![]() The green stretch pants and beige nylon blouse were placed into the sink, and were soon joined by the yellowed bra and the gigantic grey underpants. She hung the heavy coat from its peg and stuffed the sunglasses, gloves and kerchief into the pockets. She used the same clothing every day, and there was time-worn ritual in her movements. She hit the play button and Chopin's Nocturne filled the air, at medium volume. Molly had armed the bathroom with an old compact disc player and a few favorite discs. Numerous wall hangings and the strong oak door filtered out most of the noise coming from the rest of the house, but some of the frantic sounds made it through. Children must go to some other house, or use the back yard. There was only one rule: at Molly's house, only Molly was allowed to use the bathroom. At Molly's house, children could do what they wanted, eat what they wanted, and brutalize each other with impunity. They all liked the state of anarchy and lack of parental supervision. The friends of Molly's children had the run of the house, and made good use of it. Not all of those children were hers, of course. She popped the hook through its eyelet and leaned against the wall, breathing a sigh of relief. A petulant preteen voice drifted up the stairs, "Oh, gross!" But Molly did not wait to hear what came next, she slipped into the bathroom and slammed the door. She pushed it aside with her foot and it tumbled down the stairs, momentarily interrupting the shrieking and shouting. A large heap of soiled clothing lay on the floor, blocking the entrance to the bathroom. The lock popped open with rusty resistance. She cradled the combination lock that held it closed and rapidly spun the dial to the well-remembered secret numbers. As she passed the door that led into the basement, she heard a loud, hysterical argument coming from downstairs. Hip-hop and grunge metal waged war in the hallway, and Molly rushed through this no-man's land with her hands over her ears. The children holed up in the bedrooms had alternately cranked up their respective volume controls in a futile attempt to drown each other out. She had knocked over the overflowing garbage bin, and now the wheels crushed and squished over a mass of soggy tea bags, egg shells and pungent cedar shavings from the hamster cage.ĭown the hall, from the open doors of two bedrooms issued loud music of contrasting styles. A smaller girl rode a plastic tricycle with an oversized front wheel around the open part of the kitchen, near the back door. One small girl slept unconcerned in a filthy sleeping bag under an overturned armchair, while from a pair of barricaded sofas at either end of the room several small- to medium-sized boys hurled missiles at each other in the form of tennis balls and rolled up socks.Īs Molly passed by the open door of the kitchen she caught a brief glimpse of what seemed to be a cooking party involving a few teenaged girls and cheese macaroni, and the toaster, and chocolate cake. The living room furniture had all been converted, permanently it seemed, into forts. More than a dozen children between the ages of five and fifteen ran around in sugar shock. Inside, the house looked like a hurricane had passed through. She swept into the vestibule and stepped out of her shoes without slowing her pace. No time to talk, I have to go to the bathroom." She hurried past him, saying, "Yes, Donny, it's Mommy. His shoes trailed untied laces, he looked dirty and undernourished. ![]() "Mommy?" he asked, "Is that you, Mommy?" He peered at her face, squinting. A small boy with melted chocolate on his face sat on the top step, in front of the open door. ![]() She hurried up the front walkway and climbed the cement stairs, stepping on each with both feet. Hardly noticing, she slammed on the brakes and emerged with some difficulty from the car. The bicycle bounced once on the driveway and then became embedded in a weedgrown hedge. Swinging the car into her driveway without slowing down, she hit a small pink bicycle with pink and white tassles hanging from the handlebars. Overdressed on this hot summer day, she huddled within her protective clothing as if afraid that the sun would dry her up like a raisin. Her wide coat collar was turned up and she wore a kerchief around her hair. She felt dry as a bone.Ī shapeless woman, she wore sunglasses and gloves. ![]() She punched at the horn, producing a series of short, staccato beeps. They should make way for her because they all had more to lose than she did. Her own car was ten years old and dented all over. She leaned on the horn and shouted, "Move your fat behind, you darn fool!" Spoiled rich people with their perfect lives and their pretty cars. Braving traffic on the highway after a long, dry day at work left Molly feeling drained and dehydrated.
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