Read Online Freaky Green Eyes by Joyce Carol Oates - Free Book Online

mother anywhere near?”
    If I said yes, Dad would say quickly, “No-no, Franky. I don’t need to speak with her. Just checking, see?”
    After Dad broke the connection, I’d stand holding the receiver to my ear like a hypnotized person, waiting for a voice to return.
    Then in June, my mother’s older sister, Aunt Vicky, who was my favorite of all the Connor/Pierson relatives, began e-mailing me. Aunt Vicky had called me four or five times and I guess I’d never called her back, for some reason.
    (Maybe I didn’t want Aunt Vicky to hear something weak and frightened in my voice. She was sharp and picked up on things that even Mom didn’t.)
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Hi there Franky:
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Just checking in. I miss you. Let’s plan a winter trip. I’m thinking of Costa Rica.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Right now, I’m wondering how you and Samantha are. Give me a call tomorrow, will you? Thanks.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Love & kisses,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Aunt Vicky
    Well, I didn’t. I resented Aunt Vicky butting in.
    Wondering what Mom had told her. Wondering if there was some secret about my mother and father that Aunt Vicky knew and I didn’t.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Dear Franky,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  I’m a little concerned, you don’t answer your telephone calls & you don’t answer e-mail. Shall I drive up? This weekend?
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Love & kisses,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  You-Know-Who
    Quickly I typed out:
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Dear Aunt Vicky,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Samantha & I are fine. Things are fine here. We’re out of school till Sept.
    I stared at the computer screen for five, ten minutes. . . . Finally I added:
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Please just leave us alone, Aunt Vicky.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Love,
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Franky
    (Why was I so angry with Aunt Vicky? Actually, I loved Aunt Vicky. We got along really well together, liked the same kind of jokes, liked swimming and the outdoors. Aunt Vicky had taken me lots of places including, when I was twelve, on an unforgettable trip to the mountains of northern Mexico to observe the monarch butterfly migration. She was crazy about Samantha, too.)
    I never clicked Send, though. After a while deliberating, I clicked Delete.
    There was this puppet-girl Franky Pierson. I hoped that people were marveling how extra normaland totally sane she was.
    For instance: I helped Jenn Carpenter’s mother organize a surprise sixteenth birthday party for Jenn on June 20, which was the eve of her birthday. For weeks we made plans by telephone and e-mail. (During which time, when Mrs. Carpenter asked about my mother, I told her always cheerfully that Mom was “fine”—Mom was “working at her art.”) Twyla and I were entrusted to pretend to be dropping by the Carpenters’ to pick Jenn up for a movie, but when Jenn walked into the Carpenters’ family room, where we were waiting, there were twenty-three of Jenn’s friends plus relatives and even Jenn’s father, who’d flown home early from a business conference in Rio. When we started singing “Happy Birthday,” Jenn gaped at us wide-eyed. Her jaw literally dropped. So funny! Mrs. Carpenter was videotaping. There were balloons, there were mounds of presents. Someone put a glittery hat on Jenn’s head. We laughed and laughed. I wiped at my eyes seeing how totally surprised and happyJenn was, how people loved her and she loved them.
    The thought came to me I wish I was that young .
    â€œFrancesca? It’s me.”
    After a while it got to be that, when Mom came home, sometimes I wasn’t home. And if I was, sometimes I didn’t come out of my room to meet her. Stayed at my computer cruising the Web. Clicking onto sites that took me to distant places. (I was getting interested in