'm deep in the final stages of completing the manuscript for my next novel, a project where the concept of 'place' is not merely a backdrop but a crucial element. The story is intricately woven into the fabric of Greenwich, Connecticut, a town that becomes almost a living, breathing character within the narrative itself.

The sense of place in my novel extends beyond simple physical descriptions. It delves into the social dynamics, the unspoken rules, and the unique rhythms of life for the protagonist who, at the beginning of the story, finds herself moving to this brand new town. How this character interacts with her new environment, how she’s shaped by its expectations and how she navigates its social circles are all central parts to her journey.

Stay tuned for more nuggets on this project. I'm pouring my soul into it and loving every minute of the process.

---

Photo by Jaye Haych on Unsplash