"Never a dull moment," Dad repeated. "Good night, guys."
As soon as he closed the door, Mom pulled out the book she'd been reading to
me for the last couple of weeks. I was relieved because I really was afraid she'd
want to "talk," and I just didn't feel like doing that. But Mom didn't seem to want
to talk, either. She just flipped through the pages until she got to where we had
left off. We were about halfway through
The Hobbit
.
"
'Stop! stop! ' shouted Thorin,"
said Mom, reading aloud, "
but it was too late, the
excited dwarves had wasted their last arrows, and now the bows that Beorn had
given them were useless.
"They were a gloomy party that night, and the gloom gathered still deeper on
them in the following days. They had crossed the enchanted stream; but beyond
it the path seemed to straggle on just as before, and in the forest they could see
no change."
I'm not sure why, but all of a sudden I started to cry.
Mom put the book down and wrapped her arms around me. She didn't seem
surprised that I was crying. "It's okay," she whispered in my ear. "It'll be okay."
"I'm sorry," I said between sniffles.
"Shh," she said, wiping my tears with the back of her hand. "You have nothing to
be sorry about. . . ."
"Why do I have to be so ugly, Mommy?" I whispered.
"No, baby, you're not . . ."
"I know I am."
She kissed me all over my face. She kissed my eyes that came down too far.
She kissed my cheeks that looked punched in. She kissed my tortoise mouth.
She said soft words that I know were meant to help me, but words can't change
my face.
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