I was going to title this post “Annie Part IV,” but then I thought it would be confused with Annie Dillard. Annie Dillard is great from time to time, but she talks about nature-nature. And I wanted to blog about human nature. I’m sure Annie Fitzpatrick isn’t and will never be your first encounter with human nature, but I promise you, with all that’s going on in her brain and her psyche, it will surely be a memorable encounter. I hope not.
Last time we met, Annie was at the dinner table. She refused to eat her favorite green beans but plowed through the mashed potatoes. Five minutes before the nightly suppertime chats with Mom and Dad, she had punched the window in her room with her fist. But she wasn’t late to dinner, or, that is, very late. Just a few minutes spent “washing up.”
“Annie,” Linda the mother repeated, “I asked you, how was your day?”
“May I be excused?” Annie inquired, cleansing her mashed potato encrusted lips with a royal red dinner napkin.
Linda and Henry (the dad) looked at each other, each with hesitation. Linda broke the silence finally. “Yes, yes you may. But if you want more green beans, I’ll leave some out for you.”
Not a “thank you.” Not a “gracias.” Just footsteps..footsteps heading up the stairs.
Annie’s hands were ivory, as was her countenance, her legs, her shoulders, her back. But she never would and never could get the blood off her hands…