Chapter 11
Carol sat up in bed and smiled at the beautiful sunlight of that Saturday morning. She was glad that she slept well – despite the pandemonium from earlier. She was eager to get out of bed and hoped that her husband felt the same way.
The housewife turned to one side and looked at her husband. "Mike? Are you awake?"
The architect groaned and turned to face his wife – slowly opening his eyes. A slight smile formed on his face as he quipped, "I am now."
Carol looked sympathetically at her husband. "Oh, Mike, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to wake you."
Mike sat up in bed and smiled wider. "That's okay, honey, I got plenty of sleep." He then pulled Carol in for a kiss and stared at her. "Did you do something to your hair?"
Carol closed her eyes and sighed. "Oh, not this again…"
"Well, it does look different," Mike said. "It looks darker, and that makes you look rather mature and sophisticated, Mrs. Brady." The architect grinned broadly.
Carol smiled at her husband. "You look really good yourself, Mike. You've been doing a great job straightening your hair. I love that look on you."
Mike's smile vanished from his face. "Carol, I've barely touched my hair since earlier this week."
Carol's smile now faded. "Honey, you don't think any of this has anything to do with the meteorite, do you?"
Mike stared out the bedroom window as he placed a hand on his chin. "Well, it might. After all, we have been told that the cosmic rays are dangerous. That said, I doubt that the meteorite is affecting us in any more than subtle ways. It's not like time keeps on ticking backwards around here if that's what you're thinking."
Carol smiled. "That makes sense."
Mike got up and walked toward the closet – looking at his clothes for a minute before pulling out a pink turtleneck. "Why don't we enjoy the weekend and relax together again?" the architect suggested as he walked back to the bed. "Maybe I can bring up that old gramophone, and we can listen to music together."
Carol's brows furrowed. "That one from the attic? Isn't it broken?"
Mike sighed and looked down. "Yeah, that's right." He then looked up and said, "But I'll tinker with it a little and see if I can get it to work. It'll be great to listen to music all day up here."
Carol smirked. "After we help Jan move up to the attic." Mike threw back his head and groaned.
Later, that afternoon, the middle child smiled as she twirled beneath the exposed wooden rafters of her new attic bedroom. At last, she had a space that she could call her own. Maybe she couldn't truly be an only child, but at least Jan could get away from Marcia if she ever felt envious of her. At least she had some privacy and her own bathroom.
Jan walked over to her bed – noticing a wrinkle on her yellow bedspread – and smoothed it out. Jan's red pinafore flew up slightly as she twirled around – continuing to smile at her new room. However, her smile faded as she started to realize that this dingy place was her actual bedroom now. The white walls, combined with exposed wooden studs, didn't make a particularly attractive room.
The thirteen-year-old then walked toward one of the boxes next to her bed – hoping that some pictures would make the attic look better. Her heart nearly stopped as she pulled out a photograph of Aunt Jenny – a woman with red hair and many wrinkles on her face.
Jan thought that she had gotten over her fear of looking like her aunt, but she couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. The middle child sat on her bed – unable to take her eyes off the photograph. Sure, Aunt Jenny was a jovial, cultured woman, but Jan didn't want to look like her. In fact, Jan thought as she lowered the photograph and stared at the exposed studs, she didn't want to get old at all.
It seemed like just yesterday that she was worried about looking like her aunt, but that happened almost two years earlier. It seemed like only a year or two since Mike and Carol got married, but that happened four years – almost half a decade – earlier. Time moved way too fast, and before Jan knew it, she would have more years behind than ahead of her.
It was a saddening thought, and she realized that getting her own room was a stepping stone to having her own house or apartment – like she was getting closer and closer to being an old woman. Jan lay on her bed – groaning as she stared up at the rafters.
After a few minutes, Jan walked down the stairs – turning left at a corner before reaching the foot of the stairs. She then went down the stairs leading to the living room and turned left to enter Mike's den. There, she found her mother and father huddled over the gramophone on the drafting table.
"Mom? Dad?" Jan spoke.
Mike and Carol turned around and looked at their daughter. "Yes, Jan?" Mike asked.
Jan hung her head and said, "I…really…really hate to say this, but…uh…I don't want my own room anymore."
Mike and Carol both groaned. "Not again!" Carol cried as she threw back her head. She walked over to her daughter and put an arm around her. "Jan, why not? What's wrong?"
"Well, I realized that having my own room is like having my own apartment, which makes me grown up, which makes me closer to being an old woman," Jan said.
Mike sighed as he put down a screwdriver. "Look, Jan – " he started to say.
"Mom, Dad, please! I don't have many youthful years left! Can't I spend what's left of them with my siblings?" Jan pleaded – tears starting to form in her eyes.
Carol looked at Mike – now looking down and shaking his head in disbelief for a few seconds. "Okay, okay, Jan," he finally sighed.
A smile spread across Jan's face as she ran over and squeezed him in a tight hug. "Thanks, Dad!" she cried. "Now…could you help me move my stuff back to my old room?" Mike threw back his head and groaned.
Later that afternoon, Mike and Carol were standing next to the drafting table. They both smiled as they listened to the gramophone crackling as it played jazz. Suddenly, a shriek filled the air – wiping the smiles off their faces. Immediately, the two ran toward the source of the noise.
In the backyard, Bobby lay on the ground – clutching his legs underneath the swings. Peter leaned over Bobby – his eyes as wide as saucers.
"Bobby, Peter, what happened?" gasped Carol as she ran up to the boys and bent down.
Bobby groaned as he sat up. "I was doing chin-ups to try to make myself taller," he said with a strained voice. "And Peter was tugging on my legs."
Mike jerked his head so that he made eye contact with Peter. A clearly alarmed, angered expression was plastered on his face. "Peter, you actually tugged on Bobby's legs?" Peter nervously looked away. "You could have hurt the poor boy! We already know that he's two inches shorter! Whatever problem he has, you could have made worse!"
"I'm sorry, Mom, Dad," Peter said glumly – still staring at the ground. He looked at Bobby – now standing again. "I'm sorry, Bobby."
Bobby looked at his parents pleadingly. "Mom, Dad, don't yell at Peter too much. It was my idea."
"It doesn't matter whose idea it was!" Carol exclaimed. "You could have gotten hurt!"
"That's right," Mike agreed. "Both of you – go to your room." Peter and Bobby went back inside the house while Mike and Carol shook their heads in disbelief.
That night, Mike and Carol were snuggling with each other in bed – smiling as the sound of violin music mixed with the crackling of static emanated from the old gramophone. Carol pecked Mike on the cheek, and he did the same to her.
"This is sure a nice change of pace after the crazy day we've had," Mike said.
Carol nodded but then sat up in bed. "Honey, I'm sorry, but I can't help but worry about the kids."
Mike sighed and nodded. "I am, too. I think that this meteorite is going to everyone's head. It's making us all so anxious – making us do things that we wouldn't normally do."
"Mike…I think that I could see over Jan's head," Carol said – staring gravely at her husband. "And we do know that Bobby is shorter."
The architect sighed. "Carol, let's just go to sleep. We'll all get over this eventually." He gave his wife a kiss on the lips before grabbing a pillow and putting it over his head.