Сумерки

           Theroomwasfamiliar;ithadbeenbelongedtomesinceIwasborn.Thewoodenfloor,thelightbluewalls,thepeakedceiling,theyellowedlacecurtainsaroundthewindow-thesewereallapartofmychildhood.TheonlychangesCharliehadevermadewereswitchingthecribforabedandaddingadeskasIgrew.Thedesknowheldasecondhandcomputer,withthephonelineforthemodemstapledalongthefloortothenearestphonejack.Thiswasastipulationfrommymother,sothatwecouldstayintoucheasily.Therockingchairfrommybabydayswasstillinthecorner.

           Therewasonlyonesmallbathroomatthetopofthestairs,whichIwouldhavetosharewithCharlie.Iwastryingnottodwelltoomuchonthatfact.

           OneofthebestthingsaboutCharlieishedoesn’thover.Heleftmealonetounpackandgetsettled,afeatthatwouldhavebeenaltogetherimpossibleformymother.Itwasnicetobealone,nottohavetosmileandlookpleased;arelieftostaredejectedlyoutthewindowatthesheetingrainandletjustafewtearsescape.Iwasn’tinthemoodtogoonarealcryingjag.Iwouldsavethatforbedtime,whenIwouldhavetothinkaboutthecomingmorning.

           ForksHighSchoolhadafrighteningtotalofonlythreehundredandfifty-seven-nowfifty-eight-students;thereweremorethansevenhundredpeopleinmyjuniorclassalonebackhome.Allofthekidsherehadgrownuptogether-theirgrandparentshadbeentoddlerstogether.

           Iwouldbethenewgirlfromthebigcity,acuriosity,afreak.