the winner!!

I love the counterpoint in Meg's story between Lydia's battiness and the battiness of Meg's narrator/Meg herself as writer, the contrast between Lydia's chilly intellectualism and Meg's somewhat warmer and more freewheeling brand of crazy ...this is a fabulous celebration of eccentricity, stuffed and layered with unforgettable images and moments -- one of my favorite pieces I've read by an already quite accomplished writer. Meg and I are good friends, so I had to read and reread this multiple times to make sure I was approaching it objectively.... ultimately, this was just too good to pass up. Congratulations Meg!

My Dinner with Lydia
Meg Pokrass

The problem is with the dog, the Vegetarian Chow Fun, Lydia Davis, or me. Someone or something is passing wind. L.D. is trying to let me know that it isn't a big deal by talking very brilliantly about nothing. I hope the gas will keep seeping, so she will continue babbling in realistic images. That way I will not have to speak and can conserve energy. The gas smell suspects are (short list):

a. Vegetarian Chow Fun
b. Lydia's bull dog, Hempel
c. L.D.
d. me

Her New York apartment is the size of a bathroom, and we are eating very close. If I'd had my teeth cleaned on time, I wouldn't taste banana in my mouth.

I wonder If I will be able to snarf all her food while she is babbling. If I overeat, the risk is rudeness and possible additional gas, both fine with me because I am so beautiful. Everyday I take advantage of my looks, for example I never remove lint from my socks, my gloves, or my hat. I wear lint in public, it starts a new look. Sometimes I'll be asked to pose with someone's husband while the wife takes a photo, lint all over my body, him with a big horny smile looking lucky.

When we are done eating, it gets very quiet, and we both pass wind. I am willing to postpone the rest of my life for this moment sharing odors with a woman who is a National Book Award Finalist. Though she is not exactly beautiful, I may be confusing an old expectation with a new reality. I suggest we open our fortune cookies next, and she agrees. As soon as she goes to get them, I excuse myself.

In her bathroom, sitting on the toilet, I try and imagine that I am sound asleep, and my fingers are dangling in bowl of warm water. The pee will not release, clearly I must be very intimidated by L.D. and my muscles are tense. I am able to really look at her personal products lining the shelves like spies. I imagine myself in a hot tub and a bit drips out. Her personal care products are not exotic, in fact they are the same products I get from Trader Joe's because I am broke. There are so many things that can go wrong.