Slouching Toward Camelot

I was 14 years old, waiting for a plane at the Martha’s Vineyard airport with my friend Rachel. It’s a tiny building, and there were only two other people in the place--a man and a woman chatting together about 20 feet away from us. The woman looked familiar.

“I know that woman,” I said to Rachel.

She was slender, with good posture. My mom was a dancer, so I thought maybe it was a friend of her’s that I couldn’t quite place. She wore tapered black pants, a scarlet blouse, and big sunglasses. _Hmm, maybe she’s Read more