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Show 5n realized that my mother was covering something up with her incessant talking; something was wrong, t e r r i b l y wrong. She was trying to hide the d i f f i c u l t y from me, from my father, from herself. "Is everything a l l r i g h t ? " I asked her mildly. My father tipped his head s l i g h t l y as if to b e t t e r hear her answer. "Oh,yes," she nodded. "I've had some trouble with my sciatic nerve and l o t s of tension l a t e l y . But i t ' s nothing new - you know, I ' v e had trouble for years." I nodded, not looking up from the grease spot I had ..•- ...-. discovered on our newly-shampooed carpet. An awkward, swelling silence spread. My father shifted his legs. "Shall we eat?" I said. I was serving Mexican food Japanese style on the coffee t a b l e . My l i f e was a similar hashing of b e l i e f s and values - yoga and r o c k ' n ' r o ll and turn-of-the-century novels. My father sat up s t r a i g h t e r and looked at Becky. The solemnity and distance in h i s face suddenly burst into a gleaming g r i n . Even h i s gold f i l l i n g s showed. "Will you ask the blessing, Becky, darling?" ask I froze. I d i d n ' t even know i f Becky could A a blessing among on the food. It had beenAthe f i r s t of my sentences, out not Beckys. Although I helped her pray at night and sent her to the Mormon Primary, I had given up trying to say a Prayer at mealtimes, or even maintaining a regular meal-time. Brian was never hungry for dinner and ate sandwiches or fast food at odd hours. That was t y p i c a l of our l i f e - nothing W . |