Melanie Martin Goes Dutch (16 page)

I have to admit that the beach ladies are pretty distracting! You can see their you-know-whats, which, if you ask me, is
completely
inappropriate. And some of the ladies are, well,
ancient
and saggy-baggy.

Matt keeps whispering to Cecily and laughing
uncontrollably. But she isn't laughing along. In fact, she walked over to me and away from Matt.

Matt just asked Dad, “Why are the ladies showing off their boobies?” Instead of getting mad, Dad answered that customs and culture are different here and that many Europeans are more open and comfortable with their bodies than many Americans.

Comfortable?! All I can say is, their comfortableness makes me
uncomfortable
—and I don't mean because I have sand where I wish I didn't.

I broke the silence between me and Cecily. I said, “Cecily, how would you rate this beach? PG-13 or R?”

“I think PG-13,” she said. “It's like
National Geographic
.”

“
Ja
. I think you're right,” I said, and we halfway smiled at each other.

In shock,

Dear Diary,

Dear Diary,

At the canal house, Mom saw Dad's shirt and said, “What happened?” Dad looked right at me and said, “We had a little lunchtime incident. We've talked about it.” Fortunately, Mom didn't ask any more questions (not in front of me anyway). We gave her the monkey-tulip-peepee postcard and told her about the half-nudie beach and she looked at Dad

and sort of laughed. That was good. I thought she might get mad.

Dinner was mussels and a mushy vegetable stew called
hutspot
. It is pronounced like Put Spot but with an H. Good thing there was also bread on the table!

Anyway, Cecily is talking to the rest of my family and they're talking to her, and she and I are talking a little, but things are still messed up between us. It's as if we haven't been properly introduced.

Sometimes I feel mad at Cecily and I think it's her fault. Other times I feel like I'm letting her down even though I don't really know how.

Right now Cecily is in the shower. Mom just came in with a coffee-table book of still lifes—paintings of gorgeous flowers surrounded by bugs buzzing and butterflies flying. She asked Matt to pick any page.

He picked a page, but the book was dusty, so he sneezed and then said, “Bless me!”

Mom smiled and asked, “What do you think the artist was trying to say?”

“How should I know?” Matt said. I stayed silent.

Mom went straight into Art-Teacher Mode. “Tomorrow
these flowers won't be quite as beautiful, and soon their petals will fall. Even the insects will die. See?” I sort of saw. “I think the artist is saying,” Mom continued, “‘Appreciate being alive. Life is beautiful and delicate and fragile and it does not last forever.’”

Then Mom shut the book and tucked us in and said she'd be back in a minute to say good night to Cecily too.

Well, I don't know about Matt, but her little spiel kind of creeped me out. Who wants to think about life and death stuff when you're on vacation?

I hope I don't have bad dreams.

Dear Diary,

I didn't have bad dreams but I didn't sleep that well because Cecily kept mumbling and tossing and turning
and accidentally kicking me. Once, her entire arm splatted across my face. I had to pick it up and drop it back onto her side of the bed. When I woke up, I was scrunched waaaay over on one side of the bed. It was a miracle I hadn't fallen off.

Tiredly (Is that a word?),

Dear Diary,

The more I read Anne Frank's diary, the worse I feel about complaining about Cecily, Matt, Mom, and Dad. I mean, Anne was stuck with her family (two parents and one sister),
plus
another family (two parents and their teenage son),
plus
an old man dentist who shared a room with her! And they definitely weren't on vacation—they were in hiding!

Even though I wrote “I can relate,” I think I've been clueless about her life and how depressing and scary it was. Anne wrote that sometimes she thinks of other
Jewish children who were taken away and feels “wicked sleeping in a warm bed.” Well, I feel wicked for being a kid on vacation who forgets how good she has it and whines about stupid stuff.

Anne also wrote, “Would anyone, either Jew or non-Jew, understand this about me, that I am simply a young girl badly in need of some rollicking fun?”

I would! I feel so bad for her!

She would have loved to be in my shoes.