Weep for Me Read Free Page B

legitimate target for the tools she was sharpening in preparation for the heterosexual world.
    Ed and Daphne got into one of their traditional arguments at dinner, and when his face resembled a hothouse tomato, Mom stepped in and shunted the conversation over to whether Jo Anne and I would want any of Aunt Milly’s “good pieces” that were stored in the little room off the attic.
    “But, Mom!” Jo Anne cried. “All that stuff is so big and heavy. Won’t it look kind of silly in a teensy apartment? I mean, you need modern things in an apartment.”
    “You children have to be sensible,” Mom said. “With the way prices are going, you know we can’t afford to help you very much. And Kyle, your dad certainly can’t do much for you. You’ve said how you’re going to get a car for your wedding trip and all that. If you buy new furniture too, you just won’t have anything left, will you?”
    “But that old stuff is ugly!” Jo Anne said. I saw to my surprise that she was quite close to tears.
    “We can take a look at it again, baby,” I said. “You know, with some of that old stuff, if you saw off the legs a little and paint it white and antique it, you get some smart-looking things.”
    She sighed heavily. “All right.”
    “Gosh, you haven’t even got the apartment lined up yet, have you?” Daphne said with hauteur.
    “They’re going to have Hilson Gardens open for inspection a week from Saturday,” Jo Anne said. “The first unit. And the second unit will be available for renting as of August first. And Mr. Anderson has promised to reserve one in Kyle’s name until we get a chance to inspect them, smarty.”
    “Gardens they call it,” Daphne said in a superior tone. “Just a great big muddy field with brick buildings on it. I went by there on my bike last week end.”
    As Ed was telling her to be still, I glanced at Mom. Her eyes were closed and she was holding tightly to the edge of the table and her face had a gray twist to it.
    Jo Anne saw it when I did. She jumped up and went around to her mother, her arm around her shoulders. “Mom, are you all right? What’s the trouble?”
    Mom opened her eyes and gave a weak smile. Her color started to come back and her knuckles lost their ivory whiteness. “Just a little twinge. Probably my own cooking.”
    “Aren’t you losing weight, Myra?” Ed asked.
    “Very observant of you, Daddy,” Jo Anne said acidly.
    Ed’s jaw dropped. “What’s wrong with you, child?”
    “She’s sick and she’s been sick for months and she won’t admit it and she won’t see a doctor.”
    Ed straightened. “We’ll
see
if she’ll see a doctor.”
    “I’m going tomorrow, definitely,” Mom said.
    Ed and I watched a TV news program while Jo Anne helped Mom with the dishes and Daphne dug into her homework. I don’t know what it is about news programs. When you’re a little kid the American Legion has parades and when they have Fourth of July speeches they tell you how the First World War made the world safe for democracy. Way back there they were saying that war is no way to settle international disputes. Then comes World War II, and it takes a chunk out of your life and you hear a few distant shots fired in anger, and everybody says, “This time we really ended world wars.” The U.N. takes over, and then, too soon, along comes the Korea business and you sense that it bears the same relation to World War III as did the Spanish Revolution. Just a place to try out the weapons, a place to show your teeth.
    And you know, just as sure as you’re alive, that World War III is going to come along and mess up your life and maybe kill you. You think that we can win this third one too—but what about the fourth? There’s no end to them, and they are coming along faster and faster, with fewer of the good years in between them.
    The news programs make you feel like a fool when you do any long-term planning, like taking out insurance, or wondering when you’ll make chief