APRIL-OCTOBER 1978 EVERYTHING PRETTY MUCH went to hell after the trip to New York. Clea was pissed I’d screwed things up with Anna’s gallery. I was pissed she’d shown my pictures without asking me first. Three months later, we were still fighting over it. “What’d you think, you were going to take your trained redneck to the big city and make a million dollars?” “Don’t be an idiot. That could have been your ticket out, Merle.” “Out of where? I like it here.” “You would.” I ignored her and squatted on the floor of my room, cleaning the nozzle of a can of yellow spray paint with a safety pin. I’d stopped drawing much, stopped going to classes, the end result being I got bounced from the Corcoran even before the semester ended. I still hadn’t told my father, not that I’d spoken to him since Christmas. Clea looked tight-lipped when I broke the news to her. “Maybe you’re next,” I said, staring at the dismissal notice I’d received from the Dean of Students.
