inadequate. I knew she watched my every movement
and compared my proportions to hers. She realized I
was very much in proportion and how much she was
constructed grotesquely.
If I could have given her a part of my height,
gladly I would have done so. Instead, I gave her my
prayers. Night after night, I too went down on my
knees and prayed to God, "Please let Carrie grow!
Please, God, she's so young, and it hurts her so much,
and she's been through so much. Be kind. Look down,
God! See us! Hear us!"
One afternoon Carrie went to the only one who
could deliver almost everything--so why not size? Paul was sitting on his back veranda, sipping
wine, nibbling cheese and crackers. I was at ballet
class, so I heard only Paul's version of what happened. "She came to me, Cathy, and asked if I didn't
have a stretching machine to pull her out longer." I sighed when he told me.
" `If I had such a machine,' I told her"--and I
knew he'd done it with love, kindness and
understanding, not with mockery--" 'it would be a
very painful process. Have patience, darling, you're
taller than you were when you came. Time will make
you grow. Why, I've seen the shortest young people
suddenly just shoot up overnight after they reach
puberty.' She stared at me with those big blue haunted
eyes and I saw her disappointment. I had failed her. I
could tell from the way she ambled off with her
shoulders drooping and her head hung so low. Her
hopes must have ridden high when those cruel kids at
her school chided her about finding a 'stretching
machine.' "