Swimming Read Online Free PDF Page B

underneath like a mongoose in the middle of a highway, her lips still chalkless. I didn’t care where her skirt was but I wished she’d put it on. It was the same scene every year, snow falling in tufts, ground covered in ice, Mother half-dressed: in skirt but no top, in sturdy bra and jacket but no pants, wandering the house, hair done, face on, my father waiting in his study, stars glinting a million light-years away, other families already settling into the wooden pews, organ humming in the background, human breath mingling with Christmas perfume and incense.
    When we arrive, we open the heavy door carefully and lurk, scanning the pews for space. The Schippers are usually later than us, but tonight I spot them sitting in the last pew with side parts so deep they reveal an entire ear. The pews behind the nuns are the only ones still open. Father Tod is mumbling at the pulpit, chalice in both hands. Jesus hasn’t descended yet, is still up there, deciding. We’re going to have to walk up the central aisle. Leonard sets his chin, whispers: Come on .
    I’ve grown three inches, am now almost as tall as my father, and am having the first real lousy year of my life. My period won’t come no matter what I do. I pray to it, earnestly, say: I’m ready . I check my underwear every chance I get. My heart sinks at the soft, perfectly white rectangle of little girl it reveals. The girls at school are bleeding together and everybody’s talking about it. I don’t know I’ve decided to sin until I pull my mother aside in the kitchen and sin: I got it . She goes into her bathroom and pulls out a maxi pad she hands to me with a short weep. Bron looks at me pointedly when I tell her; she knows something’s not right, isn’t in the mood to figure out what. When I tell Lilly Cocoplat, she looks at me and says: Told you it sucks. I can’t believe you were worried . And I look at her and sin again: It super sucks. It’s like lousy . I know it’s just a question of time, carefully tape a maxi pad into my underwear.
    I’m wearing one as I slide in next to Dot. It sits between my legs like a torpedo, absorbing the dry warmth of my body. I bow my head, pretending to pray for good universal things. When it’s time for the sign of peace, the nuns turn, chins supported by dress cowls, clasp my hand with their warm hand bones, grant me peace. I’ve known them my entire life.
    The granting of the peace always brings out the drama in my mother. This year she has decided that peace shall be welcomed with a thumping nervous breakdown. She’s crying so hard she’s wrestling with herself, and Leonard has to hold on to her so she won’t fall into the nuns. Bron is not pleased; her face is tight and she’s holding her back as hard and as straight as a board. Trouble. I grit my teeth, calculating escape; we’ll sing soon, then the buffet with hot tea, cider, coffee, juice, and two hundred varieties of cake. I find Lilly Cocoplat lodged between her beanpole parents. She puts her middle finger up her nose and coughs twice. I have a hard time controlling myself; wimples rustle; my mother recovers enough to pinch me with nails she’s filed into fangs. Life is delicately balanced.
    At the buffet, Leonard is quickly surrounded by nun. Sister Atrocious is talking to him a mile a minute, a piece of half-eaten strudel sitting in her palm. Nestor is nodding vehemently here, then there, chewing on something I can’t identify, but there’s a field of pink crumbs lying on the ledge of her chest. I watch their mouths move, sure that serious information is being exchanged. I send the Cocoplat over to investigate; she comes back with a plate full of apple crumble, a slice of angel food cake, a handful of foil-wrapped chocolate, a glass of something red: Nothing .
    What’s that pink stuff Nestor’s eating?
    I looked for it. There’s none left .
    Bron’s standing at the bay windows, half hidden by the sacred tree, every inch covered in tinfoiled angel.