Maj is finally feeling better this morning.
Well enough that she would like to have her say here on Pretty All True.
Kallan got to talk. It’s only fair.
We sit down on my bed, upstairs. Through the window, we can see the cherry tree. Its fruit is growing ripe, but from the ground? The fruit is impossible to reach.
How do you think we’re going to pick those cherries?
I don’t know. Daddy said he might cut off the branches, but that’s stupid. Then the tree will die and it won’t have any fruit next year. By the way? When did Daddy trim that little tree in the middle of the back yard?
He did that yesterday while you were sleeping.
You shouldn’t let him trim anything. I liked the tree the way it was. Why did you let him do that?
It’s hard to stop Daddy when he gets going with the trimmer. One time? A long time ago . . . I asked him to trim a tree that was blocking the view of a stop sign in front of our house. And guess what? He took it down to the stump.
Yes, that sounds about right. You should take Daddy’s trimming tools away.
What’s that big C-shaped scab you’ve got there on your leg?
What, this? This is where that man toe-stabbed me at the water park last week. Remember? I told you about that. It is disgusting, because you can see the shape of his toe in my leg. Probably he made me sick, with his disgusting toe germs. By the way? I am never going to an indoor water park again. Never. I am pretty sure that’s where I got sick.
Moving on . . . you want to tell me some best things? Like . . . What’s the best thing about Daddy?
Why do I have to do best things? Kallan got to say her worst things.
OK, fine . . . What’s the worst thing about Daddy?
That he chops down greenery in the back yard without asking me what I think.
What’s the worst thing about me?
That you are short. You are too short, and you are the reason I am too short.
Ok, but babe? It’s not like I am circus short.
Well, maybe not circus short, but pretty short. Newsflash, Mom! If 10 year olds are taller than you are? You are pretty short.
Fine. What’s the best thing about Kallan?
Nope. Kallan did another worst thing for me. She acted like she was going to say something nice about me, but she did not. I want to say the worst thing about Kallan.
Fine. Go ahead.
The worst thing about Kallan is that she is mean and bossy and aggressive, and when I fight with her? She always wins. But I am older, and so that’s not right. She never backs down, Mom. And she is all fierce. Sigh.
Anything else you want to share?
Yes, Daddy took Jack to get groomed and I don’t like how he looks now. He was all cute and fluffy like a teddy bear, and now he looks like a mean little goat. I don’t like him this way.
He looks fantastic! And his big hairdo? Was always getting caught up with burs and seeds and sticks. He was like a big Velcro ball of fur, rolling around the back yard picking up crap. This is way better.
It’s not better. He looks like a mean bossy miniature goat. You should post pictures and see what people think. I bet they would agree with me. You shouldn’t have gotten him groomed. I liked him the way he was.
Hmmmm . . . what else can I ask you? Oh, I know! Who is a better cook, Mom or Dad?
Wait! Do you mean who cooks more and who follows more recipes? Because that’s Daddy. If you mean whose food do I like to eat more? That’s yours. Daddy makes food that is too complicated and that only he will like. Kidney beans in spaghetti? That’s just gross. You make stuff like French toast. When can we have French toast again for dinner? You should cook more. Daddy’s been taking that over lately. You should cook more.
OK, last question. You ready?
Yes, I am ready, Mother. But I would just like to say here that when I read this? It had better be exactly what I said. Word for word. Do you hear me? Exactly what I said.
Snort. Got it. OK, here’s your last question. If you could have three wishes, what would they be?
First? I would wish that the neighborhood was filled with kids my age who wanted to play with me. Second? I would wish for a pool with a slide in our back yard.
And third wish?
I would wish that I could fly.
Really? That doesn’t sound like a Maj wish.
That way I could pick the cherries off of the tree. Duh.
Got it. Love you, babe.
Love you, M.
Happy sighs. . . .She calls me M sometimes.
UPDATE: OK, now it’s a little later. I have typed up the piece, and Maj has read it. She is shaking the paper in the air and staring at me with incredulous eyes.
Here’s Maj . . .
Mother? Do you not know how to use quotation marks? This is entirely inappropriate! How is anyone going to be able to tell who is talking? And snort? Nobody snorted. That’s ridiculous! You need to write down that you laughed. Nobody snorted. And I’m pretty sure I didn’t call you M. I believe I called you Mother. So change that.
You so called me M.
Fine. Leave it. If you don’t care that it’s not what happened, neither do I.
I mean . . . I laughed heartily.
And which do you like better?
Or . . . . . . . . . . . . .