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It was her place to feel free, the only place she could imagine what the mystics felt–free and held, all at once. She could look down on the city–and see there the naked ambition, all the fear and anxiety, the rush and the mayhem. One car, after another, one office, after another. In this park, here in her ‘happy place,’ she felt none of it. Down in the city, she knew, was her real life and her future, and the place where she felt most alive, where she felt vital. But up here on Meredian Hill she felt herself an old soul, secure, with a place in the universe all her own, completely comfortable in her skin. As it was her day and hers alone, she wore nothing under her dress. Alone and buoyant, she jumped on the swing and sang the first song that came in to her head: Papa was a rolling stone/Wherever he lay his hat was his home. On and on, she sang. Her voice rising, the only sound around. She swung higher and higher. The hem of her dress flying open. The breeze caressing her wide. Everyone was thrilled. I hated it but I thought it just went with the territory. I thought work had to be grueling for it to mean anything. I got good grades and passed the Bar first time. But the market for lawyers was glutted and I couldn’t find a job for love or money. And all through this I was sure a white knight was going to charge in and life would be a fairy tale. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon. I opened my own practice. Lived on a shoestring. Thing of it was, I was very shy. I started taking court appointments – defense cases in juvenile delinquency and child neglect. I was terrified of doing “real law.” I figured I couldn’t mess up in kiddie court. I was scared of trials, prosecutors, judges. The pay was horrible. Taxes and student loan payments broke my back. Finally I landed a job in a ‘real’ law firm. I did dull, dull, dull, probate work. So I started getting loaded every night after work. A fifth of vodka a day. I managed to hide it. Then I made a huge mistake. I started.
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