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Show in my father's house/ 254 figure. Mrs. Griffin assessed my almost-overnight growth with surprise and distrust, as though she suspected I was padding myself. The boys at school didn't seem to think I padded myself, and my brothers teased that I couldn't get my feet wet in the shower. I blushed regularly, and Jeanne and I took to wearing our brothers' largest shirts - she to look like me as I minimized the embarrassing phenomena of my body. I envied Jeanne her ten year-old's figure and her father being home, and she envied my sudden womanhood and the attention I got from boys. We giggled, confessing our wish that we could exchange bodies for awhile. My mother loved Jeanne. At first she called her 'that nice girl,' and then 'honey.' She described her as 'refined' and 'mannerly. When we stayed overnight at my house, my mother always baked because Jeanne praised her hot bread with butter and Montana honey as being the best treat she'd ever had. Mrs. Griffin tolerated our friendship because she loved Jeanne and Jeanne loved me, and because I encouraged Jeanne to raise her average grades. Knowing that Mrs. Griffin regarded me askance didn't prevent me from admiring her. Everything from the decor of her large Tudor-style house to her perfume struck me as elegant. As with Aunt Helga, her life spoke of order, arrangement, a stark contrast to the confusion of mine. But that year, my own life became fraught with a beauty visible only to me. Happier than I had been since we first left the white house, light collected in my body, reawakening my senses and casting radiance on the world. I found generosity in the wrinkled face of the English teacher the others called "Battle Axe." I found courage in the drunken |