0-2-4-8

2003-04-02 - 4:27 p.m.

Birth
My tiny, premature self is scrubbed clean held under the faucet in one hand of a huge male nurse. My grandfather watches this scene through the glass, crying that I'll never live.

Two
The doctors make calculations and predictions based on the length of my leg bones and declare, "She's going to be an Amazon."

Four
Ballet recital. I ignore the routine and dance my own dance. I am waved to by a family friend in the audience; in response, I run to the front of the stage, wave back, and holler, "Hi, Uncle Bill!!"

Eight
It's about this age that I start attempting my first novel, hunched over my father's Olivetti manual typewriter (with both red and black ink ribbons). I start a love affair with words, with typewriters, fresh blank paper, the smell of ink and possibilities.

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Pretend it's 10th grade. Leave me a note.

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