s h e w 0 u 1 d s a y of l ow �s a different . t . , / 1 IS a steer 'swith . an'gels�t��res a bm.easure Y - perspectiveless lue of the d1·8 dry-bone groun rust.with.thatY&uo tlds are ' . co np et . photograph ar hce : jumpcut hands jumpcut jumpcut naked torso , j ump cut that dark hair, windswept framed with whi te . I and dark eyes lflthemusemn, still-life.aw&efld --� ' your husband loved you. 88 1
An Uneven Playing Field Melanie Wudl The Moore's worn brick walkway was slu-ouded with iceberg climbers, the full midsummer display a tribute to the right mix of water, sun and an occasional dose of something toxic applied by the gardene�. The house, dimly lit, offered the silhouettes of Marilyn and Bill through the win dows, through the coastal fog. "You were gone a long time," she said. "Four weeks. Asia is a long way away," he replied. William Terrance Moore had never taken a trip without a specific itin erary. He told Marilyn he wanted to go to China, the real China: Beijing, Xi' an, Shanghai. And so on May twenty-first at eleven-thirty PM he boarded Cathay Pacific's direct flight from Los Angeles to Hong Kong with no particular plan. He traveled coach. After a week on Hong Kong Island, traversing the city on foot -- out door escalators, night markets, public squares and ferry terminals all cast in the shadows of architectural towers that defied the laws of physics, not to mention American building codes -- Bill lost his spirit for adventure. Unable to envision himself driving around mainland China on his own, he took a day tour to Guangzhou with a group of equally cautious Americans, convincing himself it would be the easiest way to see the south. It was only a matter of signing up with the hotel concierge the night before. He told himself this would be his point of entry, provide an overview, allow him to get his feet wet in unknown territory. In recounting his trip he told Marilyn that not even China Tours could get a group in and out of the country without endless line ups under the scruti ny of humorless officials checking and rechecking documents. It was a comfortable home, the Moores', in a tightly manicured Los Angeles neighborhood. Bill and Marilyn had shared the house together for fif teen years. They had become alienated from each other over the last two. Staring at Hampton, the dog lying at Marilyn's feet, Bill said, "Anyway, it's ugly there, polluted, decrepit. The snakes in the free zone market were displayed in red plastic bowls. Red is a good color in China, but it's weird seeing snakes swimming in a mixing bowl." Marilyn rearranged herself in the Mission armchair, lifted her legs onto the footrest and settled in. Hampton let out a sigh. He was her dog. She was good with dogs, sometimes taught obedience classes. That, plus managed the communal garden in Ocean Park. She did these things in addition to her brokerage job. Marilyn grew heirloom tomatoes, four kinds of basil -- Persian, domestic, lemon and pepper, French green beans, white corn and didn't travel much -- not long trips anyway. Her plot was at its peak in spring and summer and she often told Bill that it nurtured her more than she it. When Bill brought 89
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northridge review fall2003
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1 Historical Insignificance 8 Hiros
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EDITORS NOTE }-lere are your editor
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ass cheek with turquoise ring-weigh
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sTOP )'ou've never read Kathy Acker
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ernove his socks blacker than an Ar
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I I You put away old prints war toy
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Below Madelena Montiel You are in a
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your bed is floating on waves. The
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In truth, you continued to shower a
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As you return to your room, you are
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fo a Male Pop Musician Hollie N. St
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}3ryce Canyon J(en Cran Aman's back
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steel shanking. They've got diamond
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more than survivor's talk, because
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of a stunt crew to prepare him for
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ecause of the absurdity of seeing a
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een joined by the thousands of loss
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old palace of sweet cedar you retur
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Mother, my Mother, Under these vast
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fat Housebound Guy in the trailer h
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