Audiobook
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
I tossed the damp, filthy thing in the trash, silently fuming. Funny how her penchant for smoking was exempt from her general world view about health and the sanctity of the body. I'm sorry Clara. She sat up, her cheeks of faint pink. I don't know what came over me. That was stupid. Give your mother a break. I stiffened Jacques, the company director and my mother's surrogate husband emerged from the bathroom. She had a terrible time with that absolute beast from social services. What are you doing here? I asked bluntly. I open the fridge and rummaged for a barrier. Clara. Mom's voice was reproachful. Don't be rude. I popped open the can. I didn't say anything, staring hard at the kitchen counter. I hated Jacques, a miser in a miserable alcoholic. He had been my mother's mentors than she was my age and his hold on her was in my opinion, unnatural. Daddy and I went birdwatching today, Libby and we saw a big red tailed hawk. It hung around for at least 10 minutes showing off. You would have loved it. But since you weren't with us, I drew a picture for you instead. I said, look here it is. For once she opened her eyes, she even tried to say baa, should I hang it up on your corkboard? I asked. And then she opened her eyes wide. So I stuck my drawing of the hawk right in the center of the board where she could easily see it. Except then she went back to sleep. Still. I thought she had a smile on her face as she dozed off the rabbi because she keeps saying that going ahead with the bat mitzvah will help me and my family heal. But most of all God who was supposed to make everything happen for a higher purpose. The God who made my sisters suffer for her whole life and then die without ever being able to walk or sing or pat her dog by moving her own hand instead of having us move it for her. The God who is making me go through the rest of my life without her. He turned to me and looked me square in the eyes. It smells like you Clara touched. I rested my hand on his backpack. As we continued on, Michelle led us to a tomato vendor and asked for three in rapid fire french. You don't pick your own? I asked, curiously. I reached to grab a tomato to squeeze it gently, the way I might have at the stop and shop back home, Michelle grabbed my arm, shaking his head. No, no, he said. You cannot touch. Really? I asked, surprised. But then how do you know if you're getting good ones? What if they're squishy? The vendor, a small older gentleman with sparse white hair and wire glasses, looked offended. Obviously. He had understood what I had said. He shook his head quickly, waving his arms back and forth and muttering something, including the word squishy. He says he would never sell someone squishy tomatoes. Michelle informed me. His eyes twinkled and I could tell he was trying not to laugh. So he should be someone. He's not just to be cool. She said this word disdainfully to fit in with silly Children, not nearly as bright as he is. He didn't pick the buckle shoes, I countered angrily, and he didn't choose these duckies. So now who's making him someone? He's not. She didn't answer. She was still in her coat and was perspiring heavily. And being bullied sucks, I added, why would you want that for him? You really think shoes are going to help Alistair? She shook her head chuckling to herself. I would use the word shallow, but excuse me, I jumped off the bed, crouching as if we were in an actual boxing match instead of a verbal one. I love Alistair. He's great. I wouldn't change him, but Alistair hates being bullied and kids do care about shoes that I know because as you say, I am shallow. It's a great view, I commented as we neared the top. I could not only see the Eiffel Tower but the spires of Notre dame and lays on valid lit up for the evening. They looked nothing short of magical, So beautiful. Michelle, however, was looking at me. Yes, he said softly. He brushed the hair from my shoulder and it was as if every nerve in my body was suddenly alert, alive combined with the height and the swaying motion of the ferris wheel. His touch was exhilarating. He put an arm around my shoulders and I snuggled into him. I waited for him to make some sort of move to kiss me or more, but he seemed content to remain that way, and I didn't know whether to feel disappointed or relieved at his restraint at the front door. He took both my hands in his and spoke hesitantly. May I kiss you? He asked shyly. I blinked. No one had ever asked permission before. Yes, I said breathlessly. Yes, of course. He leaned forward and I closed my eyes.