concentrated on Dad.
“We were so ready for you, all the changes seemed like good ones,” Dad said. “I don’t know if I ever told you, Al, but your mom had three miscarriages before she finally had you.”
“She did ?”
“Each time she was so disappointed. And finally, you were the one who took.”
I thought that over. “If any of the other eggs had hatched …”
“Not hatched , Al. If any of the other fertilized eggs had gone full term …”
“It would have been someone else, not me. Right?”
“Right!” chimed in Lester. “A boy! Twin boys! Anybody but you. Just my luck.”
Pamela came over later. She said her mom was moving out that evening and she didn’t want to be around. Her parents weren’t speaking except to her, and she was tired of being a messenger service.
“‘Tell your mom the stereo stays,’ Dad says. ‘Tell your dad to go to hell,’ Mom answers. No, thank you. If they’ve got anything to say, they can say it to each other.”
“I’m really sorry, Pamela,” I said. “Why don’t you stay all night?”
“I will,” she said, and sheepishly admitted she had already stuffed her pajamas in her school bag.
Up in my room, I told Pamela how, if Mom hadn’t lost her other three babies, I’d probably be someone else, only Pamela said it wouldn’t have been me at all. I just wouldn’t be . And then we started thinking about all the eggs that never get fertilized and all the sperm that never make it to the egg, and how, purely by accident, there were hundreds and trillions of people who never got to be born at all. Somehow, that made Pamela feel better, I think. I mean, being born and having your parents separate was still better than not being born at all.
“What I’d like,” said Pamela wistfully, “is to be anyone but Pamela Jones for the next month. The next week , even. To just float right out of all that’s going on at home and not be myself again till it’s over.”
“I wish you could,” I told her. Then, “Me? I’d like a new personality. More than green eye shadow. I mean, I’d like to develop a whole look , you know? Not so … well … virginal!”
“So let’s dye your hair green,” said Pamela.
“Are you kidding? I’m going to be in a wedding party the end of the month.”
“Just the smear-on kind of dye. You can wash it right out. It’s mousse, actually. We’ll both go to school tomorrow with our hair dyed green and sticking straight up on one side of our heads, slicked down on the other.”
I looked at Pamela. She looked at me. “Let’s do it!” I said.
We walked to the drugstore and bought the stuff. We had to set the alarm for an hour earlier the next morning so we could get out of the bathroom before Dad and Lester wanted in. We dressed, me in a green turtleneck, Pamela in a purple one. Then we took some old towels into my room, closed the door, and took turns applying the thick green gel to each other’s hair. The hair that stuck straight up in spikes made our scalps look like the back of a stegosaurus.
“We’ve got to do the eyebrows, too,” said Pamela, so we did each other’s brows.
By the time I put on my green eye shadow and liner, I looked like a New Age leprechaun. Pamela dressed the same, except she wore blue eye shadow.
“Ready?” I asked, and we went downstairs together.
Les had already left for the U, but Dad was putting things in his briefcase when he looked up and saw us. I watched his lips part in slow motion.
“Al, what’s this?”
“We’re just trying out a new look,” I said. “Relax. It washes out.”
“You’re not going to school that way?”
“Yes! It’s just a look, Dad. I wanted to try something new.”
Pamela moved on ahead of me into the kitchen and grinned helplessly from beyond the doorway.
“I don’t think so,” said Dad. “Go upstairs and wash it out.”
“Dad …!”
“Al, I’m interviewing a clarinet instructor at eight o’clock and I’m late. I don’t have time to
“We were so ready for you, all the changes seemed like good ones,” Dad said. “I don’t know if I ever told you, Al, but your mom had three miscarriages before she finally had you.”
“She did ?”
“Each time she was so disappointed. And finally, you were the one who took.”
I thought that over. “If any of the other eggs had hatched …”
“Not hatched , Al. If any of the other fertilized eggs had gone full term …”
“It would have been someone else, not me. Right?”
“Right!” chimed in Lester. “A boy! Twin boys! Anybody but you. Just my luck.”
Pamela came over later. She said her mom was moving out that evening and she didn’t want to be around. Her parents weren’t speaking except to her, and she was tired of being a messenger service.
“‘Tell your mom the stereo stays,’ Dad says. ‘Tell your dad to go to hell,’ Mom answers. No, thank you. If they’ve got anything to say, they can say it to each other.”
“I’m really sorry, Pamela,” I said. “Why don’t you stay all night?”
“I will,” she said, and sheepishly admitted she had already stuffed her pajamas in her school bag.
Up in my room, I told Pamela how, if Mom hadn’t lost her other three babies, I’d probably be someone else, only Pamela said it wouldn’t have been me at all. I just wouldn’t be . And then we started thinking about all the eggs that never get fertilized and all the sperm that never make it to the egg, and how, purely by accident, there were hundreds and trillions of people who never got to be born at all. Somehow, that made Pamela feel better, I think. I mean, being born and having your parents separate was still better than not being born at all.
“What I’d like,” said Pamela wistfully, “is to be anyone but Pamela Jones for the next month. The next week , even. To just float right out of all that’s going on at home and not be myself again till it’s over.”
“I wish you could,” I told her. Then, “Me? I’d like a new personality. More than green eye shadow. I mean, I’d like to develop a whole look , you know? Not so … well … virginal!”
“So let’s dye your hair green,” said Pamela.
“Are you kidding? I’m going to be in a wedding party the end of the month.”
“Just the smear-on kind of dye. You can wash it right out. It’s mousse, actually. We’ll both go to school tomorrow with our hair dyed green and sticking straight up on one side of our heads, slicked down on the other.”
I looked at Pamela. She looked at me. “Let’s do it!” I said.
We walked to the drugstore and bought the stuff. We had to set the alarm for an hour earlier the next morning so we could get out of the bathroom before Dad and Lester wanted in. We dressed, me in a green turtleneck, Pamela in a purple one. Then we took some old towels into my room, closed the door, and took turns applying the thick green gel to each other’s hair. The hair that stuck straight up in spikes made our scalps look like the back of a stegosaurus.
“We’ve got to do the eyebrows, too,” said Pamela, so we did each other’s brows.
By the time I put on my green eye shadow and liner, I looked like a New Age leprechaun. Pamela dressed the same, except she wore blue eye shadow.
“Ready?” I asked, and we went downstairs together.
Les had already left for the U, but Dad was putting things in his briefcase when he looked up and saw us. I watched his lips part in slow motion.
“Al, what’s this?”
“We’re just trying out a new look,” I said. “Relax. It washes out.”
“You’re not going to school that way?”
“Yes! It’s just a look, Dad. I wanted to try something new.”
Pamela moved on ahead of me into the kitchen and grinned helplessly from beyond the doorway.
“I don’t think so,” said Dad. “Go upstairs and wash it out.”
“Dad …!”
“Al, I’m interviewing a clarinet instructor at eight o’clock and I’m late. I don’t have time to
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