Best had barely looked at me since my drunken lunge in the taxi. It seemed like an excellent idea to back off. When some office errand brought me past his open door it was eyes straight ahead. At night I rode the train to Connecticut and tried to not think of ways to complicate my life. My encounter with the hobo had freaked me out so it wasn’t like I could go for walks. Instead, I wrote or baked or helped Marshall in his garden. I still wasn’t sure if Edward P was convinced that psycho steeplechase had happened but I knew Marshall believed me. He didn’t want to go out either so we spent a lot of time together watching movies or writing in our journals. When Katrina wasn’t around I let him try on my clothes.
The summer workshop at Barnard was a solid anchor and forced me to get some work done. I even managed to write a few poems that weren’t awful. I brought a tray of homemade cookies to the class to help further erase any memories of my appalling debut.
