Following My Toes Read Online Free PDF Page A

worried if you stay down in Duluth with no plan or routine for the entire summer, you’ll grow even more depressed than you already are. You need something to get your mind off things.”
    “I know what you’re saying, Mom. I’m just not sure what it is I want to do.” It wasn’t like I hadn’t enjoyed working for my parents in past summers, and they were quite generous when it came to salary. Maybe that was it. I never felt right about letting them pay me at all, especially when they had already given me so much. But if I was going to work, I wanted to get paid. Better to go work for total strangers where guilt is not an issue. However, I couldn’t say that to my mom. “Can I think about it? Let you know later?”
    My father swallowed too quickly and let out a cough. “Faith, we need to know what your plans are, because if you aren’t going to be working for us, we’ll need to hire someone. Now I know the last couple of months have been hard on you, but you can’t use that as an excuse for acting like a wet rag. Enough is enough.”
    How exactly do wet rags act? My father loves that term, and since he always uses it to imply something bad, being compared to one must be unfavorable. However, in my opinion, a wet rag is far more efficient than a dry one. And what’s the point of being a rag if you’re not going to be useful?
    “What about Margaret? Why can’t she work for you?” I said, trying to pass the buck.
    My parents both laughed, as if my words were as witty and acerbic as the Seinfeld reruns they watch every night at 5:30, right before dinner. “You know Margaret,” my mother said. “She claims she’s way too busy.”
    This let her off the hook? I suffered an emotional crisis and felt the need for some down time, and my parents basically told me to stop whining and go to work. Margaret claimed to be busy (which she never really was), and my parents laughed it off, finding it cute and endearing. Oh, to be the younger child.
    “Where is she, anyway? I thought she was only going to be a few minutes late.” Apparently Margaret had called, claiming some last minute crisis had come up, where she had to lend her car so her best friend could pick up her aunt at the bus station, or something like that. With Margaret you never knew. But then, as if on cue, she walked right in.
    “Hi! I’m sorry I’m late,” she said breathlessly, as she went to give both my mom and my dad a hug. “Wow, that smells really good. Is there a version of it for me?”
    “Of course,” replied my mom. “There’s some with eggplant on the stove.” Margaret is a vegetarian. She went to grab some food, and then sat down at her place at the table. “Hey Faith,” she said, finally acknowledging me. “How’s it going?”
    “Fine,” I said. “You know, you could always get a ride up here with me. That way you wouldn’t be late. And it would be more environ-mentally conscious, because we would be burning less fossil fuel.”
    “That would be great,” she said in reply, ignoring my ironic tone. “But Tuesday nights I volunteer to pick up garbage at Split Rock State Park . I always go there straight after here. So it wouldn’t work, unless you would want to volunteer with me.”
    “Oh Faith, maybe you should.” That was my mom. “Maybe you’d meet some interesting people, make some new friends.”
    “I don’t think so, Mom. I would be getting home awfully late. I like to be home and in bed by ten.”
    “Yeah Mom, don’t forget. Faith needs her beauty sleep.”
    “I have to be up at 5:30, Margaret. We don’t all have jobs where we get to work at three in the afternoon.” Margaret worked for Green Peace, going door to door canvassing for money. She must have been good at it, because she was always winning these awards for the most donations in any given month. The job had light hours, and she had a lot of time on her hands. So she volunteered at State Parks and the Duluth Aquarium, and she had adopted this