Their father was away at work most of the time and when he came home he wanted supper and he read the newspaper at supper and after supper he went to bed. June did this, June did that, she saved money and helped clean the house and cookedand Connie couldn’t do a thing, her mind was all filled with trashy daydreams. She was a secretary in the high school Connie attended, and if that wasn’t bad enough-with her in the same building-she was so plain and chunky and steady that Connie had to hear her praised all the time by her mother and her mother’s sisters. Beta Beatrix by Rossetti“Why don’t you keep your room clean like your sister? How’ve you got your hair fixed-what the hell stinks? Hair spray? You don’t see your sister using that junk.” Her sister June was twenty-four and still lived at home. Her mother had been pretty once too, if you could believe those old snapshots in the album, but now her looks were gone and that was why she was always after Connie.

Connie would raise her eyebrows at these familiar old complaints and look right through her mother, into a shadowy vision of herself as she was right at that moment: she knew she was pretty and that was everything. Who are you? You think you’re so pretty?” she would say. Her mother, who noticed everything and knew everything and who hadn’t much reason any longer to look at her own face, always scolded Connie about it. She was fifteen and she had a quick, nervous giggling habit of craning her neck to glance into mirrors or checking other people’s faces to make sure her own was all right.

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