medicine.
It's sily to hold on to the past, but we al do it. I was
almost ten the first year I'd been invited to Stela's birthday
party. The paint had been barely dry in their new house.
Gretchen and Steven were living one week with their
mother and one week with my dad and Stela. I, of course,
mother and one week with my dad and Stela. I, of course,
lived ful-time with my mom and saw my dad on an
occasional weekend or holiday, a practice he'd only
started after leaving his first wife.
I'd picked out Stela's present myself that year, using my
alowance to pay for it. I'd bought her a silky red tank top
with a lacy hem. It was the sort of shirt my mom would've
loved and wore often, and she said nothing when she
helped me fold it and wrap it in some pretty paper that had
come free in the mail to solicit money for a charity.
I'd been so proud of that present. I'd been sure Stela,
who wasn't nearly as pretty as my mom but who tried
hard, anyway, would open it and put it on right away.
Then she'd smile at me, and my dad would smile at me,
and we'd al be happy.
Instead, she'd opened the box and puled out the shirt. Her
gaze had gone immediately to my father's, but men don't
know anything about fashion beyond what they like and
what they don't. She didn't put it on. She fingered the red
satiny fabric and peeked at the label, her eyes going a little
wider at what she saw. Then she put the shirt back in the
box with a thank-you even a nine-year-old could tel was
forced. I never saw her wear it, but I did find it in the
forced. I never saw her wear it, but I did find it in the
garage a few years later, in the box of rags my dad used
for cleaning his cars.
I wasn't nine years old any longer. I wasn't even a teen in
too-thick eyeliner and a too-short skirt. I'd learned how to
dress and how to speak, but part of me would always be
my mother's daughter, at least in Stela's eyes.
"Oh, Paige, what a thoughtful gift." Stela lifted out the box of paper and opened it to pul out the pen. She wiggled it
so the tiny tassel danced. "Very pretty. Thank you."
I let out a long, silent sigh. "You're welcome."
"Where do you find such pretty things?" Stela continued.
She turned to face her audience. "Paige always finds the
prettiest things."
That was it. Bels didn't ring, little birdies didn't fly around
on rainbow glitter wings. She'd said thank-you, and I
thought she meant it. That was al.
I stil managed to slip away before the party was over. My
dad caught me at the door. He insisted on hugging me.
"Thanks for coming." I'm sure he meant it, too.
"Thanks for coming." I'm sure he meant it, too.
I doubt there's anyone who does not have a complicated
relationship with his or her parents, so I'm not saying I'm
special or anything. Considering the circumstances of my
birth, I'm lucky to have any sort of relationship with my
dad. For the most part, at least, it's an honest relationship.
Except of course when honesty is too painful.
"Of course I'd come," I told him. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Of course you would," my dad said. "Wel, I'm glad you did. How's the new place?"
"It's great." With his arm stil around me, I wanted to
squirm away. "It's a very nice place."
"And the new job?"
The job I'd had for almost six months didn't feel so new
anymore. "It's great, too. I like my boss a lot."
"Good. You're up on Union Deposit Road, right?"
"Progress," I told him. "Just off Progress."
"Oh, right. Wel, hey, maybe I should swing by some day
"Oh, right. Wel, hey, maybe I should swing by some day
and take you to lunch at the Cracker Barrel, what do you
say?"
"Sure, Dad." I smiled, not expecting him to ever folow
through. "Just cal me."
He kissed my cheek and hugged me again, making a show
of making me his daughter. It was nice, in that way we
both knew was shalow but served its purpose.
The moment I got in my car and the door to the house
shut, my every muscle relaxed. I blew out another series of
long, slow breaths and lifted my arms to let my pits air out.
I'd be sore tomorrow in places I hadn't realized I'd
clenched. I was already getting a headache. I'd made it
through another big family event without anything going
wrong.
Chapter 08
Some consider the body a temple. As such, it must be
cared for appropriately so it may be used in the manner for
which it was meant.
Beginning tomorrow, you wil eat oatmeal for breakfast.
Sweeten it however you like.
Today, you wil consume three fewer cups of coffee,
replacing them with water.
Today, you wil extend your regular workout by fifteen
minutes.
Today, you will focus a conscious effort on your
cigarette smoking. You may smoke one cigarette only
once every two hours. You will do nothing else while
you smoke it. You will concentrate on my instructions.
You will think of the word discipline each and every
time you light up.
Finaly, you wil record your efforts in your journal and
describe your thoughts and feelings in detail, particularly
your thoughts on what "discipline" means to you.
your thoughts on what "discipline" means to you.
"Do this in memory of me, and go in peace to love and
serve the Lord," I murmured, mocking. "Wow."
The second note had been nestled amongst a scant handful
of bils and charity requests, and it had slipped into my
hand as though it had been written just for me. I hadn't
meant to open it, but something about the smooth, sleek
paper and lack of glue on the flap had been too tempting
to pass up. Hey, it had been delivered to me, hadn't it?
Even though the number on the front stil said 114, not
414, and even though I knew better, I'd read it anyway.
I stil had no clue what the hel it was, or meant. I turned it
over and over in my hands, then read it again. I closed the
card and stared at it, but I couldn't decipher its meaning.
Unless it had none. Maybe it was some sort of crazy new
diet or self-help plan. I'd heard of a new plan that hooked
members up with mentors. Sort of like a 12-step program
for food addicts, it was supposed to help to have a buddy.
It was the only scenario I came up with, but it didn't feel
right.
I lifted the card again, looking closer for clues. I caressed
the paper. It had the same rough edge, like someone had
the paper. It had the same rough edge, like someone had
cut one large sheet of paper into smaler sizes. No
signature, and delivered twice in a row to the wrong
person. Some buddy.
I kept the card safely in my hand. My fingers curved
around it and my thumb caressed the thick paper. I looked
at it again, the single sentence.
Discipline?
I stil didn't get it. I tucked the card back into its envelope,
restraining myself from sniffing the ink. I wasn't the only
person standing at the mailboxes, and I didn't want to
attract that sort of attention. I found the mailbox for 114
and studied it, too. The brass numbers were stylishly
weathered but not worn. There wasn't realy any mistaking
a one for a four or vice versa, even if the number on the
card itself were smudged.
"Excuse me." The woman next to me gave me a smile
meant to look apologetic but only looked annoyed. "I need
to get to my box."
"Oh. Sorry." I folded closed the note and tucked it quickly into the slot for 114, wondering if by some luck it