The buildings on either side of them made a wind tunnel and Claire felt like Dorothy about to be battered by the tornado. Now the cold made her lick her lips and wish she’d brought the lip gloss with her. Aside from some pink lip gloss and an occasional (inept) wave of a brown mascara wand, she wore no make-up at all. Her light brown hair hung straight, cut below the chin in a simple bob.
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She had pale, fine skin and eyes that were somewhere between gray and green (but if she was honest – and she always was – closer to gray). Claire was tall and, though fifteen pounds overweight, her chest was almost embarrassingly small – god must be a man because a woman god would not let all the weight she put on go to her hips. Her skin was olive and her make-up was dramatic. Tina was tiny and dark, with big breasts she liked to be noticed and she wore bright, tight fitting tops. She often thought what a strange, ill-matched pair they made. She was parochial, and not just because of her Catholic school upbringing. Though they didn’t take a bridge or a tunnel to get to Manhattan from Staten Island, Claire felt this technicality wouldn’t affect Tina’s status. People who lived in Manhattan referred to people like Tina as one of the ‘bridge and tunnel crowd’. Though Tina had been her friend since they’d grown up on the same street in Tottenville, there wasn’t much that Tina enjoyed doing that didn’t make Claire bored or uncomfortable or both. She burned in the sun, she’d never gambled – not even on a Lotto ticket – and she hated bars. The trouble was that Claire didn’t really like any of those things. When’s it gonna warm up?’ Claire knew Tina didn’t expect an answer so she didn’t venture one, letting Tina continue her ongoing monologue and possibly well-meaning harassment. Fah!’ They stepped out of the terminal and the wind off the bay battered them. Bob had not been an Italian stallion, as Tina always claimed her fiancé, Anthony, to be. She wouldn’t admit to Tina that it had been mostly sleeping. Claire’s sex life – or lack of it – meant nothing to them. She looked around but the crowd paid no attention, busy dispersing to buses, subways, and a new day of boredom or aggravation. You didn’t even have sex with him.’Ĭlaire colored. ‘That’s one step lower than Jersey.’ She shook her head and her big hair trembled. ‘The Poconos!’ Tina almost spat as they stepped off the ferry. Even in Manhattan, a city fabled for pushers, Tina stood out. ‘I went to the Poconos,’ Claire murmured. Claire picked up the dropped stitch, wrapped up her knitting, slipped into her coat and joined Tina and the crowd jostling to get off the boat.Īs Tina pushed to the head of the line she pulled Claire in her wake. As if anyone else would want their seats at Crayden Smithers. They had plenty of time but Tina always behaved like a child at a birthday party, afraid she wouldn’t get the last seat in musical chairs. The ferry had docked and, as always, they had twenty minutes to walk up Water Street, get coffee and bagels from their regular street vendor, then be upstairs on the thirty-eighth floor of the Crayden Smithers Alliance Building. ‘Put that wool away, Granny,’ Tina told her and looked at her watch. ‘Douche, wind, whatever.’ Tina stuffed her magazine into her purse, fished out her sunglasses and stood up. ‘I prefer to think of him as a windbag,’ Claire said. Tina’s heart was in the right place but her mouth was in the gutter. ‘Long Beach, for god’s sake! In Jersey! And you went with your mother and that douchebag boyfriend of hers.’Ĭlaire winced. Last summer I went to Long Beach Island.’ ‘I have traveled broadly,’ Claire retorted, ‘and I come into Manhattan every day. She thought of her trips to the library, the video store, the wool department of Kelsey’s, all on Broad Street in Tottenville. ‘That’s not true,’ she said, though in fact it pretty much was. When the ferry bumped against the pilings she had dropped a stitch. You never go anywhere and you’ve never done anything.’Ĭlaire looked down at her knitting and frowned. She did it with her friend Tina and today was no different from most other days. She took a train from Tottenville, then a short walk to the ferry slip, then the ferry to Manhattan. And to get to work in Manhattan, Claire Amelia Bilsop had to commute almost two hours each way. Once upon a time in a magical city called New York a girl under a spell lived on an island. The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales Table of Contents Our enjoyment is what induces us to respond in our own good time to hidden meanings as they may relate to our life experience and present state of personal development. It is up to us whether we wish to make any application to our life from a fairy tale, or simply enjoy the fantastic events it tells about. …leaves all decisions up to us, including whether we wish to make any at all.