As far back as I can remember I was never truly young. Even as a small child I was always clouded by worry. This I found was my first advantage over humanity. It was an asset just waiting to be utilized, but the understanding came with age was born into me from the very beginning. Perhaps this was the reason I felt myself to be very old.
I was regressing. I felt myself going back. I heard my mother calling. Oh, how I loved to hear the sweet voice of Josephine Marx. She always referred to herself by that name as long as I had known her. Marriage had not cooled her sense of independence.
“Mary, it is time to come in now,” she said. Her voice to me sounded like a singing bird inspired by its muse. “Mary,” she called again.
“Yes, Mother,” I said.
As I approached the deck, my mother’s face had gone wild with fright seeing my mud-caked body.
“Mary, what have you done to yourself?” She scolded. Taking my hand, she said, “Come inside and get cleaned up. Your father is on his way back from the airport this very minute.”
“Who’s coming, Mother?” I asked, jumping up and down.
“It’s a surprise. Now, you go up with Anna and take your bath and put on some clean clothes.”
“Mother, please, tell.”
“No,” she said, pointing her forefinger at me, “now, scat.”
“It’s Uncle Martin, isn’t it?”
“Well, young lady, if you don't get upstairs right and get cleaned up, you are going to miss his visit altogether.” I threw her a sour look as she pointed to the staircase.
“Stop the lecture, Mother. I’m going.” I stumped up the stairs a bit over-dramatically. Anna was waiting for me at the top.
It made me laugh to think how I could always drive my mother crazy with my relentless procrastination. Father always said it was a trait all genius children carried, and Roland Faigon happened to be an expert in the field, like every other piece of knowledge he shared. I was never one to question my father. His words always spoke like gospel to me that left my debating skills to my bouts with Mother.
When I reached Anna at the top of the stairs there was a look of apprehension clouding her expression. “Oh, dear child, what have you done to yourself?” She took my hand and dragged me into the bathroom. “Come, now,” she said. “A clean child is a healthy child.”
I would have laughed at her untruth, if I didn’t care so much about her feelings. How many times did I hear at the Institution for Higher Learning that all child geniuses were cold, arrogant and insensitive. True knowledge comes not from superiority, but from the understanding not only of how things work, but most importantly, how things feel.
Father would say that my hard shell made me strong but inside lay a soft heart, and so always Father was right. I looked upon Anna as a second mother even though I didn’t understand her obsession with a well-polished surface.
Anna turned on the water testing often for the right temperature. She added some bubble bath and opened the utility cabinet and took out a fresh bar of soap. I slipped out of my clothes and placed them in the small laundry basket that lay near the tub. I stepped into the tub and sat down. The warm water felt so nice. That was until Anna began her work.
I felt as if Anna was taking off my skin as she vigorously scrubbed me down. When I finally stepped out of the tub I looked to see that the water was brown.
Anna put a towel around me and instructed me to return to my room to change for dinner. She stayed to clean up my mess. It was something I felt guilty about. Such a bother I was to a sweet lady like Anna, although she had never said as much.
Lying on my bed I began to dream about what my life would be like when I became an adult. Father believed me to be one already just a little smaller. At twelve years old I already had completed a full year of high school, but I was drifting and wondered what major I would take when I went to college. It was a toss up between chemistry and genetic exploration, but school wasn’t my major concern.
