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He hesitated, hovering over my small bed. On top of the bed, a rising cartoon bunny danced in the pink four-petal fields. NEXT TIME I'M VOTING THAT WE CAMP 5 DAYS AND WORK 2. It's mine, I say, my voice insisting almost agitated. The floor of the bedroom seemed to wobble under my feet, and I clung to the doll as if it was alone that could help me from losing my balance and tumbling. My father shook his head. As far as I remember, that was the only time his calmness had faded. He wants too much, but the world is shrinking. His wife shunned him, the job was unsuccessful, and the only son he would have no other children would love to play dolls and house games quietly.
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