{"id":970,"date":"2016-10-03T15:04:04","date_gmt":"2016-10-03T19:04:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/?page_id=970"},"modified":"2017-01-17T14:55:32","modified_gmt":"2017-01-17T19:55:32","slug":"fiction-julia-johnson","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/fiction-julia-johnson\/","title":{"rendered":"Fiction: Julia Claiborne Johnson"},"content":{"rendered":"
Julia Claiborne Johnson worked at <\/span>Mademoiselle<\/em> and <\/span>Glamour<\/em> magazines before marrying and moving to Los Angeles, where she lives with her comedy-writer husband and their two children. \u00a0Be Frank With Me\u00a0<\/em>was published by William Morrow\/HarperCollins in 2016.\u00a0<\/span><\/h6>\n

 <\/p>\n

Chapter 8 of\u00a0Be Frank With Me<\/em><\/h1>\n

Click here<\/a> to read an intro to this novel\u00a0by Julia\u00a0Claiborne <\/span>Johnson.<\/p>\n

As noted, I am not one for complaining, so there was no way I would tell Mimi how my night alone with Frank really went. The way our night together went was more like this:<\/p>\n

It was late and we were exhausted when we got home. We tottered in through the hole where the door had been but only made it as far as the living room couch before collapsing.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need to take a bath before you get in bed,\u201d I said after an eternity slumped there. I hoped the little boy on the outside would wrestle down the insomniac old man trapped inside Frank and that both parts would tumble into bed together and fall asleep.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you\u2019re dirty.\u201d I\u2019d wiped his face and hands before we went to the hospital, but neither of us had bothered to change our clothes. We looked like fugitives from The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, <\/em>a movie I\u2019d never seen and prayed Frank hadn\u2019t, either.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want to take a bath,\u201d he said. He reached into his duster pocket. \u201cCigarette?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d I thought I couldn\u2019t have heard him right, but he produced a cellophane-wrapped rectangular pack with a label written in French. I was about to hit the ceiling when I noticed the word chocolat<\/em>. \u201cWhere did you get these? I thought they stopped making candy cigarettes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI exchanged them for letters of transit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCasablanca,<\/em>\u201d I said.\u2028 \u201cI think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.\u201d I drew one from the pack. \u201cHere\u2019s looking at you, kid.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll always have Paris.\u201d Frank looked very pleased with both of us. He shook a cigarette from the pack and arranged it between his third and fourth fingers before palming it to his face. Happiness, I\u2019d noticed, was a facial expression that almost came naturally to him. Fear, discomfort, confusion\u2014those made him roll down the shades and bar the door. Which said a lot for Frank, if you ask me. Say you had to pick just one emotion you could convey to others easily. I\u2019d like to think I\u2019d go with happiness, too.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what I\u2019ve always wondered?\u201d Frank said. \u201cWhy anyone would join the French Foreign Legion. Aside from the uniform. I like those hats very much. I wish I had one. I have a fez.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not surprised.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe fez is named after Fez, the town in Morocco that had a mo- nopoly on its production.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUh-huh,\u201d I said. \u201cWait, I don\u2019t remember a character from the Foreign Legion in Casablanca<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere isn\u2019t one. But my father is.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father is in Casablanca<\/em>?\u201d Geeze, his dad had to be about a hundred years old by now. Maybe that\u2019s why Mimi didn\u2019t like to talk about him.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot in the movie,\u201d Frank said. \u201cIn the French Foreign Legion.\u201d I sat forward. \u201cYour dad is in the French Foreign Legion?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI imagine he might be. Otherwise, why doesn\u2019t he visit?\u201d<\/p>\n

Oh. \u201cHave you asked your mom about that?\u201d<\/p>\n

He exhaled a plume of imaginary smoke and nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did she say?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing,\u201d he said. \u201cNada. Bupkis. Diddly. Zip. Zero. Zilch\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI get it, Frank,\u201d I said.\u2028\u201cThere are a lot of words for nothingness,\u2019\u201d Frank said. \u201cLove means nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not true.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes it is. In tennis. What\u2019s your father like, Alice? Is he the gentleman you\u2019re always referencing?\u201d<\/p>\n

I ran my cigarette under my nose like a Havana cigar. \u201cNo. I mean, I don\u2019t know what my father\u2019s like. He\u2019s been gone since I was eight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs he dead?\u201d<\/p>\n

I peeled the paper off my cigarette. \u201cNo. Maybe. I don\u2019t know. He\u2019s just\u2014gone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe he\u2019s in the Legion with my dad.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe he went out for a pack of chocolate cigarettes and never came back,\u201d I said. I wasn\u2019t up for talking about my father.<\/p>\n

\u201cPeople do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI imagine they do. Now let\u2019s get you in the tub and then into your pajamas and bed.\u201d I ate my cigarette on the way to his bathroom. Frank stood there, mesmerized, watching water cascade from the faucet. \u201cGet undressed,\u201d I said. \u201cI want to soak your clothes overnight so the stains won\u2019t set.\u201d<\/p>\n

He turned his face from the water to commune with my elbow.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you waiting for?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cSome privacy,\u201d he said.\u2028\u201cI won\u2019t look,\u201d I said. \u201cCome on. Hand over the clothes.\u201d \u201cPlease,\u201d he said. \u201cIf you don\u2019t mind.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sighed. \u201cFine. Wash your hair. Scrub your nails. I\u2019ll be outside if you need me.\u201d<\/p>\n

I lay down across the doorway in the hall. He\u2019d be okay in there by himself. As long as I could hear him splashing around I\u2019d know he was alive. I\u2019d have to be deaf not to hear him. It sounded like he was wrestling an alligator in that tub.<\/p>\n

But lying down was my first mistake. The hall was carpeted, so of course I fell asleep.<\/p>\n

I think the quiet woke me. \u2028My first thought was that Frank had made a break for it. Stepped over me while I was snoozing, wandered through the living room door hole, jumped the wall, and now lay at the bottom of the hill in a million pieces. Bleeding. Which was a good sign, we\u2019d learned from the paramedics earlier in the day, because bleeding people aren\u2019t dead yet.<\/p>\n

But Frank was the kind of kid who left a trail\u2014wet footprints, chocolate hand-tracks, scuffed walls, broken stuff. There was no sign of his passage in the hallway. Oh, no. I yanked the bathroom door open and all but fainted on the spot.<\/p>\n

Frank was in there all right. Fully clothed, goggles pushed on his forehead and toy submarine clutched to chest. Eyes closed, pale as death, halo of floating hair. Imagine Jules Verne, Angelic Shipwreck Victim. Angels, of course, are known for many things, one of them being that they are dead. How was I going to tell Mimi I\u2019d let her kid drown in the tub while she lay in her hospital bed?<\/p>\n

I fell to my knees alongside the tub. \u201cOh, Frank,\u201d I gasped. \u201cOh, no, no, no.\u201d<\/p>\n

His eyes slitted open. \u201cIs it morning already?\u201d he asked sleepily.<\/p>\n

I sat back on my heels, dizzy with relief. \u201cYou almost gave me a heart attack, Frank,\u201d I said. \u201cI thought you were dead. What are you doing in the tub with your clothes on?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSleeping. I thought it would save you work if I soaked my clothes while I soaked myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you insane?\u201d I regretted saying that instantly.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cSee? I took my boots off first.\u201d He lowered his goggles over his eyes and went under. He watched my chin while I watched the water fill the goggles.<\/p>\n

\u201cThose aren\u2019t watertight,\u201d I said when he came up for air and pushed his goggles up his forehead.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know. I was just confirming earlier research.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cListen, Frank. I\u2019m sorry I said that you\u2019re insane.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t say I was insane. You asked. One is a statement and the other is a question. You\u2019re not the first to ask me that, either.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d I said. \u201cYou need to get out of that tub. I\u2019m going to hold up this big towel to give you some privacy. I want you to take off those wet clothes. And leave them in the tub to keep soaking. That was a good idea, by the way. Just what I would have done, although I think I might have gotten out of them first. Then let\u2019s get you dried off and into your pj\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018Let\u2019s get out of these wet clothes and into a dry martini,\u2019\u201d he said. \u201cRobert Benchley.\u201d<\/p>\n

I laughed. I was so relieved he wasn\u2019t dead that I would have laughed at anything.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been waiting all my life to say that,\u201d Frank said. \u201cRobert Benchley was a famous wag who belonged to a group of Jazz Age writers known as the Algonquin Round Table. What you may not know is that Robert Benchley\u2019s grandson Peter Benchley wrote Jaws<\/em>. Book and screenplay.\u201d<\/p>\n

When Frank stood it sounded like Niagara Falls as the water cas- caded from his clothing. If all the grunting coming from the other side of the towel was any indication, getting out of the wet clothes was about as easy as going over those falls in a barrel. \u201cDo you need a hand?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo thank you. Almost finished. Archimedes discovered the way to measure volume of irregularly-shaped items when he stepped into the bathtub, did you know that? The water level rose an amount commensurate with the volume of his body. He was so excited by his insight that he shrieked \u2018Eureka!\u2019 which means \u2018I have found it!\u2019 Then he ran through the streets naked. I have never been excited enough about anything to consider doing that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat makes two of us,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Frank took the towel moments later and wrapped it around himself like a burka. \u201cNow into my pajamas,\u201d he said. \u201cAlice, could you put yours on, too? I\u2019ve always wanted to host a pajama party. I\u2019ve never had a friend to invite before.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t want to leave Frank alone for even a minute but I wasn\u2019t about to decline that invitation. So I sprinted to my room, changed, and dashed back to the kitchen. There I found the pajamaed Frank at the breakfast bar, cocktail music oozing from the piano and two full martini glasses in front of him. Frank held one out to me.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks,\u201d I said, cradling the glass in my palm and sniffing it. Club soda.<\/p>\n

\u201cI asked for martini glasses for my ninth birthday,\u201d Frank said. \u201cSo my mother got me plastic ones.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mother is a smart woman.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re supposed to hold your glass by the stem, like this, see?\u201d Frank demonstrated. \u201cThat way the warmth of your hand won\u2019t ruin the chilly deliciousness of your cocktail.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy hands aren\u2019t warming up anything right now. It\u2019s freezing in here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s because we\u2019re missing a door.\u201d<\/p>\n

I looked at the hole that had once been sliding glass. \u201cWe should cover that, huh? We could use blankets, or a big piece of plastic if we had one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDry cleaner bags,\u201d Frank said. \u201cI have a lot in my closet.\u201d<\/p>\n

I knew this to be true. \u201cWe\u2019ll piece them together,\u201d I said. \u201cYou get the bags, I\u2019ll find the tape.\u201d<\/p>\n

After ransacking the kitchen drawers\u2014bupkis\u2014I found packing tape in a laundry room drawer. When I emerged, Frank was on the kitchen floor swaddled in dry cleaning bags. He was indulging in a much more transparent and dangerous version of his favorite game, rolling-around-in-a-comforter.<\/p>\n

\u201cStop that,\u201d I said, grabbing the plastic and rolling him free. \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlaying.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t do that with a dry cleaning bag, Frank. This is not a toy. Look, it says it right here on the bag. \u2018This is not a toy.\u2019 You could suffocate. And we can\u2019t use these now. You\u2019ve shredded them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got more.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not the point,\u201d I said. \u201cThe point is, you\u2019re a smart boy, and this would be a dumb way to die. Come with me, please.\u201d I herded him to his closet to harvest more bags. \u201cDon\u2019t touch the bags. Do you hear me? Do. Not. Touch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat can I do then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou carry the tape. I\u2019ll get the tape measure. Meet me in the living room.\u201d<\/p>\n

When I got there, Frank was sitting on the floor, behaving himself. I measured the hole and lay the bags on the floor so we could piece together something big enough to cover it. \u201cCome and give me a hand with this,\u201d I said. \u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not? I said please.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLook what I\u2019ve done this time,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

I looked. The kid had manacled his hands together with the tape. The almost-empty roll dangled from his wrists like a charm on a charm bracelet.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow\u2019d you manage that?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cWith my teeth,\u201d he said. \u201cIt was easy at first, and then harder.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI believe you. I\u2019m going for more tape. Don\u2019t touch anything while I\u2019m gone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think I could if I wanted to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood.\u201d I ran back into the laundry room and came back with a second roll of tape and a pair of round-edged children\u2019s scissors to cut Frank loose.<\/p>\n

\u201cVive la France,\u201d he said when I\u2019d freed him.<\/p>\n

\u201cVive la France,\u201d I said. \u201cNow hold the plastic still while I tape it together.\u201d When we had a sheet that was big enough I took it and stood by the door. \u201cI\u2019m too short,\u201d I said. \u201cI need something to stand on.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know just the thing,\u201d Frank said. He disappeared for a minute and returned rolling his mother\u2019s big rubber yoga ball.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got to be kidding me,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can stand on it,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve done it. It\u2019s exciting.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want exciting, Frank. I want stable.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause I\u2019m boring that way. Listen. Bring me that chair over there instead. Please.\u201d<\/p>\n

Once the plastic was up, I said to Frank, \u201cNow go to bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not sleepy yet. I\u2019m cold.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll warm up in bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll warm up, but I won\u2019t go to sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n

I thought about all the times I\u2019d heard Frank knocking around in the middle of the night. \u201cOkay,\u201d I said. \u201cLet\u2019s build a fire then.\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank\u2019s eyes lit up. \u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the fireplace, idiot.\u201d Bad. I know. I was tired. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Frank. I\u2019m the idiot, not you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d he said. \u201cMy IQ is higher than 99.7 percent of the Amer- ican public. For some reason it makes the children at school laugh when I tell them that. Can you explain the joke in that to me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere isn\u2019t one. Some kids laugh at people smarter than they are to make them feel stupid.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat doesn\u2019t make sense. Why do they think laughing at me will make me feel stupid?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause they\u2019re stupid,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d never lived anywhere that had a fireplace before, so I was more excited than an adult person ought to be to put my Girl Scout training to use arranging the logs and twigs from the alcove by the fireplace on top of wads of crumpled newspaper. \u201cNow, matches,\u201d I said. \u201cWhere does your mother keep them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wish I knew,\u201d Frank said. \u201cShe hides them from me.\u201d<\/p>\n

I believed that. \u201cHow about candles? I could light one on the stove and use it to start the fire.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe hides those, too.\u201d Of course she did. I\u2019d never seen one any- where, ever. Not even a lousy birthday candle.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou could call her and ask,\u201d Frank said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mother is in the hospital,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m not calling her. Let me think. You know what? We could light a twig on the stove and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou cannot walk through this house carrying a stick that\u2019s on fire,\u201d Frank said. \u201cMy mother has said that to me at least a million times.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was tempted anyway, but knew I shouldn\u2019t be modeling bad be- havior for a lit firecracker like Frank. Also, without meaning me ill, it would be the first thing he\u2019d tell his mother when he saw her again. \u201cI guess we can\u2019t have a fire then,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have an idea,\u201d Frank said. He disappeared down the hall. I gave chase as he beelined to the laundry room drawers where\u2014 Eureka!\u2014he found a nine-volt battery and a roll of wire. Then he beat it back to the living room, where he took the round-tipped scissors from his bathrobe pocket\u2014when did he palm those?\u2014and cut a couple of pieces of wire, wrapped one around each of the batteries\u2019 terminals, and touched the loose ends against each other. The touch produced a spark that made the paper catch fire.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a genius, Frank,\u201d I said. \u201cHow did you think of doing that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I do it in my room all the time,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

We watched the flames reduce the logs to ember, then ash. I was so afraid of nodding off that I would have taped my eyelids open if there\u2019d been any tape left. This had been the longest day of my life. How did Mimi function if all her nights were like this? How did Frank? One night alone with the kid and I was practically reduced to ash myself.<\/p>\n

When Frank piped up with, \u201cI\u2019m tired now,\u201d I jumped the way mothers catapult from chairs when their toddlers say, \u201cI need potty.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOff to bed then,\u201d I said, giving him the bum\u2019s rush to his bedroom.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t sleep much in my room. If you want me to sleep, put me in my mother\u2019s bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sighed. \u201cAll right.\u201d<\/p>\n

In Mimi\u2019s room I pinned him tight under her blankets. \u201cGo to sleep,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou aren\u2019t leaving me, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want me to sit here until you fall asleep?\u201d The thought of staying awake any longer made me want to cry.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought we were having a pajama party. You have to sleep in here with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not sleeping in your mother\u2019s bed without her permission. It\u2019s not polite.\u201d<\/p>\n

His face went blank. Blanker, I should say. Tired as I was, I hurt for him. \u201cHow about this?\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ll sleep on the couch in the family room. I\u2019ll be close enough to hear you if you want to talk. That\u2019s what makes a pajama party a pajama party, you know. Being able to talk to somebody else until you fall asleep.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat may be so. But what you may not realize is I have a hard time falling asleep. And when I fall asleep, I wake easily. And since I slept some in the tub already\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFrank,\u201d I said. \u201cI realize. Close your eyes. Close your mouth. Go to sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n

I crept out of Mimi\u2019s bedroom, leaving the door open and a light on in the hall. I fell on the couch and was out maybe fifteen minutes, maybe fifteen days. When I opened my eyes Frank\u2019s face hovered inches above mine. I was so exhausted I couldn\u2019t muster the strength to be startled. \u201cWhat\u2019s up, Frank?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am,\u201d he said. \u201cI couldn\u2019t sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI gathered. So now what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe could watch a movie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s too late to watch a movie. Or too early. What time is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFour a.m.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you always been like this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLike what?\u201d<\/p>\n

I tried to think of a word that wouldn\u2019t wound his psyche for keeps.<\/p>\n

\u201cNocturnal,\u201d is what I came up with finally.<\/p>\n

\u201cNocturnal? That implies daytime sleep. I don\u2019t do that much, either. My mother says my brain\u2019s lack of an \u2018off\u2019 switch is a sign of unusual intelligence.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUnusual,\u201d I said. \u201cUh-huh.\u201d I rubbed my eyes, sat up and yawned.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re tired,\u201d he said. \u201cGo back to sleep. I\u2019ll sit here and watch you. Or I could borrow your phone to make a movie of you asleep. Like Andy Warhol. His first movie was called Sleep<\/em>. It was about\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSleep. I get the drift. No thanks. I didn\u2019t come to California to be in the movies. Let\u2019s watch Casablanca <\/em>again.\u201d<\/p>\n

Frank did a quick soft shoe\u2014soft slipper, really\u2014of joy that was so unexpectedly charming that it put me right back in the palm of his hand. He\u2019d never spent a night away from his mother in his life, poor kid. She wasn\u2019t with him now because his hug had turned into a tackle that had landed her in the hospital with twenty-nine stitches in her scalp. You couldn\u2019t blame him for not sleeping. But you had to wonder what his excuse was every other night.<\/p>\n

Frank slid the movie in the DVD player and the two of us rolled up in comforters, shoulder to shoulder but individually shrink-wrapped in our own little movie-watching cocoons. Frank fell asleep sometime during the mushy part, where Rick and Ilsa reminisce about the good old days in the Paris apartment when they thought Ilsa\u2019s husband was dead. I stayed awake watching all the way to the end.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Julia Claiborne Johnson worked at Mademoiselle and Glamour magazines before marrying and moving to Los Angeles, where she lives with her comedy-writer husband and their two children. \u00a0Be Frank With Me\u00a0was published by William Morrow\/HarperCollins in 2016.\u00a0   Chapter 8 of\u00a0Be Frank With Me Click here to read an intro to this novel\u00a0by Julia\u00a0Claiborne Johnson. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":8422,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":22,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/970"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/8422"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=970"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/970\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1079,"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/970\/revisions\/1079"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bu.edu\/236magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=970"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}