I am 13 again.
When I was little, and home with the flu, there used to be that one last day where I was practically recovered, but Violet didn’t bother sending me to school. She just let me enjoy being at home, pretending to be an only child.
Today is such a day. Apart from the snoring hound, it is just the two of us at home. She made me a half grapefruit and pre-cut all the little pieces. I rummaged around for other food and she hovered over me (slightly annoying) offering up suggestions. I settled on brown bread with cheese, and shared it with Jed.
When the phone rings, it is never for me. I politely answer that my mother is busy, and write down the message on the blackboard. Usually it’s a friend of Vi's friend confirming a hiking date, or lunch at the Vietnamese Restaurant. They seem slightly surprised to hear someone else answering the phone, but on the other hand, these gals in the 70’s don’t surprise too easily.
When I got dressed this morning , I just wore the same thing that I wore yesterday. I did this when I was young because I didn’t have any sense of style, or very many clothes. Now I do it because it’s easy.
In fact my beauty regime is pretty much like it was when I was 13. Which is, nothing. I use a lot more moisturizer, but I’ve cut back on mascara because I don’t have many eyelashes, and I don’t want to startle the few that I have left. Truthfully, I’ve never had great eyelashes. They're short, stiff, and boyish. I have a friend who lost her luscious long eyelashes (chemo-itis) and they grew back like mine. I’m hoping that for me, it will work in reverse and that I get eyelashes like David Cassidy.
Because it is a sick day (but not really), I don’t normally have any playmates. Luckily my friend Kathy (who lives in Ottawa) has a foot injury, so we’ve made plans to get together. She doesn’t have to stay in bed either. So we might shop, or sit by the canal looking at University boys. And once again, we knew that if we were to touch a naked University boy, it would be considered very inappropriate, and Kathy would tell everyone, and I'd write about in in my journal.
My mom offers to drive me downtown, but naturally I say that get there on my own. (It used to be a good opportunity to smoke, though I don’t do that anymore) So I change my mind, and gratefully hop into the passenger seat of the zippy blue Honda.
The world is my oyster! I have my sunglasses, a day off, a playmate and a credit card. And a mother saying, “Call me when you’d’ like to come home.”