May 1974

[noteful]

Meg sits crosslegged in the middle of her sister's bed, surrounded by an impressive collection of brushes and combs and clips and pins and make-up and jewelry and various odds and ends.

Kim is going to a dance and Meg is helping her get ready, having been charged with both handing her things and providing opinions.

These are very important jobs.

Meg knows, because Kim told her so.

Comments

[bannion_sight]

Kim's dithering back and forth in front of the mirror, holding up first a lavender dress and then a blue one.

She darts a bright smile at her little sister.

"Which one do you think?"

[noteful]

"Blue," Meg says, very solemnly.

(This is probably not a surprise. Blue is Meg's favorite color.)

[bannion_sight]

"Really?"

Kim drops the purple dress in an untidy pile on the end of the bed and stares at the blue one in the mirror.

"This one? You're sure?"

It's floatier than the other one, but that might not be a bad thing, for dancing...

[noteful]

Meg shrugs.

"Maybe?

"They're both really pretty."

She leans forward to straighten out the purple one.

[bannion_sight]

"Which one would you rather wear?"

[noteful]

"The blue one," Meg says.

(This opinion thing is hard.)

And then, with the air of quoting someone (namely, their mother), "But we have different coloring."

[bannion_sight]

"Not that different," Kim says. She comes over and plops down on the bed beside Meg, draping the blue dress across both their laps before leaning over to twine a lock of her brown hair with Meg's red.

"It's pretty close, I think. See?"

[noteful]

Meg giggles, and nods.

[bannion_sight]

Kim laughs as well, and gives Meg a quick hug before bouncing back to her feet again.

"Blue it is." She goes to stare in the mirror, pulling her fingers through her hair.

"Ugh," she groans. "What am I going to do with this mess?"

[noteful]

Meg picks up her sister's hairbrush and holds it out.

"Get the tangles out first."

That's what Kim always says about Meg's hair.

[bannion_sight]

"Very practical," she says, taking the brush.

Kim winces slightly as she yanks it ruthlessly through a handful of locks, adding,

"What would I do without you?"

[noteful]

"Miss me a lot," Meg says, matter-of-factly.

Well, Kim would.

"And have to get ready all by yourself."

[bannion_sight]

"That would be awful," she teases. "Good thing you're here."

Kim glances at the stuff lying on the bed and adds,

"Why don't you pick out some barrettes and combs that might look good? I'm going to go plug in the curling iron and the rollers."

[noteful]

"Don't burn yourself," Meg says.

This is good advice. It's what people tell Meg, after all.

Meg lines all Kim's hair pins up in neat lines than then selects the four she thinks are the prettiest.

One, however, is red, and after a look over at the blue dress, Meg decides it won't do at all.

"All ready," she says, holding the remaining three out so Kim can see what she's found.

[bannion_sight]

Kim whirls back into the room and leans over to look at the display.

"Hmmmm." She frowns over them for a few seconds, then picks up one with diamond-like rhinestones scattered all over it.

"This one, I think."

[noteful]

Meg nods.

"It's really pretty.

"You're going to look like a princess."

[bannion_sight]

"Princess Kim," she says, laughing. "All I need is a crown, right?"

[noteful]

"And one of those sparkly sticks, that princesses carry.

"But that might make it hard to dance."

So maybe not.

[bannion_sight]

"I'll keep the crown, you can have the scepter, how's that?" Kim tells her.

[noteful]

Meg nods.

"Okay.

"And you'll need a prince."

Princesses at dances always get princes.

[bannion_sight]

"I have one. Greg." And oh, but her smile is bright. Kim glances at the clock and gasps. "He'll be here soon! Just a second--"

She snatches up the dress and vanishes into the bathroom with it and the hairpin, calling back,

"Meg? Shoes?"

[noteful]

Meg picks up Kim's shoes and slides down off the bed.

They're really pretty. They have high heels and everything.

She follows Kim over to the bathroom, and stands in the doorway with the shoes.

And then looks down at them, thoughtfully.

"Kim? How did Cinderella dance in glass shoes? Why didn't they break?"

[bannion_sight]

"They were magic shoes," Kim explains. She's slipped into the dress, thrown a towel over her shoulders, and is now curling her hair with the iron.

"Her fairy godmother made them, so they were special. Magic things are like that."

[noteful]

Meg gives this a moment of serious consideration, and then nods.

Magic doesn't have to make sense.

"It's a silly thing to make shoes out of."

Kim's shoes are not made out of anything silly.

[bannion_sight]

"I guess if you're Cinderella and didn't have any pretty shoes, it might not have been?"

She frowns at the last curl, and reattacks it with the iron before pinning it back with the hair clip Meg had picked out. Kim tosses the towel aside and turns to her little sister.

"What do you think?"

[noteful]

Meg gives this very serious consideration (because giving opinions is an important job), and then decides, "I think you look perfect."

And then their mother calls up the steps that not-really-a-prince Greg has arrived, and there's a whirl of activity that ends with Meg going back upstairs to get the purse Kim has left on the bed.

Everyone tells Kim how pretty she looks (see, Meg was right about that), and Dad takes a lot of pictures, and then Mom leaves with Kim and Greg to drive them to the school.

Meg sits down on the very bottom step, elbow on knee, chin in hand. It's very tiring work, being the helper.

She's very surprised when there's another flash from Dad's camera. "Why are you taking my picture? I'm not doing anything special. I'm just thinking."

"Maybe I wanted a picture of you not doing anything special, just thinking." Dad sits down beside her. "What are you thinking about, Megkin?"

"When I grow up, will I be like Kim?"

"In some ways, probably. But, more important than that, you'll be like Meg."

"But Meg's little," Meg points out.

"Well, Meg won't always be. Kim was little, too, when she was your age. You'll see."

"I guess," Meg says.

"Come on," he says, standing up. "Let's go do the dishes, so they'll be all done when Mom gets home. You can dry them."

"Okay," Meg says.

They're not quite done when Mom gets home, but they're very close. Mom wants Dad to come see something about the car, so Meg finishes drying them on her own, putting the ones that go in high places on the kitchen table, carefully, so someone else can put them away.

And then she goes into the laundry room to but the dish towel in the hamper.

At least . . . that was the idea . . .