1984
She is a traviesa. Not bad, just busy and a busybody.
outside, messy
She writes her ABCs (upper- and lowercase, thank you very much) using her dad’s brand new colored pencils on his brand new, unfinished wood drafting table, each letter a different color.
unbothered, unfazed
She tap dances on her grandma’s shiny coffee table, delighted to hear each satisfying click. She licks every single S&H Green Stamp her grandma has been saving to earn a set of dishes because the stamps look so much prettier on the wood paneling and because she kinda likes the way the stamp glue tastes.
moving, twinkling eyes
She knows all of her aunts’ chewing gum preferences because she regularly rummages through their purses to sneak a piece. Then her mom has to regularly get said gum out of her hair.
jeans, favorite t-shirt
She does experiments outside with nothing but dirt, hose water, and an occasional dandelion. She is the mistress of ceremonies at her kindergarten graduation because she is the only kid who can memorize lines and isn’t afraid of talking in front of people.
focused, loud
When her uncle asks her what’s new, she exclaims, “My dad slept on the couch last night!,” doesn’t skip a beat. If left alone too long in the bathroom, she swipes her mom’s Avon lipstick across her lips and pulls everything out of the drawers because if she can’t see it, it doesn’t exist.
1985
She is the oldest, two sisters and one on the way. Aware she is not bad and might actually be too good.
inside, composed
She completes her Catholic school’s 1st grade entrance exam in about 15 minutes, knowing all of her answers are correct but confused about why those were the tasks she had to complete in the first place.
worried, hesitant
Her mom tells her to keep an eye on her little sister while they are both at Vacation Bible School across the street. She looks away for a minute, evaluating all the bubble wand options, and doesn’t see that her little sister chose a straw. Her little sister doesn’t know that she needs to blow out, not suck in, so she swallows the bubble solution and immediately cries, the unexpected soap such a shock to her tongue.
As her little sister is lying on a nap-time cot, heaving gasps and runny nose, she cries right along with her. When the teacher asks why she is crying as well, she can only squeak out in between sobs that she is so sad that her sister is going to die (everyone knows you’re not supposed to swallow bubbles because they’re poison), and that she is so scared because she is also going to die because her mom told her to keep on eye on her sister and now she’s killed her.
still, protective
She reads books; The Princess and the Pea is her favorite. She is the only kid in her class whose city library card isn’t restricted to the children’s section. Her mom and dad agree that she is allowed to check out any book in the library she wants. Any book.
lavender skirt, favorite color
She and her little sisters play House and Doctor and School. She is always the Mom and the Doctor and the Teacher, and they are always the Baby and the Patient and the Student. She stashes her treasures (gum-ball machine ring, chapstick, pigeon feather, Barbie shoes) in a jewelry box that plays music while a tiny plastic ballerina twirls. Then she stuffs the jewelry box under a blanket and pushes it all the way to the right corner of her top bunk up against the wall, the safest spot she knows.
focused, quiet
Her mom is standing on the couch, swiping her Avon lipstick across the living room wall. The words and numbers are so big and so red on the bare white wall, she thinks to herself before her mom puts them all in the station wagon. Her dad covers the wall with a giant wallpaper mural of a blue lake and green trees, and now she feels better because if she can’t see it, it doesn’t exist.