She became all that I could see, shimmering gold pleading down at me. She stepped over me and planted those dainty pink slippers at my shoulders, her slight body throwing a large enough shadow to shield my face from the overhead glare. And Mom agreed to sign you up for the program as long as you swore never to throw a tantrum when you couldn’t make a practice or a, what? Recital.” You know Dad will never let us leave the house. Your recital might start while it’s sunny out, but it’ll end at dark. “Sweetie, we’ve gone over this, like, a thousand times. “Al-less.” At my side now, Em stomped her slippered foot in a bid for my attention. At five-ten, I was taller than most of the boys at my school and always stood out-I couldn’t go anywhere without getting a few what-are-you-a-giraffe? stares.īoys had never shown an interest in me, but I couldn’t count the number of times I had caught one drooling over my mom as she walked by or-gag-heard one whistle as she bent over to pick something up. Me? I had wavy white-blond hair, big blue eyes and legs that stretched for miles. Mom was short, barely over five-three, and I wasn’t sure Em would even make it to five-one. She was a miniature version of our mother and the complete opposite of me.īoth possessed a slick fall of dark hair and beautifully uptilted golden eyes. She wore a glittery pink ballerina costume, her pigtails bouncing with her every movement. A fat white rabbit, racing toward a tree.Įight-year-old Emma danced around me.
A butterfly with one of its wings shredded. As I breathed in the thick honeysuckle and lavender perfume of the Alabama summer, I could make out a few shapes. The sun shone brightly as puffy white clouds ghosted across an endless expanse of baby blue. I lay sprawled on a blanket in my backyard, weaving a daisy chain for my little sister.
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