baton-twirling and hoping to make the team, Mom took a video. Of course, she takes hundreds of videos. I saw myself all worked up aboutmy ability to catch a stick, and I realized that that's what I would be remembered for at my high school reunions. My ability to catch a stick. Brett thought it was hysterical and just right for my abilities as a human being. He began introducing me as his sister the dog. We'd be cleaning up the yard after a storm, and every twig and branch he'd pick up, he'd throw across the grass and yell, 'Fetch!' ” Carolyn grinned at me. “So I quit twirling.”
I have cried myself to sleep a few times in the past several years. It was much nicer to laugh myself to sleep.
In the morning Aunt Maggie strong-armed us onto chairs around the breakfast table. For a woman who does not believe in violence, she is very forceful. We had bacon, grapefruit halves, hot biscuits slathered with butter and honey, pan-fried potatoes, blueberry pancakes and tall glasses of orange juice. I don't usually have that much breakfast in a month.
Grandma told about how my father used to hold lawn-mowing races with his friends, and once, he got so excited, he mowed off the entire garden of the next-door neighbors. Aunt Maggie said that that very garden owner was coming to the surprise party that night with a little plaque commemorating the event, only of course Charlie, being Charlie, would not be there to receive it. Grandma told about how Daddy ran away from home three times when he was in junior high. “Didn't usually go very far,” she said. “We found him once sleeping in the garage.”
“Reminds me,” said Uncle Todd. “Come on, Angus. You and I have chores to do in the garage.” “I hate chores.”
“Me too. That's why I'm going to make you do all of them. Last one in the garage is a rotten egg,” said Uncle Todd, taking a scoop of scrambled eggs in his bare hand. Angus was thrilled at the prospect of a food fight and let himself be chased into the garage.
“You know what I forgot to tell everybody?” I said. “Oh, gosh, I knew there was something important. I'm so sorry. I forgot to tell you Joanna's coming. She's flying in tomorrow. Isn't that fun? She'll be here too.”
“That's wonderful!” cried Grandma. “I'm so happy. All five of my wonderful grandchildren will be together.”
Aunt Maggie burst into tears.
“Now, Mom,” said Carolyn, with the quick desperation I knew so well, the daughter thinking, I can smooth this over; I can make it all right; I can solve this. But she can't. “Brett has to come home eventually,” said Carolyn. “Just because he wouldn't even talk to us at the baseball game doesn't mean he'll never live at home again. Johnny's parents will get sick of feeding Brett, and Brett's grown another inch and needs new clothes, and Johnny's parents surely won't buy somebody else's kid new jeans and sneakers. So Brett will have to come home.”
“He won't have to!” said Aunt Maggie savagely. “He'll be just like his uncle Charlie and wander around town makingfriends with the scum of the earth and wearing sneakers he slices open to let his toes air out.”
Angus had come back for another handful of scrambled egg. “Slicing out the toes of his sneakers?” he said eagerly.
“Get lost,” I said to him, and he did, presumably because he had sneakers to deface.
The night before, after the Little League game, when Brett stood all dusty among his losing players, and his parents walked uncertainly toward him, I had seen in his face what Annette must have seen in mine and in Joanna's and in Angus's for a year and a half: a sneer and rejection.
You have so little power. You can't hold together your mother and father's marriage. You can't prevent them from remarrying strangers. You can't keep them from dividing up the furniture and the children and the calendar. But you can curl your lip, and make them wilt, and hurt them bad, and it's good. You're glad.
I hurt for Carolyn,
I have cried myself to sleep a few times in the past several years. It was much nicer to laugh myself to sleep.
In the morning Aunt Maggie strong-armed us onto chairs around the breakfast table. For a woman who does not believe in violence, she is very forceful. We had bacon, grapefruit halves, hot biscuits slathered with butter and honey, pan-fried potatoes, blueberry pancakes and tall glasses of orange juice. I don't usually have that much breakfast in a month.
Grandma told about how my father used to hold lawn-mowing races with his friends, and once, he got so excited, he mowed off the entire garden of the next-door neighbors. Aunt Maggie said that that very garden owner was coming to the surprise party that night with a little plaque commemorating the event, only of course Charlie, being Charlie, would not be there to receive it. Grandma told about how Daddy ran away from home three times when he was in junior high. “Didn't usually go very far,” she said. “We found him once sleeping in the garage.”
“Reminds me,” said Uncle Todd. “Come on, Angus. You and I have chores to do in the garage.” “I hate chores.”
“Me too. That's why I'm going to make you do all of them. Last one in the garage is a rotten egg,” said Uncle Todd, taking a scoop of scrambled eggs in his bare hand. Angus was thrilled at the prospect of a food fight and let himself be chased into the garage.
“You know what I forgot to tell everybody?” I said. “Oh, gosh, I knew there was something important. I'm so sorry. I forgot to tell you Joanna's coming. She's flying in tomorrow. Isn't that fun? She'll be here too.”
“That's wonderful!” cried Grandma. “I'm so happy. All five of my wonderful grandchildren will be together.”
Aunt Maggie burst into tears.
“Now, Mom,” said Carolyn, with the quick desperation I knew so well, the daughter thinking, I can smooth this over; I can make it all right; I can solve this. But she can't. “Brett has to come home eventually,” said Carolyn. “Just because he wouldn't even talk to us at the baseball game doesn't mean he'll never live at home again. Johnny's parents will get sick of feeding Brett, and Brett's grown another inch and needs new clothes, and Johnny's parents surely won't buy somebody else's kid new jeans and sneakers. So Brett will have to come home.”
“He won't have to!” said Aunt Maggie savagely. “He'll be just like his uncle Charlie and wander around town makingfriends with the scum of the earth and wearing sneakers he slices open to let his toes air out.”
Angus had come back for another handful of scrambled egg. “Slicing out the toes of his sneakers?” he said eagerly.
“Get lost,” I said to him, and he did, presumably because he had sneakers to deface.
The night before, after the Little League game, when Brett stood all dusty among his losing players, and his parents walked uncertainly toward him, I had seen in his face what Annette must have seen in mine and in Joanna's and in Angus's for a year and a half: a sneer and rejection.
You have so little power. You can't hold together your mother and father's marriage. You can't prevent them from remarrying strangers. You can't keep them from dividing up the furniture and the children and the calendar. But you can curl your lip, and make them wilt, and hurt them bad, and it's good. You're glad.
I hurt for Carolyn,
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