My friend, D., has twin girls who are about three months older than Doodles. We met when Doodles was about 13 months old and they were 16 months, so I’ve known them awhile.
The girls are, let’s call them, Mimi and Nevada, because the first initial thing just gets old. Â Mimi has been in Doodles’s class at school for two years now. But the thing is, Mimi is a girly girl. Which means Doodles isn’t that into her. But Pie is nuts about her. Her sister, Nevada, is more Doodles’s type, and while he professes to “not like girls,” whenever he’s with her, he has fun.
I don’t think it was long after meeting the girls that I pegged them. I do that to people. Are you reading this? Do I know you? Then I have you pigeonholed in some little corner of my mind. I like to do that, to make sense of all you people. And, yes, I do mean you. Anyway, in my pigeonholing, I decided that Nevada is destined for Yale, and that Mimi is going to be an NYU kind of girl. And it wasn’t too long after that that I decided not only is Mimi going to be an NYU girl, but Pie will be her roommate. Because those two are peas in a pod and they are going to rage in the City. Mark my words, those two will be hanging out till 2 a.m. at the 2023 equivalent of Sophie’s or Horseshoe Bar, allowing those poor boys to buy them drinks and then letting those same poor  boys suffer, getting stoned in the whatever the equivalent of 1987 Tompkins Square Park is, before heading to the after-hour haunts, all the while doing amazingly cool and artistic things in their daylight hours. I’m just guessing of course. Because I, of course, never did anything like this myself. Sure I may have attended film school at NYU, but I can only make these assumptions based on other people, because I am a long-suffering suburban haus frau who had no existence before that of my children. That’s my story. And I’m sticking to it.
I’m all the more sure of it today. D.’s husband is in a band. But I never get to hear that band. Because they always play at band-ish hours, like 11 p.m. 11 p.m.=sleep. Or dealing with a child. Or sleeping. Or ignoring a child. Or sleeping. Something like that. Whatever it is, 11 p.m. is right out.
But today, the band was playing at 3 p.m. 3 p.m.! That’s like merely getting-ready-for-bed time! I can push back my pajama and toothbrushing for some music. Doodles had T ball, so it was a no-brainer: Pie and I would go to see the band. They were playing in Cambridge, at a club I hadn’t been to since Adam was in grad school and I actually went to places like clubs (well, at least for the three months he was in grad school before he knocked me up).
We walked in. Pie shyly clung to me. For 2.4 minutes. At which point Nevada came up to her and said, “Do you want to go up front with me?” and Pie nodded. She took Nevada’s hand and disappeared into the crowd. The next I saw her, Mimi had her arm around her and they were shaking their hips. And I’m pretty sure if I hadn’t given those junior high school boys a good glare, they would have been offering to buy Pie and Mimi some seltzers. I had to stop that. Those poor boys don’t deserve to have their hearts broken so young. Because you know Pie and Mimi would destroy them.
The volume was ridiculous. Pie refused ear plugs. She just stood at the front of the stage mesmerized, Mimi watching over her. Pie had a blue hair extension in her hair, her frilly homemade summer dress on, and a knitted necklace that Doodles had made for her. And oddly enough she fit right in, except for the fact that she was about two and a half feet too short. We had to leave right after the band’s set. Pie would have happily stayed.
You know what’s going to happen right? My NYU-going Pie is going to come home some spring break. And a friend from high school, some boy, will say, “Hey, wanna go see a show at the Middle East?” And Pie is going to look down her nose at him and scoff, “The Middle East? Please. I’ve been going there since I was like four.”
