The resisting reader
Yesterday we had our last story hour. Zenia and I were shifted to a different school: this time it was King Edward VIII Junior Public, and I won the toss, so I read "The Tell-Tale Heart," and Zenia was forced to end with a really short poem by Baudelaire. The teachers looked very happy when we finished, and the grade one students really got into the story. They were starting to check under the desks for noise when we left.
My parents left this morning for Montreal. My mother left a list of telephone numbers and "helpful information" for me, along with money and their hotel information. My father reminded me to not let Charles Wallace light anything too close to the house again like he did last Victoria Day.
This afternoon I went with Duncan to Dr. Patterson's office to pick up his letter of reference for court. Dr. Patterson looked really happy when he handed it over to Duncan.
"There you go, Duncan! I'm always happy to help my children's friends when they need assistance!" Duncan took the letter and almost forgot to thank him. When we were in the lobby of the medical building, I suggested that Duncan might have wanted to have a look at the letter before going to his lawyer's office. Duncan said no, he was too nervous. Then we walked over to his lawyer's office. We were early: Mrs. Anderson hadn't arrived yet. Duncan was still too nervous about the letter, but once we sat down he said that maybe I should read it and tell him if it was a good reference or not.
It certainly was an interesting letter. According to Dr. Patterson, Duncan is a nice young man who is the son of Nigel Anderson, who has the second-most extensively landscaped HO scale model railroad in Milborough. Nigel Anderson's railway landscaping, Dr. Patterson continued, is a detailed recreation of a typical town in Barbados, with striking stone Anglican churches and cricket pitches. Along one hillside in Nigel Anderson's model railway one can see a tiny goat herd, watched by a tiny waving Duncan. Nigel Anderson's trains, Dr. Patterson wrote, are replicas of 1930s-era British passenger trains made for the Grand Trunk Railway, only two cars shorter than a standard British railway train. Also idiosyncratic in Nigel Anderson's railway setup is his train schedule: according to it, trains run every half hour, when in reality in both Barbados and Britain trains would run on a more irregular schedule. Tiny waving Duncan, Dr. Patterson concluded, is a fine young man and takes good care of his tiny goats.
I gave the letter back to Duncan. Duncan asked if it was a good letter. I said not really. At that moment Mrs. Anderson came in, and I gave her Dr. Patterson's letter. She read it quickly, and then said several colourful if legally liable things about Dr. Patterson's intellect and parentage. Then she asked the legal assistant if she could photocopy the letter. The assistant said yes, and Mrs. Anderson copied the letter, left the original in its envelope with Duncan, and then left to have words with Dr. Patterson. Duncan was really getting worried at that point, but I had to get home since Charles Wallace was on his way home. I felt bad about leaving him, but promised to call him later tonight. When I left the lawyer's office I almost stepped on Eva, who was outside the door muttering something about a buckeroo waiting for the law.
My parents left this morning for Montreal. My mother left a list of telephone numbers and "helpful information" for me, along with money and their hotel information. My father reminded me to not let Charles Wallace light anything too close to the house again like he did last Victoria Day.
This afternoon I went with Duncan to Dr. Patterson's office to pick up his letter of reference for court. Dr. Patterson looked really happy when he handed it over to Duncan.
"There you go, Duncan! I'm always happy to help my children's friends when they need assistance!" Duncan took the letter and almost forgot to thank him. When we were in the lobby of the medical building, I suggested that Duncan might have wanted to have a look at the letter before going to his lawyer's office. Duncan said no, he was too nervous. Then we walked over to his lawyer's office. We were early: Mrs. Anderson hadn't arrived yet. Duncan was still too nervous about the letter, but once we sat down he said that maybe I should read it and tell him if it was a good reference or not.
It certainly was an interesting letter. According to Dr. Patterson, Duncan is a nice young man who is the son of Nigel Anderson, who has the second-most extensively landscaped HO scale model railroad in Milborough. Nigel Anderson's railway landscaping, Dr. Patterson continued, is a detailed recreation of a typical town in Barbados, with striking stone Anglican churches and cricket pitches. Along one hillside in Nigel Anderson's model railway one can see a tiny goat herd, watched by a tiny waving Duncan. Nigel Anderson's trains, Dr. Patterson wrote, are replicas of 1930s-era British passenger trains made for the Grand Trunk Railway, only two cars shorter than a standard British railway train. Also idiosyncratic in Nigel Anderson's railway setup is his train schedule: according to it, trains run every half hour, when in reality in both Barbados and Britain trains would run on a more irregular schedule. Tiny waving Duncan, Dr. Patterson concluded, is a fine young man and takes good care of his tiny goats.
I gave the letter back to Duncan. Duncan asked if it was a good letter. I said not really. At that moment Mrs. Anderson came in, and I gave her Dr. Patterson's letter. She read it quickly, and then said several colourful if legally liable things about Dr. Patterson's intellect and parentage. Then she asked the legal assistant if she could photocopy the letter. The assistant said yes, and Mrs. Anderson copied the letter, left the original in its envelope with Duncan, and then left to have words with Dr. Patterson. Duncan was really getting worried at that point, but I had to get home since Charles Wallace was on his way home. I felt bad about leaving him, but promised to call him later tonight. When I left the lawyer's office I almost stepped on Eva, who was outside the door muttering something about a buckeroo waiting for the law.
posted by Zandra Larson at 4:32 p.m.
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