Silver Sparrow

something.

Mother never argued on her own behalf. It was “always about Dana Lynn.” My father, before he refused to accommodate her demands always, first, insisted that he loved me. There was a time in my life when that was almost enough.

“This is about fairness, James,” my mother would say, indicating to me that what was once a conversation had now morphed into “words.” I could watch my father’s neck bloat a little, as his defenses gathered there.

I am not a particularly graceful individual. I’m no klutz, but a person doesn’t see me move and think, “Those hips were made for swaying” or

“Those toes were born to pirouette.” I am not putting myself down. As my mother would say, “Self-deprecation is not attractive.” And as she wouldn’t say, people in our position cannot afford to make themselves look bad. So when I say that I wasn’t meant to be a dancer, I am just tel ing the basic truth. But that didn’t stop my mother from saying to James, “I think that Dana should enjoy bal et lessons, just as your other daughter does.” She loved that word, enjoy, and I had to admit that I liked it, too.

Turns out, I didn’t literal y enjoy the bal et lessons. When I’d envisioned myself as a bal erina, I saw myself in a lavender tutu with pink ribbons laced up my calves. Instead, I ended up in a hot upstairs room at the YWCA, crammed into a leotard the color of bandages, forcing my bare feet into impossible positions.

When I was about ten, my mother started lobbying for me to take extra classes in science. I was in favor of this, as I liked biology, but at my school we didn’t get to do any experiments. On the last day of the school year, my teacher handed out flyers advertising the Saturday Science Academy at Kennedy Middle School. My mother said that she’d ask my father for the thirty-dol ar deposit after dinner on Wednesday. To prepare, I brushed my hair around the edges and put on a short-sleeve col ared shirt that I thought made me look smart. I stuck a pencil behind my ear.

We ate dinner that night as we always did, at the kitchen table. My mother invited James into the den to watch Tic Tac Dough and enjoy a spot of cream sherry. He smiled and thanked my mother as she handed him a pretty glass.

“James,” she said, “I want Dana to enjoy the benefits of extra tutoring in science.”

James took a smal sip of the sherry. His throat worked to swal ow it down.

“Science is very important,” my mother said. She talked as she walked to stand in front of the television. “There are a number of programs in the city that are open to exceptional children. Don’t you think Dana is exceptional?”

James said, “I didn’t say she wasn’t exceptional.”

“Good,” my mother said. “Because she is.”

I sat at his feet with my pencil behind my ear and tried to sit up exceptional y straight.

“That kind of thing costs money,” James said.

“She has two working parents,” my mother pointed out. James didn’t say anything. My mother sat down beside him on the sofa.

This she said softly: “The Saturday Science Academy makes al owances for female heads of household, you know.”

I had not known about this, and it puzzled me. If she could get me in free, why were we even bothering to involve my father at al ?

“James,” my mother said in a voice that was pleasant on the surface, “why are you so quiet?”

Sitting at his feet, I could feel his legs jerking at my back. The stammer could be like that, the words squirming through his body. With great effort he said, “You know I love you, Dana.”

I gave my mother a sharp look. “Love” meant I wasn’t going to be able to go. “Please,” I said in a voice that was only a squeak.

Mother touched her lips to tel me to be quiet, that I should let her handle my father “Why not? Is it because she’s a pretty girl? I have read that parents don’t make the same investment in the minds of their good-looking daughters. Dana is an intel ectual, you know.”

I nodded, hoping that this didn’t count as getting into the conversation.

“Dana, go and get the brochure and show it to your father.” I pushed myself up from the floor and found my feet. I didn’t even get out of the room before he said, “Ch-ch-chaurisse is taking c-c-classes at the Saturday Academy.”

“I see,” my mother said.

But I knew that she had known al along. If Chaurisse was going, then I wasn’t going to get to go. This was one of the basic rules of being an outside child. I thought about the flyer posted on my bedroom mirror. The kids in the pictures held beakers over Bunsen burners.

“Wel , I am sure Chaurisse wil enjoy herself this summer.”

Carol Burnett was on the TV, and if anyone could see us, I bet we looked like a regular family.

“I don’t need your permission to enrol her, James,” my mother said. “This is not a threat. It’s just a fact.”

“St-t . . .” My father struggled. I felt sorry for him sometimes, even at a moment like this.

“Dana needs to know science, too.”

“Gw-w-wen,” he said, “why do you k-k-keep doing this? I try to be a good man. You know I am doing everything I can.”

Mother said, “There are several programs for gifted children who excel in science. I’ve done some research.”