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Chapter 10 - Kelsey Point
- University of Massachusetts Press
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60 H u n g ry H i l l to tell the little kids first and Danny last, or Danny will jump right in and latch on to the trip news for his own. I don’t mind Gerry’s telling because twice now turning the corner from Thornfell Street, I’ve glanced up and seen him standing behind the plaid café curtain in the upstairs window just staring. He disappeared when I waved to him. He was looking down at Lynwood Terrace as if he were waiting for my mother to come back from the hairdresser, returning home a little taller and a little more relaxed as the afternoon sunlight caressed her wavy hair. There is a tight, cottony feeling spreading in my throat, and when I am where no one can see me I let the tears come. = 10. Kelsey Point It has rained here for three out of four days, and although Mrs. Metzger is in no way to blame for the weather, in my head I blame her. I’m almost ready to pray for sun and apologize to God for my complaints about rocky beaches. Rocks are fine, God, I prefer sand, but rocks will do. All part of Your creation. I am sick of Gin Rummy, Crazy Eights, War, Fish, and watching the rain. At least there is basic arithmetic involved in Twenty-one or Blackjack, with Danny always pushing for the dealer’s advantage. The little kids play Slapjack until one of them cries. Gerry likes to make up a rule now and then and see if he can slip it by us. “The three of hearts is a wild card,” he’ll say with a straight face. Danny and I will smirk and Michael will rub his eyes, studying the three of hearts for an answer. “Everyone knows the three of hearts is a wild card. How come you didn’t know that?” Danny or I will confront him until he pulls back. “You never know. I just thought I’d try it. Sometimes it works.” He’ll shrug, smile, and pick up the newly tamed three of hearts. Mrs. Metzger summons me from the hallway interrupting a game of Gin Rummy in which I am just one queen away from winning. “I’ll be right back,” I say. “No, Carole, I think they better finish the game without you. I’ll need you for awhile,” Mrs. Metzger says. Since I’m more than ready to leave A Memoir 61 the card game, I feel only curiosity and follow her into the cottage’s small bathroom. Why the bathroom? Since there is no area of housekeeping Mrs. Metzger has not mastered, I wonder what holes in my domestic education she will fill on this rainy morning. Last summer she taught me to sew, and I have the dresses and skirts to prove it. Only the corduroy skirt with its nap was a disaster. “Carole, as you know, your mother was too sick to toilet-train Tommy.” Mrs. Metzger’s explaining, but is she blaming too? My mind races as I wait for her to continue. “But it is time, and I’m going to help you with toilet-training your brother,” she says, pointing to a potty seat. Amused, she smiles and I do, too. The thought leaps to my mind that I never saw my mother toilet-training my brothers in a formal, rule-following way and that, of all of them, only two-year-old Tommy is still in diapers. Bored with cards, I can’t really say no to Mrs. Metzger, but I’m feeling ridiculous and inept. Sensing my helplessness, Mrs. Metzger zings me with, “I discussed it with your father, and we thought it would be a good idea for me to start you off with the training.” Well, if my father thinks so. He’s golfing in Florida and I’m about to undergo a regimen of toilet-training lessons on a rainy Connecticut beach morning. “Isn’t Tommy too short to reach the toilet?” This question of mine really means, Do we have to do this? Couldn’t we wait until he’s taller? Tommy turned two on March 8th —how about waiting until he’s two and a half? I lean over and tear off a sheet of toilet paper and crumple it up in my hand, pleased by how easily I can alter its shape with my fist. The bathroom is small...