person in heaven, that is if there is one, already knows the past and the future. Like Grandfather knew that I would get the message from Mickey Knight that day that I wasnât too beautiful at the moment, and how Dad would get the envelope back in the mail, and how I would solve the issue of world poverty, just not for very long. It made it easier to write the letter, because my grandfather already knew it was going to be a disappointing day all around.
I did it anyway, despite what the doctor said.
I took my crutch and got off my bed and hopped out to check on the library door. I wanted to do it quickly, and be back in my room in case Mickey Knight came to give me the makeover, which is something you learn in magazines, how to get instantly transformed from an ugly duckling into a swan. It was almost the first thing Mickey said when she saw my cast and my crutch. âOh my God. I am so giving you a Before and After after this.â
I got to the landing and stared down at the library door. I was beginning to feel I was the first in the family to ever be alone in the house with Dad. The silence was total. You could hear a knee crack.
He must be in there thinking something elevated, I thought. I decided I should do that too, you know, go back to my room and emulate. Why else would you have a Dad.
Then I had this idea to go down to the library, hop in, and just plop myself down. You see someone come in on a crutch, and what can you do. I debated it, I really did. Debated whether to be brave enough to interrupt Dad. Then I felt kind of silly, just standing there staring at the door, with a crutch no less, like one of those beggars they wonât let in church because nobody wants them around while they pray. So I gave up and hopped back to my room, determined to emulate once I got to my bed.
But on my bed, there was the Seventeen. So I sat in my chair.
My grandfather already knew: my two best friends already were Afters. Mickey Joslyn, who we called Jo, and Mickey Knight, who was actually born more of a Before. We lived within six blocks of one another.
Jo was beautiful. She had those pure, angelic looks that made her fine blond hair as radiant as a halo and her big blue eyes as round, innocent, and fathomable as country club baby pools. Mickey Knight wasnât, but wanted to be, as beautiful as Jo, the other Mickey. Mickey Knightâs parents wanted that too. So they redid their daughter. Doctors redid her nose and chin, stylists bleached her hair, and opticians made her special contact lenses to brighten up her hazel eyes. So Mickey and Mickey ended up looking almost like twins. And I was the only remaining Before.
But thatâs not what I wanted to think about now. It wasnât elevated, it was almost the opposite. I decided to try my other armchair, even though I had the cast and it was clear across the room. On my way over, I stopped at the dresser and looked in the mirror, wondering how Mickey was going to do it, turn me from looking like a boy into a miniature movie star like she was. I still had that kind of crew cut Mother had always assured me was âdarling.â Other than that, I had a few freckles. Maybe I looked like Huck Finn. Or if he had a sister. I went to my other armchair and settled in, determined to forget about it and emulate Dad.
It was a good idea, to change chairs. Because the minute I got there I got the idea. I would just end poverty. Iâd think up a solution. That way I wouldnât have to worry about it anymore.
Particularly, I thought I should work on world hunger. I had heard the phrase a lot, and it was easy enough to figure out what it meant. It meant that somewhere in the world, even as I debated which armchair to choose, people were starving.
After contemplating the subject for almost an entire half hour, I felt I had moved beyond mere comprehension of the facts. I had moved so far beyond that, I felt I was on the verge of a sort of revelation, and was
I did it anyway, despite what the doctor said.
I took my crutch and got off my bed and hopped out to check on the library door. I wanted to do it quickly, and be back in my room in case Mickey Knight came to give me the makeover, which is something you learn in magazines, how to get instantly transformed from an ugly duckling into a swan. It was almost the first thing Mickey said when she saw my cast and my crutch. âOh my God. I am so giving you a Before and After after this.â
I got to the landing and stared down at the library door. I was beginning to feel I was the first in the family to ever be alone in the house with Dad. The silence was total. You could hear a knee crack.
He must be in there thinking something elevated, I thought. I decided I should do that too, you know, go back to my room and emulate. Why else would you have a Dad.
Then I had this idea to go down to the library, hop in, and just plop myself down. You see someone come in on a crutch, and what can you do. I debated it, I really did. Debated whether to be brave enough to interrupt Dad. Then I felt kind of silly, just standing there staring at the door, with a crutch no less, like one of those beggars they wonât let in church because nobody wants them around while they pray. So I gave up and hopped back to my room, determined to emulate once I got to my bed.
But on my bed, there was the Seventeen. So I sat in my chair.
My grandfather already knew: my two best friends already were Afters. Mickey Joslyn, who we called Jo, and Mickey Knight, who was actually born more of a Before. We lived within six blocks of one another.
Jo was beautiful. She had those pure, angelic looks that made her fine blond hair as radiant as a halo and her big blue eyes as round, innocent, and fathomable as country club baby pools. Mickey Knight wasnât, but wanted to be, as beautiful as Jo, the other Mickey. Mickey Knightâs parents wanted that too. So they redid their daughter. Doctors redid her nose and chin, stylists bleached her hair, and opticians made her special contact lenses to brighten up her hazel eyes. So Mickey and Mickey ended up looking almost like twins. And I was the only remaining Before.
But thatâs not what I wanted to think about now. It wasnât elevated, it was almost the opposite. I decided to try my other armchair, even though I had the cast and it was clear across the room. On my way over, I stopped at the dresser and looked in the mirror, wondering how Mickey was going to do it, turn me from looking like a boy into a miniature movie star like she was. I still had that kind of crew cut Mother had always assured me was âdarling.â Other than that, I had a few freckles. Maybe I looked like Huck Finn. Or if he had a sister. I went to my other armchair and settled in, determined to forget about it and emulate Dad.
It was a good idea, to change chairs. Because the minute I got there I got the idea. I would just end poverty. Iâd think up a solution. That way I wouldnât have to worry about it anymore.
Particularly, I thought I should work on world hunger. I had heard the phrase a lot, and it was easy enough to figure out what it meant. It meant that somewhere in the world, even as I debated which armchair to choose, people were starving.
After contemplating the subject for almost an entire half hour, I felt I had moved beyond mere comprehension of the facts. I had moved so far beyond that, I felt I was on the verge of a sort of revelation, and was
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