If Kisses Were Harmless . . .

In gym class they teach you how to do this kind of duck walk. I never thought it was important until this moment when I was trying to be unseen by either of my parents. Being fairly good at the duck walk, not bobbling up and down like the other kids in my class, I figured putting the maneuver to use was my only escape route. My brother was telling my parents about his girlfriend that was trying to become a psychologist. I knew how Danny told stories, always with a preface. Somewhere following he was going to mention my psychological state with their becoming divorced. I hadn’t yet budged from my crouched position. While eavesdropping, I almost lost my balance. So, I had to stop listening. I put the tips of my fingers on the backs of my ears and I began to duck walk down the hall. There was a chair placed between the two couches, which would obscure the view of me, waddling along. I made it to the stairs and this was the tricky part. The first two steps squeaked like a dog’s chew toy and the third wasn’t quite soundless either, but at least less noisy. My short legs couldn’t bound up to the forth step, so I climbed up on the railing and slowly shuffled upwards. When I reached the landing point, I tried to remember if I was safe or if there was another step I should be worried about. I lost my concentration when Danny publicized, “. . . so she is going to rebel.” My father’s voice sounded irritated, “She is a teenager. She already is rebelling.” My brother objected as though his point wasn’t getting across, “No, she needs to find where she stands between you two.” I began to sigh but, then covered my mouth quickly; Danny wasn’t being of any help. My mom was talking but, I marched down the stairs. My parents misinterpret psychological behavior and I’ve known this for years. My mother would think that if I didn’t rebel differently I would have some underlining issue. She would convince my dad no matter what that there was some kind of problem with me. I didn’t want to spend any part of this lousy summer with a psychologist, even if it was Danny’s girlfriend. In the center of the living room, I stood flinging my arms as I tried to formulate the correct words. I wanted to address Danny first and say, “What is your problem?” but I didn’t. Mainly, because he looked a little stunned and ill-prepared. So, I turned on my heels, faced my parents, and said the only thing I could think of to say, “Don’t put me between the two of you,” I yelled. Then I left the room, stomped up the stairs, and I slammed the door.