like Sally Field. I mean Sybil."
Her mother sighed in exasperation. "Anastasia, you are
not
psychotic!"
"I have all these different personalities seething inside me! I mean really
seething,
Mom!"
Finally her mother slammed the magazine closed and tossed it onto the coffee table. "Anastasia, listen to me. You have lots of different
parts
to your personality. Everybody does. But basically you are a very nice, very bright thirteen-year-old who is experiencing normal difficulty adjusting to adolescence. Did you hear that word 'normal'?"
Anastasia glared at her.
"And part of your personality," her mother went on, "is obnoxious. Frankly, you have been obnoxious lately. And I'm tired, and I wish you would go to bed, because tomorrow's a school day."
Anastasia continued to glare at her. She didn't say anything. Steely eyes, she thought. I am looking at my mother with eyes of steel.
"You want me to be Joanne Woodward, right?" her mother asked. She was really angry now, Anastasia could tell. The steely-eyed look had done it. Sally Field had those same steely eyes when she was being Sybil. "You
want me to say wise, comforting, curative things to you?
Right?
Like Joanne Woodward?"
"Yes," said Anastasia with steely dignity. "That would be nice, I think."
"Well, let me tell you something. Joanne Woodward had a script! Someone wrote all her dialogue! And that's the whole blasted trouble with motherhood—there isn't any script!" Mrs. Krupnik was furious. "Now
go to bed!
"
Anastasia stood up with perfect posture, and tilted her nose into the air, with her glasses balanced midway down. "Good night," she said coolly. She nodded haughtily to her mother, who was becoming pretty steely-eyed herself. She left the room, carrying the volume of Freud, and headed up the stairs.
On the second floor, as she headed toward the small staircase that led to her third floor bedroom, she could hear Sam splashing in the bathtub. Through the open door of Sam's bedroom, she could see her father bending over to change Sam's sheets. She caught a glimpse of ketchup and averted her eyes quickly.
Talk about a lower-class environment, Anastasia thought. Queen Elizabeth would
hire
someone to do that.
Anastasia unlaced her hiking boots, dropped them on the floor, and flopped down on her bed. She glanced over at the goldfish bowl, where Frank Goldfish was swimming in slow, lazy circles. Frank never seemed to be emotionally disturbed. Of course, Anastasia had never kept it a secret from Frank that he had been adopted at a very young age.
She looked at the gerbil cage. Both gerbils were busy, rushing around in the shavings, pushing pieces into mounds to make nests. It sure is boring to observe gerbils, Anastasia thought.
She flipped idly through the pages of her father's book. Then she picked up the Science Project notebook, found her pencil, and began to write.
Science Project
Anastasia Krupnik
Mr. Sherman's Class
On October 13, I acquired two wonderful little gerbils, who are living in a cage in my bedroom. Their names are Romeo and Juliet, and they are very friendly. They seem to like each other a lot. Since they are living in the same cage as man and wife, I expect they will have gerbil babies. My gerbil book says that it takes twenty-five days to make gerbil babies. I think they are already mating, because they act very affectionate to each other, so I will count today as DAY ONE and then I will observe them for twenty-five days and I hope that on DAY 25 their babies will be born.
This will be my Science Project.
Day Three.
My gerbils haven't changed much. They lie in their cage and sleep a lot. They're both overweight, because they eat too much, and they resemble Sonya Isaacson's mother, at least in chubbiness.
In personality, they resemble
my
mother. They're very grouchy.
Day Three Continued.
People who have serious emotional problems sometimes have difficulty doing real good gerbil-observation because they suffer from inability to
Her mother sighed in exasperation. "Anastasia, you are
not
psychotic!"
"I have all these different personalities seething inside me! I mean really
seething,
Mom!"
Finally her mother slammed the magazine closed and tossed it onto the coffee table. "Anastasia, listen to me. You have lots of different
parts
to your personality. Everybody does. But basically you are a very nice, very bright thirteen-year-old who is experiencing normal difficulty adjusting to adolescence. Did you hear that word 'normal'?"
Anastasia glared at her.
"And part of your personality," her mother went on, "is obnoxious. Frankly, you have been obnoxious lately. And I'm tired, and I wish you would go to bed, because tomorrow's a school day."
Anastasia continued to glare at her. She didn't say anything. Steely eyes, she thought. I am looking at my mother with eyes of steel.
"You want me to be Joanne Woodward, right?" her mother asked. She was really angry now, Anastasia could tell. The steely-eyed look had done it. Sally Field had those same steely eyes when she was being Sybil. "You
want me to say wise, comforting, curative things to you?
Right?
Like Joanne Woodward?"
"Yes," said Anastasia with steely dignity. "That would be nice, I think."
"Well, let me tell you something. Joanne Woodward had a script! Someone wrote all her dialogue! And that's the whole blasted trouble with motherhood—there isn't any script!" Mrs. Krupnik was furious. "Now
go to bed!
"
Anastasia stood up with perfect posture, and tilted her nose into the air, with her glasses balanced midway down. "Good night," she said coolly. She nodded haughtily to her mother, who was becoming pretty steely-eyed herself. She left the room, carrying the volume of Freud, and headed up the stairs.
On the second floor, as she headed toward the small staircase that led to her third floor bedroom, she could hear Sam splashing in the bathtub. Through the open door of Sam's bedroom, she could see her father bending over to change Sam's sheets. She caught a glimpse of ketchup and averted her eyes quickly.
Talk about a lower-class environment, Anastasia thought. Queen Elizabeth would
hire
someone to do that.
Anastasia unlaced her hiking boots, dropped them on the floor, and flopped down on her bed. She glanced over at the goldfish bowl, where Frank Goldfish was swimming in slow, lazy circles. Frank never seemed to be emotionally disturbed. Of course, Anastasia had never kept it a secret from Frank that he had been adopted at a very young age.
She looked at the gerbil cage. Both gerbils were busy, rushing around in the shavings, pushing pieces into mounds to make nests. It sure is boring to observe gerbils, Anastasia thought.
She flipped idly through the pages of her father's book. Then she picked up the Science Project notebook, found her pencil, and began to write.
Science Project
Anastasia Krupnik
Mr. Sherman's Class
On October 13, I acquired two wonderful little gerbils, who are living in a cage in my bedroom. Their names are Romeo and Juliet, and they are very friendly. They seem to like each other a lot. Since they are living in the same cage as man and wife, I expect they will have gerbil babies. My gerbil book says that it takes twenty-five days to make gerbil babies. I think they are already mating, because they act very affectionate to each other, so I will count today as DAY ONE and then I will observe them for twenty-five days and I hope that on DAY 25 their babies will be born.
This will be my Science Project.
Day Three.
My gerbils haven't changed much. They lie in their cage and sleep a lot. They're both overweight, because they eat too much, and they resemble Sonya Isaacson's mother, at least in chubbiness.
In personality, they resemble
my
mother. They're very grouchy.
Day Three Continued.
People who have serious emotional problems sometimes have difficulty doing real good gerbil-observation because they suffer from inability to
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