"Andrews, V C - crystal" - читать интересную книгу автора (Andrews V.C)

my face with cold water just to calm myself. When
I looked in the mirror then, I studied myself,
searching my eyes, my mouth, looking for some
sign of evil. I felt like Dr. Jekyll searching for a glimpse of Mr. Hyde. From that day forward, I've
had nightmares about it. In them I see myself
become mentally ill and so sick that I would be
put in some clinic and locked away forever.
I suppose it was just natural that any psychologist
who knew about my past would wonder if I
shared any characteristics with my parents. From
what I had read, I understood that my mother

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CRYSTAL
apparently acted out in school often and was a
very difficult student for all the teachers. She was
constantly in trouble. I've never been like that,
but I recently read that this sort of behavior is
considered a call for help, just as attempting
suicide is.
With all these calls for help, the world seemed
like a great big ocean with many people drowning
and lifeguards whimsically choosing to help this
one or that one. Naturally, the richer ones always
were saved or at least tossed a lifeline. Those like
me were shoved into mental institutions, group
foster homes, orphanages, and prisons. We were
swept under the rug with so many others. It made
me wondernow anyone could walk on it.
I never told anyone what I had learned, of
course, but I began to understand why it wasjhat
few prospective parents ever showed interest in
me. They probably were given information about
my past and decided not to take a chance on
someone like me.
Once, when I was at a different orphanage, I
was sitting outside and readingTAe Diary of Anne
Frank. (I was always two or three reading grade
levels above other kids my age.) Suddenly, I fett a
shadow move over me, and I looked up to see a
balloon drifting in the wind, the string dangling
like a tail. Some little child had loosened his or
her grip, and it had escaped. Now, however, it
drifted aimlessly, attached to no one, doomed
never to return to its owner. It disappeared over a
V. C^ANBREWS
rim of treetops, and I thought, that's what we're
all like here, balloons that someone released will
ingly or unwillingly, poor souls lost and sailing
into the wind, waiting and hoping for another