When I was a teenager I owned the most beautiful pair of chandelier earrings. They were light and Gothic, tinkley against my shoulders; I wore them on weekends, when I rode around with my boyfriends in dark smoky cars. I had a couple of pairs of old jeans, and a leather jacket, (well it looked like leather) and a purse I had made in home economics with long straps and fringy stuff on the side. My hair was long; not sort of long, or rather long, but very long, and I drove long distances everyday. I was the best driver around. I smoked Winstons and Marlboros, but not marijuana. Whenever someone passed me marijuana, I passed it away; I hated the stuff. But I loved my chandelier earrings; they were the nicest thing I owned at that time.

One night is was very cold and snowy; the boyfriend's car was down the street without gasoline. I asked my mom to let him in the house so he could stay out of the cold, but she wouldn't. I walked out into the cold with my boyfriend, but without my shoes; my mom slapped one of the chandelier earrings off into the snow, and I never saw it again. I ran all the way to Clyde's Cafe in the snow without my shoes. I ran all of the way. We sat over hot beef sandwiches and I cried over nothing but the earrings. But I have always understood the darker side of Robert Frost. I have appointments to keep.