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Authors: Ann Packer
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this party!”
“Me, too.”
Off in the distance, a dog began to bark. It was the six o’clock bark—the bark of their neighbor Mr. Pope arriving home from work. The Popes’ dog alerted the neighborhood to every move his owners made, and on days when there was no barking it was assumed that the Popes were all home sick.
“It’s starting right now,” Rebecca said. “And we’re filthy.”
They climbed to the top of the driveway, where there was already an unfamiliar car parked behind the Valiant, and circled the house to the laundry room. Rebecca turned on the water in the soaking sink. “Here,” she said, reaching into a basket of towels and holding a washcloth under the stream. She found a bar of soap, rough and harsh-smelling, and rubbed it against the cloth until it was soapy.
Robert took off his shirt and washed his face, his chest, his arms. He got out of his shorts and underpants, turned around for modesty, and washed his privates and then his legs. “How am I going to do my feet?” he said, and she looked around, uncertain.
“Climb up here,” she said, patting the washing machine, and she had him sit with his feet dangling in the sink and washed them for him, which reminded her of something, maybe a book.
“What about you?” he said. “You’re dirty, too.”
She unzipped her dress and took her turn. When she was done with her body, she turned the water hotter and stuck her head under the faucet. She sloshed water through her hair and used the bar to soap it up. After she dried off she looked at her dress long enough to determine that she couldn’t put it back on.
They heard party noises through the closed laundry room door.
“I know,” she said, and she opened a cabinet and found a box marked “Too small.” With younger brothers, Robert’s clothes never made it into this box, but some of Rebecca’s clothes could pass for something a boy would wear, and, giggling a little, they both pulled on checked shorts so tight they looked like underwear and T-shirts that exposed their belly buttons.
She held her finger to her lips and reached for the doorknob.
“You should see your hair,” he said.
She didn’t care. If satisfied was the best you could feel about how you looked, then dissatisfied was the worst, not nearly as bad as upset or embarrassed. She had squeezed as much water from her hair as she could, but already the shoulders of her shirt were soaked through, and she knew there’d be a huge wet spot on her back.
She opened the door. The party voices swelled, and she gave Robert a shrug.
He followed her up the hall. They’d decided he should wait until tomorrow to tell their father about the watch, and his stomachache had changed from the knife-stab type to the empty type. He was hungry, and he realized he’d never had lunch.
Standing in the living room were a dozen adults: holding drinks, talking, and laughing, already seeming to fill the space despite the fact that eventually there would be several dozen more of them crowding the room and spilling onto the patio. Their mother was there, too, wearing a black dress and black high heels, her hair in atwist on top of her head. For decoration, she had added a fake red rose. “Kids!” she called. “It’s the party! Come say hello! You can help me entertain!”
They recognized her elation and kept going, both of them aware that they were disappointing her. In the kitchen Robert pulled the plastic off a tray of cheese logs and stuffed three into his mouth. Rebecca poured them each a glass of juice and said, “What do you think happened to Ryan and James?”
Robert went to the sliding door. Outside, their father sat on the grass with the two younger boys, cradling James on his lap while Ryan leaned against him and rested his hand on his leg. Their father was in the clothes he’d worn all day, though his tie was missing and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. He looked up at Robert and Rebecca and smiled. “There you
“Me, too.”
Off in the distance, a dog began to bark. It was the six o’clock bark—the bark of their neighbor Mr. Pope arriving home from work. The Popes’ dog alerted the neighborhood to every move his owners made, and on days when there was no barking it was assumed that the Popes were all home sick.
“It’s starting right now,” Rebecca said. “And we’re filthy.”
They climbed to the top of the driveway, where there was already an unfamiliar car parked behind the Valiant, and circled the house to the laundry room. Rebecca turned on the water in the soaking sink. “Here,” she said, reaching into a basket of towels and holding a washcloth under the stream. She found a bar of soap, rough and harsh-smelling, and rubbed it against the cloth until it was soapy.
Robert took off his shirt and washed his face, his chest, his arms. He got out of his shorts and underpants, turned around for modesty, and washed his privates and then his legs. “How am I going to do my feet?” he said, and she looked around, uncertain.
“Climb up here,” she said, patting the washing machine, and she had him sit with his feet dangling in the sink and washed them for him, which reminded her of something, maybe a book.
“What about you?” he said. “You’re dirty, too.”
She unzipped her dress and took her turn. When she was done with her body, she turned the water hotter and stuck her head under the faucet. She sloshed water through her hair and used the bar to soap it up. After she dried off she looked at her dress long enough to determine that she couldn’t put it back on.
They heard party noises through the closed laundry room door.
“I know,” she said, and she opened a cabinet and found a box marked “Too small.” With younger brothers, Robert’s clothes never made it into this box, but some of Rebecca’s clothes could pass for something a boy would wear, and, giggling a little, they both pulled on checked shorts so tight they looked like underwear and T-shirts that exposed their belly buttons.
She held her finger to her lips and reached for the doorknob.
“You should see your hair,” he said.
She didn’t care. If satisfied was the best you could feel about how you looked, then dissatisfied was the worst, not nearly as bad as upset or embarrassed. She had squeezed as much water from her hair as she could, but already the shoulders of her shirt were soaked through, and she knew there’d be a huge wet spot on her back.
She opened the door. The party voices swelled, and she gave Robert a shrug.
He followed her up the hall. They’d decided he should wait until tomorrow to tell their father about the watch, and his stomachache had changed from the knife-stab type to the empty type. He was hungry, and he realized he’d never had lunch.
Standing in the living room were a dozen adults: holding drinks, talking, and laughing, already seeming to fill the space despite the fact that eventually there would be several dozen more of them crowding the room and spilling onto the patio. Their mother was there, too, wearing a black dress and black high heels, her hair in atwist on top of her head. For decoration, she had added a fake red rose. “Kids!” she called. “It’s the party! Come say hello! You can help me entertain!”
They recognized her elation and kept going, both of them aware that they were disappointing her. In the kitchen Robert pulled the plastic off a tray of cheese logs and stuffed three into his mouth. Rebecca poured them each a glass of juice and said, “What do you think happened to Ryan and James?”
Robert went to the sliding door. Outside, their father sat on the grass with the two younger boys, cradling James on his lap while Ryan leaned against him and rested his hand on his leg. Their father was in the clothes he’d worn all day, though his tie was missing and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. He looked up at Robert and Rebecca and smiled. “There you
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