Their
Sunday morning pancake breakfast erupts with an adjunct to the previous
evening’s argument:
Sister:
She could have told you. Why didn’t she leave a note?
ache1
before she became ache1: She… has a name.
Mother
(both hands raised): Girls! Quiet!
and
then addressing her eldest daughter
Mother:
It is not your sister’s responsibility to alert us to your
whereabouts. This is something you have to accept responsibility for.
Didn’t we go over all this last night? Is there any point to
Sister:
But she
Mother:
Is there any point to bringing this up again, other than some pathetic
attempt to incriminate your sister?
A
pause, following which the older girl changes tack.
Sister:
Is she wearing a bra now?
ache1
before she became ache1: MUM!
A
degree of order is eventually established at the table, but it takes both girls
the morning’s remnant to gradually patch things up between themselves to the
point of talking. With the subject now irreversibly manifest, the younger of
the two is eager to resolve those aspects of her impending adolescence as have
continued to cause concern, but about which she simply cannot bring herself to
confront her mother. So, still bristling a little at the blame apportioned her
for the older girl’s unexplained absence the night before and the resultant
grounding, she pesters her sister for answers.
ache1
before she became ache1: But how, how do you know when they’ll stop
growing?
Sister
(mocking her sister’s vulnerability and ignorance): Well… maybe they won’t. And
what sort of guy do you think is going to want you if you’re a woman who has
enormous great tits, still sucks her thumb, and still carries an
E.T. doll everywhere?
slapping
the doll across the back of its head as she speaks and knocking it face down
onto the bed covers.
ache1
before she became ache1 (defiantly): My sort of guy.
Sister:
Oh God you’re going to be insufferable when your monthly purge starts.
Later
still, and with their habitual equilibrium re-established, comes this voluntary
offer of solace:
Sister:
Okay, but look at Mum. She’s not that big, is she? So…
ache1
before she became ache1: So?
Sister:
So maybe we’ll be the same.
ache1
before she became ache1: Is that how it works though, do you think?
Sister:
God Linus I have no idea.
and
then smiling
Sister:
Let’s hope so, eh? I mean, it’s, I’d say it’s probably odds-on we won’t be
freaks.
ache1
before she became ache1: But say we were though. Say we did…
If you had to choose, like if it was absolutely, if there wasn’t any other
choice, would you rather be too big, or too small?
The
gleam of comfort has faded by bedtime. She lies awake worrying at a resolution
to this vision of herself as a grown woman judged undesirable by the continued
inability to discard those traits of childhood peculiar to her, conjuring too
those problems attendant.
Back
downstairs with thirst as her pretext and waiting for the water to run cold
from the kitchen tap, she is instinctively drawn to the tall cupboard near the
back door, hunting that from which she knows her mouth would recoil even in depth
of sleep.
It
is the triangular green bottle of her father’s whisky as prompts the exact
requisite memory:
Father (extending toward her his
unsteady glass): Take a dram go on.
the
antlered stag proud upon the label with something of Christmas or New Year
filling out the vignette edge, and her sense again instinctively repulsed.
She
removes the dark half-full bottle to the sink where, having first unscrewed the
cap, she inserts her right thumb deep into its neck, lifting the bottle’s
awkward weight up with her other hand to soak her skin with the undrinkable
liquid.
Climbing
the stairs and on into bed until she finally does fall asleep, she cannot help
but take tentative sniffs at the thumb’s taint, returning shortly after each to
recoil again from that high fume pungent upon her flesh.
The
next morning she is already showered before remembering to ascertain the
experiment’s success, or failure. Shaking her head she laughs quietly at
herself, and in such submits to whatever mature destiny is set aside under her
name.
