it is a book. It is one from my favourite series, a science fiction book for adults. I never read children’s books; I’m not allowed to. They are too retarded for me, my parents say. I am too smart to act like a child, they say. But they encourage my love of books, and Mom has gone through my bookshelf and found out which book I don’t have, and has picked out the latest one.
I smile for my picture and hold my book up, and then hug Mom. Nobody is watching me. Rosemary is playing with her doll and Paul is still wrestling and laughing with my dad.
Mom and I sit on the floor, united in our sudden invisibility to the rest of the family. ‘You picked the one I wanted Mommy. Thank you.’
Mom smiled, a soft sad smile. ‘I know things aren’t always easy for you and I uh
…
’ she stopped and suddenly remembered how things had to be. ‘
…
I just wanted to get you the right one Emmy. Now go hug your dad.’
I walk up to my dad and hug him from behind. He looks slightly startled.
‘Hey kid, what’d ya get?’
I show Dad the book.
‘A book huh? Is it a good one?’
‘Yeah Dad, it is.’
My dad stares at the book for a second. I have never seen my dad read a book. ‘Well, good for you,’ he finally says, and his eyes dart past me, past my book, and to Mom.
He stands up and goes to the tree and rummages around for a box wrapped in the comics section of the newspaper. He hands it to Mom, who smiles, kisses him and opens it. It is a cranberry-coloured sweater dress.
‘I uh, ya know, thought that’d look good on you Teresa,’ he says, suddenly unsure of himself.
I feel bad for my dad, who in the midst of his family, and this holiday, had felt
…
what? Ashamed that he hadn’t wrapped the present as well as Mom had wrapped the others?
Suddenly he is a tired-looking man, beginning to look older than he should, unsure of himself amongst his own family. He’s confused by books that his daughter reads – that I will later come to suspect he couldn’t – confused by his son’s femininity
and his youngest daughter’s apparent dislike of him, confused as to why his wife flinches every time he goes near her.
My father sits back down quickly and busies himself with drinking the last of his coffee. His vulnerability has disappeared and is replaced by his grey, distant stare, a faraway look that sometimes comes to his eyes and leaves you wondering where he wishes he would rather be.
Slowly, the rest of the presents are passed out, books and dolls and action figures, socks and sweaters and odd gifts, like a gallon of cheap drugstore bubble bath that Paul had saved his allowance for, so that he could give it to Mom for Christmas. Like any mother though, she loved it and hugged Paul, whose hazel eyes matched hers, and promised to use it that night.
That afternoon, after my dad lies down to sleep and while Paul and Rosemary are busy playing with their toys, I go into the kitchen with Mom to help her with dinner.
She brews another cup of coffee and pours me a half-cup for helping her. We sit and peel potatoes and carrots together, whispering and laughing quietly, sometimes so much that we have to cover our faces with dishtowels so we won’t be too loud and possibly wake my father. Mom puts the towel in her lap and wipes a tear of laughter away. She hugs me and smiles.
‘Oh, Emmy. You’re my best friend Emmy.’
I smile back at her. ‘You’re mine too, Mom.’
CHAPTER 9
Paying attention
I’m sitting in Dr X’s office, waiting. I yawn and look around his office, bored and tired. His desk is piled high with papers and patient folders, which surprises me somewhat. Every other time I’ve been in this office it’s been neat and tidy.
When he finally comes into the office, he looks flustered and tired. ‘Good morning, Emma. I’m sorry I’m late, but we had some patients come in early this morning…’
He trails off and sits down behind his desk, trying to organise the paperwork there. He settles for
I smile for my picture and hold my book up, and then hug Mom. Nobody is watching me. Rosemary is playing with her doll and Paul is still wrestling and laughing with my dad.
Mom and I sit on the floor, united in our sudden invisibility to the rest of the family. ‘You picked the one I wanted Mommy. Thank you.’
Mom smiled, a soft sad smile. ‘I know things aren’t always easy for you and I uh
…
’ she stopped and suddenly remembered how things had to be. ‘
…
I just wanted to get you the right one Emmy. Now go hug your dad.’
I walk up to my dad and hug him from behind. He looks slightly startled.
‘Hey kid, what’d ya get?’
I show Dad the book.
‘A book huh? Is it a good one?’
‘Yeah Dad, it is.’
My dad stares at the book for a second. I have never seen my dad read a book. ‘Well, good for you,’ he finally says, and his eyes dart past me, past my book, and to Mom.
He stands up and goes to the tree and rummages around for a box wrapped in the comics section of the newspaper. He hands it to Mom, who smiles, kisses him and opens it. It is a cranberry-coloured sweater dress.
‘I uh, ya know, thought that’d look good on you Teresa,’ he says, suddenly unsure of himself.
I feel bad for my dad, who in the midst of his family, and this holiday, had felt
…
what? Ashamed that he hadn’t wrapped the present as well as Mom had wrapped the others?
Suddenly he is a tired-looking man, beginning to look older than he should, unsure of himself amongst his own family. He’s confused by books that his daughter reads – that I will later come to suspect he couldn’t – confused by his son’s femininity
and his youngest daughter’s apparent dislike of him, confused as to why his wife flinches every time he goes near her.
My father sits back down quickly and busies himself with drinking the last of his coffee. His vulnerability has disappeared and is replaced by his grey, distant stare, a faraway look that sometimes comes to his eyes and leaves you wondering where he wishes he would rather be.
Slowly, the rest of the presents are passed out, books and dolls and action figures, socks and sweaters and odd gifts, like a gallon of cheap drugstore bubble bath that Paul had saved his allowance for, so that he could give it to Mom for Christmas. Like any mother though, she loved it and hugged Paul, whose hazel eyes matched hers, and promised to use it that night.
That afternoon, after my dad lies down to sleep and while Paul and Rosemary are busy playing with their toys, I go into the kitchen with Mom to help her with dinner.
She brews another cup of coffee and pours me a half-cup for helping her. We sit and peel potatoes and carrots together, whispering and laughing quietly, sometimes so much that we have to cover our faces with dishtowels so we won’t be too loud and possibly wake my father. Mom puts the towel in her lap and wipes a tear of laughter away. She hugs me and smiles.
‘Oh, Emmy. You’re my best friend Emmy.’
I smile back at her. ‘You’re mine too, Mom.’
CHAPTER 9
Paying attention
I’m sitting in Dr X’s office, waiting. I yawn and look around his office, bored and tired. His desk is piled high with papers and patient folders, which surprises me somewhat. Every other time I’ve been in this office it’s been neat and tidy.
When he finally comes into the office, he looks flustered and tired. ‘Good morning, Emma. I’m sorry I’m late, but we had some patients come in early this morning…’
He trails off and sits down behind his desk, trying to organise the paperwork there. He settles for
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