Saturday, April 17, 2010
As a child with thin braids and stick legs she made it a habit to close her eyes and shrug a shoulder and say, "Oh but isn't it marvelous? Isn't it divine?"; drawing out her a's with the same luxurious delay she heard when she went to the movies. Her forced accent was particularly pronounced when she had dirt from the dry plot of land next to her family's garage caked beneath her fingernails and was surrounded by her mates of play. They were never bothered by her pretensions, which expanded beyond her vowel pronunciation into the fields of her family lineage (She was the great-great-great-great-granddaughter of the Prince Archduke of Himalaysica and the niece of Rita Hayworth) and medical miracles (She was born with diamonds for eyes but her parents had them removed because they were afraid she would make the other children jealous if she had princess cut corneas). The ragtag team she spent her fall afternoons and summer sunsets with knew she was a fake, but her stories were fun to listen to and her mother made the best lemonade and chocolate peanut butter cookies, so they let her, the dusty-faced girl with pin thin braids, continue on with her fictitious personality and when she asked, they would tell her that her cotton ball and butcher paper stole was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.