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Show in my father's house/ 231 drapes drawn. My mother ironed or darned and told me again the stories of her early life and mine. Sometimes we talked of the other families, of the order of marriages to my father. I learned bits and pieces of each of the mothers' lives. At the time, the information was entertaining and remotely interesting like tales from another world. But I longed to go outside into the crisp air which lingered in the foyer each time someone went out. When lessons were over, I wandered through the house, plinking aimlessly at the piano keys with my good hand until even my mother begged me to stop. One day she put on her coat and went out for awhile. She brought back a stack of books from the library. I read them ravenously. I had just completed Heidi and was feeling the strength of the mountains in my veins, when the phone rang. My mother called to me. "I think it has been long enough," she whispered. "You need to talk to your friends. It's Sally Wilkins." I didn't tell her that Sally couldn't really be considered my friend. Her father was one of the richest men in town, a community leader. But hope tasted fresh, different as I spoke into the funnel of the telephone. "When are you coming to school?" Sally asked right off. My hope quavered at the familiar cattiness in her voice. "I...I don't know. In a few days maybe. I...I'11 have to ask my d...doctor." I stammered. I was out of the habit of lying. "Why is it taking so long? It's just a broken arm." "I don't know. It's just that...Well, the doctor says I have to stay home." |