21 Dec

I am six years old and it is summer. The Older Sister and I are in swimming lessons. We get home from the lesson and our mother makes us lunch. We argued over what kind of hamburger helper to have—I wanted lasagna, not cheeseburger, because I don’t like cheese. (Note: lasagna hamburger helper totally has cheese on it, which Older Sister pointed out more than once.)

I must have swallowed a lot of water at our lesson because halfway through lunch I feel a bit queasy. Older Sister encourages me to finish my lunch, and I try. Oh, I try. And then I puke up all of it – the chlorine and the helpful meal. 

My mother lays me down in their bedroom to let me sleep it off. I wake up in the afternoon under a white chenille bedspread. A box fan is blowing on me and my nausea is gone. I can hear my sisters playing outside and see the sun coming in through the windows, and it is the most perfect I have ever felt in my life.



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