The Price of Admission

Draft II

The Price of Admission


Draft

The Price of Admission

You’ll never again be certain that anything
you do, or say, or feel—you in your worst moments
or your best—will really be yours anymore.
They may be examined, prodded, rewritten,
revised, recapitulated to make you better
or worse than you really are. People you don’t know
will know—or think they know—all about you.
You’ll need to have real or convincingly fake excitement
about everything from theology to young adult fiction to cooking.
You need to block off your calendar for homemade
breakfasts and fresh ground coffee ever Saturday,
which you’ll need to eat with the quiet pleasure
of someone still a little sleepy, but utterly content.
Mid-week adventures are a must. Sometimes fishing
illegally underneath the stars. Other times, driving for
hours to tour country churches,
abandoned for years and overgrown with wildflowers.
Hand-holding, in public. The occasional surreptitious kiss,
stolen next to the watermelons at the farmer’s market.
Tolerating the brief crying jags, particularly during concerts,
movies, and after reading Pride and Prejudice. Snuggling is a must,
as is politeness to wait staff, prompt completion of chores, and
unquestioning support for the Milwaukee Brewers, Mary Oliver, and Rhubarb pie.
Is it worth it? Truthfully, I’m not sure myself.
No one has ever stayed until the end.