AIM [FIRST DRAFT]

Chapter 9: Well, Some Things Change

                  

An hour after Aimee fell dormant, her parents returned home. As they climbed out of their car, they each carried shopping bags into the house. Clifford pushed the front door handle down with his elbow and it gave way. All he could hear was Molly yelling at him for not locking the door, but she ceased before it turned into an argument. They walked inside and unpacked the groceries in the kitchen.

Clifford became aware that Aimee was not around. He looked for her upstairs and called her name a few times before reaching her bedroom door. There she was, lying safe and sound on her bed.

"Sleep tight, angel," he whispered as he closed her door and went back to his wife.

By quarter past seven, Molly was preparing macaroni and cheese for the three of them. Every now and then, while standing at the stove, she would call Clifford over and ask him to bring her the ingredients she needed from the cupboard or the cabinets. When supper was ready, Clifford went upstairs to bring Aimee to dinner. Her eyes opened slowly.

"Hey, Dad," she smiled.

"Dad... I like the sound of that." he replied. "Supper's ready Aim, you'd better get downstairs before Molly comes looking for you."

"We don't want that," laughed Aimee.

"No we don't, so come on," he gestured.

"I'll be right down," she yawned.

As soon as Clifford left the room, Aimee took the pillow off her arm, stood up, walked passed her mirror and swung her wardrobe doors wide open. In between her pyjamas and summer dress hung a brown, hooded, cotton jacket.

Aimee slipped her arms through the sleeves before realising they were too short to cover her cast. She looked at her homework desk and spotted a pair of short red gloves. She picked them up and slid her right hand in the right glove. Before she could put the other glove on, Molly walked into the room.

"Aimee, what are you doing?" she queried. "I already dished your food onto your plate."

"Nothing, I'm coming," sputtered Aimee.

She stuck her hand into her glove. Molly wondered why Aimee was wearing gloves on such a warm evening, but tried not to ask. The two of them walked down to the dinner table. Once they were all seated, Molly blessed the food and they could eat.

When they were done, Aimee proceeded to take everyone's plates and pack them into the dishwasher. They were all satisfied with the meal, or so they thought. Aimee had wished her parents goodnight and headed upstairs to wash up in the bathroom and get dressed for bed. She walked past the toilet, glimpsed at it. Aimee felt her stomach grumble suddenly. She rushed to the toilet, knelt down, holding her hair back, and threw up. She was not the only one who felt sick. Aimee rinsed up and as soon as she lay in bed, she heard Clifford and Molly vomit too. Aimee was certainly disgusted. She shook her head as it lay on her pillow.

"Only Molly's cooking," she said.

When Aimee woke up the next morning she was feeling much better. Once again she was the first one awake. She poured herself a bowl of cereal and took a shower. She put on the summer dress she saw in her wardrobe the previous night. It was bright pink, short and frilly at the bottom.

Aimee took off her cast and threw it onto her bed. She was checking herself out in the mirror when Clifford and Molly entered the room, wearing their pyjamas. They were astonished to see her in a dress.

"Aimee, you look beautiful," cried Molly. "How long has it been since you wore that dress?"

"Last year... when you bought it," shied Aimee.