BIRDS OF A FEATHER

Maisie goes into her closet, closes the door. A cold draft and a little sunshine peep under the slightly lop-sided door. She takes off hernight gown and lets it fall on the floor, feels for the plastic hangers and lifts the one nearest the wall, just where she put it last night. It holds her dress for school, with her underwear on top so she can put that on first. Opening the door she sees her sister, Daisy, putting her feet into her fuzzy slippers. ‘Again? I’ve asked you a hundred times why you get dressed in the dark closet. Why? If I see you, so what?’ ‘And I have answered a hundred times, I am skinny and have ugly legs and don’t like you seeing me naked!’ ‘Your legs are fine and I would love you even if they were made of wood. Wait for me. The kitchen smells good. Mom is making French toast.’ They go downstairs together.

Dad has already had his orange juice and French toast. His coffee is not quite finished. As he turns toward his daughters, cigarette smoke rings puff out of his mouth. Maisie runs and tries to catch one on her fingers but misses. Dad does it again and Maisie is ready. She gets a big one and rewards Dad with a kiss.

Mother serves her girls each two pieces of steaming hot toast. Maisie moves her plate close to the table edge, picks up her knife and fork but her knife slips out of her hand and falls on the floor with a surprising loud clang. Pointing straight at her sister, she tells her parents it fell because Daisy was watching her. ‘Tell her, Dad, tell her not to watch me all the time.’ ‘She was not watching you. Daisy was looking straight at me Young Lady, and cutting her own toast. Get a clean knife, eat and get ready for school.’

Daisy is in high school and today she has to stand in front of the entire class to give a report on the building of the Panama Canal. Her sister had watched her talking to the mirror until she knew the report well enough to do it without stuttering. In the mirror she sees Maisie smiling, urging her on. ‘Go away. I can’t practice with you watching me all the time. I need privacy.’ All the way to class she tries to gather confidence. It isn’t working. Two other reports are due before hers. John and Michael will surely get A’s. ‘Miss Daisy will now tell us something about the difficulties building the Panama Canal.’ Daisy’s throat suddenly goes dry. Her heart thumps loudly against her chest.She stands at the side of her desk, waits a moment and walks to the front of the room, looks up and sees 5 desks in rows, 40 classmates with their eyes on her. Taking a deep breath, knowing they won’t bite her, she begins. Words magically flow from her lips. The Canal was started in 1904 but workers were plagued with deadly mosquitoes causing malaria and yellow fever. De Lessups could not stop them. 25000 workers died. Gorgas Gangs beat the heat, the mosquitoes, cleaned the area so digging could begin...and then...a tickle in her throat makes her start to cough and cough and cough. Tears fall. Her nose runs. Miss Braddock comes forward and hands her a small packet of Kleenex. ‘Daisy, you are excused. Get a drink of water from the fountain in the hall. Come back when you are ok.’

Daisy covers her mouth and hurries from the room. The fountain doesn’t work. There is another at the other end of the hall. Still hacking, she aims for it. By the time she gets there her legs are weak, her chest aches but she manages to get some water down her throat. As she gains her composure and control, Daisy walks back towards her history room. The change of class bell rings sharply, scaring her half to death. Doors on both sides of the hall open almost in unison. She has to turn left across the swarms to get back to her room, gather her books, her brown bag lunch and pocketbook. Except for those things Miss Braddock has left on her desk, the room is empty.

The last class of the day for Daisy is Art. Easy, fun, no coughing. Her small joy is short-lived . Her mind roils. Tomorrow is tomorrow and I have to do the Panama Canal thing again. Why did I cough? I know my work and am not going to cough tomorrow. I’ll just stand up, speak slowly and clearly, picture my friends wearing blinders and will get through it. This is all my parents’ fault, not mine. and I have the same disease, Shyness.

Before she falls asleep she whispers, ‘Ok, sister, you can dress in your closet and eat any way you like. I’m not going to watch you any more...and don’t you watch me!’