I'll Love You When You're More Like Me by M.E. Kerr Page B

tales,” I said.
    â€œNeither do I,” said my mother. “Do this woman and her daughter plan to leave after Labor Day?”
    â€œThe light over the lectern has burned out,” I said. “We’ll need a replacement.”
    â€œNot that I give a hoot about either one of them,” said my mother. “Even poor old Miss Wheatley was probably happier all her life than they’ve been for one month of theirs.”
    â€œMiss Wheatley was stuck in Seaville and she knew it,” I said.
    â€œMiss Wheatley taught you history. Period,” said my mother. “You knew nothing about her personal life.”
    â€œShe didn’t have one,” I said. “Everybody in Seaville knew she didn’t have one, thanks to her mother.”
    â€œThen why would she request ‘Tell Mother I’ll Be There,’ ” said my mother.
    â€œIrony,” I said. “I think she was being ironical.”
    â€œMiss Wheatley?” my mother said.
    â€œMiss Wheatley,” I said.
    â€œPffft!” my mother said. “Miss Wheatley ironical.”
    â€œHer whole message was to overcome, to strive,” I said.“Behind R ISE A BOVE I T there were all sorts of other slogans. ‘He who limps is still walking.’ ‘Many strokes overthrow the tallest oaks.’ On and on.”
    My mother said, “I think you’re reading your own ideas into hers.”
    â€œI’m going into the kitchen to look for a bulb for the lectern,” I said.
    â€œSomeday ask your new, famous friend how much security she has,” said my mother.
    â€œSecurity isn’t everything,” I said. “Convicts are secure, so are dogs tied to trees.”
    â€œI just hope you don’t talk that way around your father,” said my mother. “Where will we all be if he has a severe attack before you’re ready to take over for him?”
    â€œHe knows how I feel already,” I said.
    â€œAnd he’s been very patient with you, Wally,” she said, “because he went through a period when he felt some reluctance, too, right after Albert skipped out.”
    â€œSome reluctance?” I said. “I don’t feel some reluctance. I feel a lot of reluctance! I feel one-hundred-percent reluctant!”
    â€œTell me about it then. Don’t tell him about it!”
    â€œI’m telling you right now,” I said.
    â€œWhy do you want to get on this subject this morning?” my mother said. “Don’t you realize I played bridge with Ruthie Wheatley? We sang in the choir together. She was like a sister to me.”
    â€œMother, you hardly knew her.”
    â€œDon’t be heartless, Wally,” said my mother. “I have very strong feelings about nearly all of our guests. The tears were streaming down my cheeks when I worked onRuthie. Your father can verify that.”
    â€œI give up,” I said, which was exactly what my mother wanted me to do.
    A.E. was giving Gorilla a lecture in the kitchen. “You’re going to wind up in the A.S.P.C.A., Gorilla,” she was telling the cat as she brushed her. “You won’t sleep on satin over there.”
    â€œWhere are the light bulbs for the lectern?” I asked her.
    â€œThey’re in the utility cabinet where they always are,” A.E. said. “There’s a letter for you on the bread box. It was hand-delivered a few minutes ago by Hector Hren.”
    I picked up the envelope with my name on it, in Harriet’s handwriting. Harriet made circles over her o’s with little faces inside them.
    â€œLove leaves me weak, I cannot speak,” said A.E. “Emily Dickinson wrote that. And if my words do leak, from pent-up heart, I start, I sneak, to say your name.”
    â€œTake mother a light bulb for the lectern, will you?” I said. “Please?”
    â€œWhat do you think of that poem?”
    â€œIt’s fine,” I said, ripping open the