Read Online Dale Loves Sophie to Death by Robb Forman Dew - Free Book Online
Authors: Robb Forman Dew
Ads: Link
“he just has so much to say! If he could only make himself clear. I’ve told him to slow down and
think
before he talks. Oh, I dote on him, really.” She meant it; Dinah thought that Toby was her mother’s favorite grandchild. “But he won’t listen to a thing I say to him, of course. He’s a child who wants to be seen
and
heard!”
Pam looked down into her lap and turned her glass in her hands. Dinah said quietly, “Oh, he’ll be fine, Mother. All children get growing pains of one kind or another. Not to worry.” She didn’t know how to talk to Polly and explain to her that she was worried about Toby. That he was lonely this year, and not playing with the local children as he used to. Toby made a desperate issue out of the smallest incident; he wanted constant attention, and he was sometimes so sad. She didn’t know how to explain to her mother because she herself had heard Polly say to Toby, “Now just
calm
yourself, Toby, before you try to talk. Just take your time.” So Toby didn’t follow hopefully in his grandmother’s wake as he once had.
Dinah had finally understood after a very long time that her mother’s ease at passing judgment was in direct proportion to her absolute lack of spontaneous or natural compassion. Her mother meant to be compassionate and could be very sorry for the masses in the abstract, but she was never touched with immediate empathy for the mundane miseries of humankind. Her innocent mercilessness in its mildest form amounted to no more than simple tactlessness. Polly was an honest woman who believed in her own good intentions. That was all Dinah had been able to determine about her, and she often sat there in the afternoons expecting her mother to reveal herself in some new way, so that Dinah could catch hold of it.
When Buddy and Dinah were children they had often played with the Brooks children, Alan, Lawrence, and Isobel, who had for a while been Buddy’s wife. They had played in this same twilight among the trees and flowering bushes while Polly sat in a chair on the lawn with her drink, just waiting for their father to come home from work. For Polly’s two children, as they bobbed around her chair, these moments were as close to true conversation with their mother as they ever came.
Sometimes Polly would reminisce and offer out little pieces of her past. One evening when Dinah was almost ten, Polly had begun to talk about her own days away from home, when she was at college.
“Well, I was down at a dance at Princeton,” she had said, “I don’t remember who I was with, but I had on a beautiful dress—it was a black dress with a halter neck and one of those wide skirts, cut on the bias. I had bought it in New York just for that party. And I was very pretty, you know, but not at all glamorous or especially chic. While I was dancing with some boy there was a great stir. The band stopped playing in the middle of a song, and all the couples sort of fanned out around the stage to see what was happening. I thought there was going to be an announcement of some kind. But the most amazing thing! A girl was up there—she had just hopped up on the stage, I guess—and she started playing the drums! So the band played with her, too. I was awfully impressed. She had on a dark-blue dress, and she had that terrible color of red hair that’s mostly orange, really. Her face was a little like a pug dog…around the nose, somehow. But I thought she was the most attractive girl I’d ever seen! I would have given my soul to have been able to climb up on that bandstand and play the drums! She had such fun that she was a great hit, of course.”
Her mother had spoken all of a sudden that evening, prompted by who knew what impulse. But Dinah remembered what she said—all those bits and pieces of her mother’s recollections—she remembered them verbatim. The words her mother had used to frame her own memories had gone spinning out into the air like winged maple seeds, and they had
think
before he talks. Oh, I dote on him, really.” She meant it; Dinah thought that Toby was her mother’s favorite grandchild. “But he won’t listen to a thing I say to him, of course. He’s a child who wants to be seen
and
heard!”
Pam looked down into her lap and turned her glass in her hands. Dinah said quietly, “Oh, he’ll be fine, Mother. All children get growing pains of one kind or another. Not to worry.” She didn’t know how to talk to Polly and explain to her that she was worried about Toby. That he was lonely this year, and not playing with the local children as he used to. Toby made a desperate issue out of the smallest incident; he wanted constant attention, and he was sometimes so sad. She didn’t know how to explain to her mother because she herself had heard Polly say to Toby, “Now just
calm
yourself, Toby, before you try to talk. Just take your time.” So Toby didn’t follow hopefully in his grandmother’s wake as he once had.
Dinah had finally understood after a very long time that her mother’s ease at passing judgment was in direct proportion to her absolute lack of spontaneous or natural compassion. Her mother meant to be compassionate and could be very sorry for the masses in the abstract, but she was never touched with immediate empathy for the mundane miseries of humankind. Her innocent mercilessness in its mildest form amounted to no more than simple tactlessness. Polly was an honest woman who believed in her own good intentions. That was all Dinah had been able to determine about her, and she often sat there in the afternoons expecting her mother to reveal herself in some new way, so that Dinah could catch hold of it.
When Buddy and Dinah were children they had often played with the Brooks children, Alan, Lawrence, and Isobel, who had for a while been Buddy’s wife. They had played in this same twilight among the trees and flowering bushes while Polly sat in a chair on the lawn with her drink, just waiting for their father to come home from work. For Polly’s two children, as they bobbed around her chair, these moments were as close to true conversation with their mother as they ever came.
Sometimes Polly would reminisce and offer out little pieces of her past. One evening when Dinah was almost ten, Polly had begun to talk about her own days away from home, when she was at college.
“Well, I was down at a dance at Princeton,” she had said, “I don’t remember who I was with, but I had on a beautiful dress—it was a black dress with a halter neck and one of those wide skirts, cut on the bias. I had bought it in New York just for that party. And I was very pretty, you know, but not at all glamorous or especially chic. While I was dancing with some boy there was a great stir. The band stopped playing in the middle of a song, and all the couples sort of fanned out around the stage to see what was happening. I thought there was going to be an announcement of some kind. But the most amazing thing! A girl was up there—she had just hopped up on the stage, I guess—and she started playing the drums! So the band played with her, too. I was awfully impressed. She had on a dark-blue dress, and she had that terrible color of red hair that’s mostly orange, really. Her face was a little like a pug dog…around the nose, somehow. But I thought she was the most attractive girl I’d ever seen! I would have given my soul to have been able to climb up on that bandstand and play the drums! She had such fun that she was a great hit, of course.”
Her mother had spoken all of a sudden that evening, prompted by who knew what impulse. But Dinah remembered what she said—all those bits and pieces of her mother’s recollections—she remembered them verbatim. The words her mother had used to frame her own memories had gone spinning out into the air like winged maple seeds, and they had
Similar Books
