again if she was noticing the doctors.
I told her how much Will liked his photographs, and that he was going to let me use his German camera.
"Hey, Meg?" she asked. "Do me a favor?"
"Sure." Usually I wouldn't say "sure" without knowing what the favor was; but what the heck, she'd been pretty sick.
"Would you take my picture when I get home? I want a really good one, to give Tierney for his birthday this summer."
"Molly, I'll make you look like a movie star," I told her, and she giggled before she hung up.
6.
Will Banks is learning to use the darkroom, and he's fantastic. Ben and Maria have moved into the house, and they're terrific. Molly is home, and she's being thoroughly unbearable.
Well, as they say, two out of three isn't bad.
I suppose you can't really blame Molly for being a pain. She was awfully sick; no one knows that better than I do. I don't think the sight of her lying there in all that blood will ever go out of my mind.
But apparently she got used to being the center of 74
attention in the hospital. Who wouldn't, with all those specialists around? Still, here she is at home, and supposedly wellâor why would they have discharged her from the hospital?âand she acts as if everyone should still be at her beck and call. And my parents put up with it; that's the amazing thing.
"Could I have a tuna fish sandwich?" asked Molly at lunchtime, the day after she came home. She was lying on the couch in the kitchen, in a pose like Playmate of the Month, except that she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.
"Do you want lettuce?" my mother asked her, scurrying to get the bread and mayonnaise. For pete's sake. Do you want lettuce. Two months ago she would have said, "Make it yourself, madam." That's what she would
still
say, to me.
And after all that, Molly didn't even eat the sandwich. She came to the table, ate two bites, and then drifted back to the couch and said she wasn't hungry after all.
"Are you sure you're feeling all right, dear?" asked Mom.
"Quit bugging me, will you?" said Molly, and she stormed off to our room, slammed the door (which fell open again; Molly will never learn that the door to our room is totally useless in a tantrum) and took a nap for the rest of the afternoon.
Molly never used to be like that.
I
used to be like that, sometimes, and I hated myself when I was. Now Molly is that way, and I find myself hating her, or at least hating what has happened to her to make her different.
My parents don't say a word. That's different, too. In the past, when one of us was grouchy, my mother always said and did things that were both understanding and funny, so that we would start to laugh and whatever was making us irritable would just disappear in a comfortable way. Or Dad would be very stern. He says he doesn't have time to waste on rudeness. "Shape up," he would say. And we would shape up, because he didn't leave any choice.
But now Mom doesn't chuckle and tease when Molly is awful. Dad doesn't lay down the law. Instead, Mom gets worried and confused, which makes things worse. Dad gets tense and silent and goes off to his study without saying anything. It's as if an upsetting stranger has moved in with us, and no one knows what to do about it.
Part of why Molly is being so obnoxious, I think, is because she doesn't look very good, and it was always so important to Molly to look pretty. But she lost weight while she was in the hospital (because the food was so dreadful, she says), so that now her face is thinner than it used to be. And more pale. The paleness, I guess, is because she had to have the
blood transfusions, and it probably takes the red blood cells a while to build up again.
Worst of all, for Molly, her hair is falling out. That's because of the pills she has to take, my parents said. One of the side effects is that your hair falls out! I told her that there might be medicines with
worse
side effects, like making your nose fall off, but no one thought that was very
I told her how much Will liked his photographs, and that he was going to let me use his German camera.
"Hey, Meg?" she asked. "Do me a favor?"
"Sure." Usually I wouldn't say "sure" without knowing what the favor was; but what the heck, she'd been pretty sick.
"Would you take my picture when I get home? I want a really good one, to give Tierney for his birthday this summer."
"Molly, I'll make you look like a movie star," I told her, and she giggled before she hung up.
6.
Will Banks is learning to use the darkroom, and he's fantastic. Ben and Maria have moved into the house, and they're terrific. Molly is home, and she's being thoroughly unbearable.
Well, as they say, two out of three isn't bad.
I suppose you can't really blame Molly for being a pain. She was awfully sick; no one knows that better than I do. I don't think the sight of her lying there in all that blood will ever go out of my mind.
But apparently she got used to being the center of 74
attention in the hospital. Who wouldn't, with all those specialists around? Still, here she is at home, and supposedly wellâor why would they have discharged her from the hospital?âand she acts as if everyone should still be at her beck and call. And my parents put up with it; that's the amazing thing.
"Could I have a tuna fish sandwich?" asked Molly at lunchtime, the day after she came home. She was lying on the couch in the kitchen, in a pose like Playmate of the Month, except that she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.
"Do you want lettuce?" my mother asked her, scurrying to get the bread and mayonnaise. For pete's sake. Do you want lettuce. Two months ago she would have said, "Make it yourself, madam." That's what she would
still
say, to me.
And after all that, Molly didn't even eat the sandwich. She came to the table, ate two bites, and then drifted back to the couch and said she wasn't hungry after all.
"Are you sure you're feeling all right, dear?" asked Mom.
"Quit bugging me, will you?" said Molly, and she stormed off to our room, slammed the door (which fell open again; Molly will never learn that the door to our room is totally useless in a tantrum) and took a nap for the rest of the afternoon.
Molly never used to be like that.
I
used to be like that, sometimes, and I hated myself when I was. Now Molly is that way, and I find myself hating her, or at least hating what has happened to her to make her different.
My parents don't say a word. That's different, too. In the past, when one of us was grouchy, my mother always said and did things that were both understanding and funny, so that we would start to laugh and whatever was making us irritable would just disappear in a comfortable way. Or Dad would be very stern. He says he doesn't have time to waste on rudeness. "Shape up," he would say. And we would shape up, because he didn't leave any choice.
But now Mom doesn't chuckle and tease when Molly is awful. Dad doesn't lay down the law. Instead, Mom gets worried and confused, which makes things worse. Dad gets tense and silent and goes off to his study without saying anything. It's as if an upsetting stranger has moved in with us, and no one knows what to do about it.
Part of why Molly is being so obnoxious, I think, is because she doesn't look very good, and it was always so important to Molly to look pretty. But she lost weight while she was in the hospital (because the food was so dreadful, she says), so that now her face is thinner than it used to be. And more pale. The paleness, I guess, is because she had to have the
blood transfusions, and it probably takes the red blood cells a while to build up again.
Worst of all, for Molly, her hair is falling out. That's because of the pills she has to take, my parents said. One of the side effects is that your hair falls out! I told her that there might be medicines with
worse
side effects, like making your nose fall off, but no one thought that was very
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