Role Models Review

And then I went inside, and I went to bed, and I fell asleep. And I dreamed that I was young again, and that I was standing in a field of wildflowers, and that the sun was warm on my face, and that a woman was walking toward me, a woman I had never seen before, and she was smiling, and she was holding out her hand. And I reached out to take it, and then I woke up.

He poured himself another glass of wine, and then he walked away, leaving me standing by the bar. I watched him go, and I thought about what he had said. I thought about innocence, and about the loss of it, and about the way we spend our lives trying to get it back. I thought about the famous actress, dead of cancer, and about the poet, old and alone, and about Gertrude Stein, sitting in her armchair in Paris, talking about the war. I thought about Hemingway and Fitzgerald, and about the clean white lines and the beautiful sad parties. And then I thought about myself. Role Models

The poet stopped again, and this time he did not go on. He looked into his glass, as if the wine held a vision, and then he looked up and said, “I have spent my entire life trying to get that innocence back. And I have failed.” And then I went inside, and I went to bed, and I fell asleep

There was a silence. Then someone laughed, a nervous, polite laugh, and the tension broke. People began to talk among themselves, and the poet turned away from the fireplace and walked toward the bar. I followed him. He poured himself another glass of wine, and

I closed my eyes, and I waited for morning. End of text.