Nobody's Family is Going to Change. Louise Fitzhugh

going to do about it, but I know one damned thing and that is that I am going to do something about it.

      The rage and the turmoil and the fury began to express itself and he felt his body turn and he felt his body leap. He felt his body do things he didn’t know it could do. He felt a release that was like nothing that had ever happened to his legs before, his arms, even his face; his body turned in a way no body had ever turned. In midair, defying gravity, he turned and soared and jumped and leapt and winged up like a porpoise. He leapt so high his head felt the brush of the ceiling, and even this did not stop the flow, the turning of his body. Faintly, he heard Emma begin to beat on the wall, but it did nothing to his leaping. His body went on and on, inexhaustible, doing everything that he had ever wanted to do and everything that no one had ever been able to do before, and then he was in mid-air, he turned in midair and he was before the window of his room and he soared once again. Gravity almost forgotten, a useless thing, his soul pushed his body until the space before the window no longer had anything to do with the window, but was a space, a space so beautiful, so clear, so completely his that he took it. He conquered it and made it all his own.

      Emma heard all the noise next door and beat on the wall a couple of times, which produced, finally, silence. She went back to her work, her research in children’s rights. Emma was drafting a Children’s Charter. It was a Magna Charta, a Bill of Rights, a Constitution, and a Declaration of Independence rolled into one.

      Mrs. Sheridan opened the door to Emma’s room. Willie was hanging on to her arm, looking in at Emma as though he were at the zoo.

      “Emma?”

      “Mmm.”

      “Emma, your father and I are going out to dinner. Martha will make supper for you. Emma?”

      “Mmm.”

      “She don’t hear nothing,” said Willie.

      “She doesn’t hear anything,” said Mrs. Sheridan. “That’s right,” said Willie complacently. “Not a thing.”

      “Emma?”

      “Yes.”

      “Emma, look at me when I talk to you.”

      A pair of eyes as glazed as doughnuts moved up to rest near her left earlobe.

      “We won’t be out late.”

      “Have a nice time,” said a voice lost in 1776.

      “She don’t hear nothing,” said Willie again as Mrs. Sheridan closed the door to her daughter’s room.

      “Anything,” she said absently as she rustled up the hall, the wide, flowing legs of her silk pants suit making a noise that enchanted Willie.

      “Beautiful! You look so beautiful!” he said happily, bouncing, skipping, jumping along behind her.

      They both admired Mr. Sheridan when he appeared in his tuxedo. “I feel like a panda,” he said gruffly.

      “You look beautiful!” said Willie.

      “Oh, for . . .” Mr. Sheridan was through the door and in the hall, ringing for the elevator.

      “Goodbye, Martha, we won’t be late,” called Mrs. Sheridan. “Goodbye, darling.” She bent and kissed Willie.

      “Come on,” said the bear in the hall.

      “Bye, Mommy!” yelled Willie. He closed the door behind them and skipped to the kitchen. “Hi!” he said wildly to Martha.

      “Did you wash your hands?”

      “Nope.”

      “Wash.”

      “Yep.” Willie ran down the hall, colliding fiercely with Emma as she floated out of her room.

      “Were you listening at my door?” She clutched the front of his shirt.

      “To what? The pages turning?” Willie squirmed.

      “You were, you little rat, I’ll—”

      “Emma.” Martha stood at the end of the hall. “Stop that and wash your hands. Go into your parents’ bathroom. I don’t want the two of you at that sink at the same time.”

      Emma dropped Willie like dirty laundry and stomped down the hall.

      Willie stuck out his tongue at her silently, felt himself all over to see if he was maimed and, finding that he was whole, danced to the bathroom.

      At dinner they sat opposite each other, with Martha in between.

      “Pass the butter,” said Emma. Martha took it from Willie and passed it to Emma. There was silence after that.

      “Pass the butter,” said Willie. Martha took it from Emma and passed it to Willie. More silence.

      “Pass the butter,” said Emma.

      “What is this?” said Martha.

      “What?” They both looked up at her in surprise.

      “Are you two aware that I have done nothing but pass the butter back and forth for half an hour?”

      Willie giggled.

      “Why don’t you seat us next to each other and put the butter in between?” said Emma humorlessly.

      “Because you hit me,” said Willie.

      “What are you talking about, you little idiot? And what were you doing in your room all afternoon?”

      “Practicing leaps.”

      “Hah! The nigger Nijinsky!” said Emma ferociously.

      “Emma!” Martha was appalled. “Emma, that’s the worst thing I ever heard in my life. Now you apologize, right this minute!”

      “It’s better than faggot,” said Willie, eating his peas.

      “You will leave the table, Emma, if you don’t apologize,” said Martha.

      That did it. Emma had no intention of leaving the table until she finished. “I apologize.”

      “Sincerely. I want you to mean it.”

      “Oh, little brother, friend of the white man, I meant you no harm. I would not hurt a nap on your nappy head.”

      Martha wasn’t quite sure what to make of this, so she let it go.

      Willie laughed. “Big Chief Loony Lady Lawyer,” he crowed.

      Emma gave him a murderous look, but kept eating steadily.

      “You two are too much,” said Martha. “I’m glad my kids don’t carry on the way you do. I’d go right out of my mind if they did. Do you want some of this fresh custard I made or do you want ice cream?”

      “Both,” said Emma.

      “Neither,” said Willie.

      “Now look, you two. You have to lose weight, Emma, and Willie here has to gain. I’m going to give Willie both, and you neither one.”

      “I’ll explode,” said Willie helplessly.

      Emma regarded Martha with a steady eye. “You can be put in jail, you know, for depriving children of food.”

      “You look deprived,” said Martha.

      “Ha ha hee hee.” Willie felt hysterical. He hated for people to fight, and particularly Emma. It terrified him. Emma glared at him, then at Martha.

      “It’s called maltreatment. You could get maybe five years.”

      “Your mother put you on a diet and you’re staying on a diet. You can have