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

[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 . . .