Part 1 (2/2)
She whispers, ”It was weird. I've slept in the same room with you for years and never seen you do this. Or heard you, is more like it. And to tell you the truth-no offense-I don't want to ever hear you do it again. It's not a sound I want to wake up to, trapped in a dark room with you, in the middle of the night. Now, get a hold of yourself. Chill. With the three of us around, Ling Ling wasn't close enough to pick up on it. But we did.”
The twins nod. Then, their bobbleheads stop. They pick up their ginkgo frappuccinos, made exclusively by Purser-Lilley's Starbucks, and each take a sip. The drinks stop halfway up their straws as they antic.i.p.ate what my sister says next.
”Girl, you was purring!”
chapter two.
At home, my family sits down to dinner. House rule is that we eat together five nights a week. If somebody has something to do at seven thirty, we eat at six. If my dad stays late at the office, we eat when he comes home. No TV trays, no restaurants. Sometimes, we order in, but then we eat at the table off proper plates, not off paper or out of cool, origami-looking Chinese cartons (which in Manhattan exist only on TV).
Tonight's topic: no more cell phones and no computers in our room.
Mom says, ”You girls are wired. In all senses of the word. It's like a constant feed of M&M's. Your every thought, every mundane action, has to be communicated like it's life or death. I'm on the bus. I'm at the movies. Y I'm on the bus. I'm at the movies. You can't think for yourselves. What time does the movie start? Where's the nearest Starbucks? Should I get a tall latte or an What time does the movie start? Where's the nearest Starbucks? Should I get a tall latte or an iced iced tall latte? tall latte? You check your messages every ten seconds to see if your friends need answers. What' You check your messages every ten seconds to see if your friends need answers. What's up? Nothing, what's up with you? You, mind you, spelled with one letter, U. It used to be there was one idiot box. Now they come in all shapes and sizes. You're over stimulated. That's why you're falling asleep in school.”
”I fell asleep once,” I protest.
Dad says, ”Once is enough.”It's hard to argue with them about cell phones. My parents don't use them. They're Luddites. Well, they're Luddites in the way that Marjorie and Mags are albinos. To Mom and Dad, old phones are art. The one in their bedroom is a five-pound, black-metal rotary. The kitchen phone is a wall-mounted, yellow, push-b.u.t.ton number straight out of Freaky Friday-the original with Jodie Foster, field hockey, and orthodontia that could be from Saw.
BlackBerries, iPhones, and all the rest were banned from Purser-Lilley last year because it was electronic note-pa.s.sing bedlam; our collective grade average dropped, and the requisite five percent of seniors did not get into Harvard. Teachers thought we had brain cancer. Tumors were the new Uggs. Now you're allowed to use cell phones on the street outside the school, but once you pa.s.s through the front gates, you might as well carry a grenade in your uniform blazer. Per an official addendum to the Purser-Lilley Code of Conduct: you don't snooze it, you lose it.
Confiscated cells have been pa.s.sed around the teachers' lounge for laughs, I'm sure of it. Ling Ling's sweet sixteen was canceled because of phone calls made to her Park Avenue apartment from Scared Straight, Planned Parenthood, and the U.S. Army recruitment office, which her mom refused to believe were phony. I'm almost positive the callers were Ms. Lawrence and Mr. Marks (feminist literature and trig). When we were freshmen, Ling Ling got the whole school to nickname them Fatty Cakes and McLovin.
Octavia tries arguing about cells with Mom anyway. My sister is the youngest-ever captain of the Purser-Lilley debate team, which has been undefeated two years running. I once asked her, just to get a rise out of her: ”Do you feel you have to work twice as hard to do as well as you do because you're a minority?”
She said, ”No, Eudora, I'm just smart.”
Now she says, ”Mom, it's unsafe not having a cell. What if something bad happens?”
”Then, something bad happens. We'll find out eventually.”
”Like we did with your sister's narcolepsy,” jokes Dad.
Octavia groans. ”But I didn't fall asleep. It was Enya-”
”Mary,” Mom corrects her.
”Mary, not me. Why should I be punished?”
”Believe it or not, your mother and I don't think that we're punis.h.i.+ng you. You'll sleep better and go to sleep sooner. Worst-case scenario, you'll do what we did at your age and read in bed with a flashlight.”
”Did you really do that?” I ask. Octavia smirks.
”No,” Dad confesses. ”I had a TV in my room.”
Mom says, ”And that's why his grades were so bad.”
”Hey, are you forgetting I skipped the fourth grade?” Dad asks.
”After the fourth grade, your grades were terrible.” Mom rolls her eyes. ”Have you forgotten that your shrink attributes all your issues to skipping?”
”What issues? I don't have any issues.” Dad often plays dumb.Octavia says, ”What does this have to do with anything? We don't have a TV in our room.”
Our family has one TV. (Luddites, remember?) It's in the living room. If you're watching, everyone else is watching with you, or they know what's on. And-wait for it-we don't own a DVD player. It's not because my parents are seriously anti-technology or that my sister and I are overprotected. My parents just hate extra stuff. Mom's mantra is: We are not h.o.a.rders. Every year, we give away clothes we've outgrown (or we're too old for), books we've read (or are never going to get to), and extras (”Tell me,” says Mom, ”do we really need two garlic presses?”). Dad can't be convinced Netflix is necessary when we get all the movie channels. Having never had more than one TV, this isn't a hards.h.i.+p. Octavia and I don't miss out on much-unless you call much vegging out on the sofa and watching Twilight eight times in a row. Every year, we give away clothes we've outgrown (or we're too old for), books we've read (or are never going to get to), and extras (”Tell me,” says Mom, ”do we really need two garlic presses?”). Dad can't be convinced Netflix is necessary when we get all the movie channels. Having never had more than one TV, this isn't a hards.h.i.+p. Octavia and I don't miss out on much-unless you call much vegging out on the sofa and watching Twilight eight times in a row.
Our folks DVR their old favorites for us. With my dad, it's The Warriors The Warriors and The Taking of and The Taking of Pelham 123 Pelham 123-1970s movies that represent the New York he grew up in; where subways were graffitied, everybody had a switchblade, and after eleven, you could get yourself killed. Mom goes for all things teenageangst. She got weepy when John Hughes pa.s.sed away and then nearly keeled over herself when she found out Marjorie and Mags hadn't seen the Molly Ringwald trifecta (Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club The Breakfast Club, and Pretty in Pink). Mom wanted to watch them with us, but Dad dragged her out for Ben & Jerry's because she was reciting every line.
”'I can't believe this. They f.u.c.king forgot my birthday.'”
”Yes, dear,” said Dad. ”John Hughes was your George Lucas.”
Octavia and I tried to get into the original Star Wars trilogy for Dad but couldn't. Luke, I am your father! Luke, I am your father! Well, duh. Who didn't see that coming? Dad and every other Well, duh. Who didn't see that coming? Dad and every other Dungeons & Dragons Dungeons & Dragons fanatic apparently. Dad shrugged off how jaded we were, but he still keeps a lightsaber on the top shelf of his closet, and on Halloween, he makes Mom wear earm.u.f.fs that look like hair cinnamon rolls. fanatic apparently. Dad shrugged off how jaded we were, but he still keeps a lightsaber on the top shelf of his closet, and on Halloween, he makes Mom wear earm.u.f.fs that look like hair cinnamon rolls.
Mom says to Octavia, ”You may not have a TV in your room, but you have YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, and all that other garbage on your computer that keeps-”
”my mind on my money and my money on my mind!”
”-that keeps you quoting Snoop Dogg instead of Shakespeare.”
Dad grins at Mom. ”Since when do you quote Shakespeare?”
”'Tis a n.o.bler...'tis a far, far better...” She laughs. ”Oh, you know what I mean! From now on, girls, your laptops stay out in the open and go off at eight o'clock. Mary, you'll work in the kitchen. Octavia, you'll work on the dining room table.”
The dining room table is in the living room because we don't have a room especially for eating. Yes, this is the Upper East Side, but Anderson Cooper's mom is not our mom. My parents have plenty of money in the grand scheme of things-they can pay our tuition, send us to college, take us on vacation, buy us nice clothes-but they don't have the kind of New York City wealth that takes three or four generations to squander. If we swapped moms with Marjorie and Mags, we'd have our own Vanderbilt-like bedrooms and adjoining bathroom, plus a library and a study. I've never understood the difference between those-except that one has leather couches, which the twins' cats have scratched up and which Octavia refuses to sit on because the claw marks give her the creeps. But I digress. Life isn't a Disney movie where you wake up in somebody else's body and realize you were happy just the way you were. Besides, Octavia and I would never swap moms with anyone.
After eight, my laptop is closed. Mom has put a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies on top to seal the deal. I have to get through four chapters of A Tale of Two Cities A Tale of Two Cities. Octavia is done with her homework. She's always done first. She's watching TV with my parents in the living room on the other side of the kitchen wall. As a reward for a job well done, she has clicker control. It's a Tuesday night in January. For the next two hours, I'm going to overhear auditions for American Idol.I hate the show, but Octavia loves it. She's always trying to convince me to give it another shot. It's the debater in her. She tries to convince me I should change my mind about everything. The situation in Afghanistan is worse than the situation in Iraq. September 11 was an inside job. Health care should never be free. A woman's right to choose is wiggida wiggida wiggida whack. Arguing is a game to her. She picks pro or con and runs with it until her opponent is too exhausted to catch up. I'm not sure she loves American Idol as much as she says she does, but she puts up a heck of a fight.
Sample debate: Octavia: ”It's all about second chances for girls like Kelly.”
Me: ”Clarkson or Pickler?”
Octavia: ”Either. Those girls are one in the same.”
Me: ”One's rock, one's country.”
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