When I think back as far as I can go, I drift to the hallway bathroom of my childhood home during the summer of 1996.
Mom was doing other stuff that day, so she didn’t have time to talk to me. Dad was still at work. He didn’t get off until 3:15, which the small, wooden clock on the sofa end table would remind me.
The living room was full of light. To the unknowing eye, it might have appeared happy, but Mom was so sad that the light seemed out of place, mocking. As the happy sunshine cascaded upon our dingy calico carpet, it revealed gloomy stains and wear. The plant in the bay window was dying.
Our kitchen was all beige walls, and the cabinets were too high. I couldn’t climb them, and Mom didn’t like it when I tried. There were no snacks in there anyway, just canned green beans and instant potatoes.
A little gate divided the kitchen from the back of our house. As I leapt and bounded over it with the nonexistent gracefulness of a young girl, I was stuck on the top of the gate with my toes just an inch off the ground. It hurt my crotch really bad, but I couldn’t make a sound because Mom would tell me to stay in the living room. I didn’t want to do that because it just made me sad.
Once over the fence, I sat right next to the China Cabinet. I loved the way its wood-grain man screamed like he was crazy. I didn’t know how the man got in the wood, but I knew that he didn’t mind being there. From against the wall, right next to the front window, wood-grain man could stare at my dad’s shrubs all day.
My dad worked very hard on his shrubs because he loved them. He loved them almost as much as he loved me. He loved me the most, and I knew it. It might have been the only thing I really knew for sure.
Sitting beside the China Cabinet Man, I watched our neighbor, Scott, wash his Camaro. Dad said Scott chose to drive a Camaro because he was middle-aged and sad, but that didn’t make sense to me. I told him that I thought everyone should drive a Camaro.
I thought Camaros were beautiful, and I knew that when I grew up, I would drive a purple one with sparkles. It would be very fast and I would drive it perfectly. In my dreams, I envisioned washing my Camaro the way Scott washed his: in the driveway with a big bucket and a hose with a big green spray head. Our hose wasn’t long enough, so I knew I would have to buy a new one when I got older.
Scott finished washing his Camaro, so sitting next to China Cabinet Man became pretty boring. I tiptoed into the White Bathroom. The White Bathroom was very small, and it belonged to Dad. I accidentally walked in there once when Dad was peeing. I saw his butt, and I didn’t mean to, and I know he was mad, but I didn’t know he was in there. I was very sorry, and ever since that happened, I hated that bathroom because I felt like it made me do something bad.
The same calico carpet from the living room ran all across the China Cabinet Room and the hall. I followed its splotchy patterns with my feet. I stretched my legs as far as they would stretch, like I was an ice dancer in the Olympics.
As I stretched and twirled, I dreamed: I am Michelle Kwan. Everyone claps and knows that I am the most beautiful figure skater at the Olympics. Everyone in the whole world is watching me.
“She just landed a perfect Triple Salchow,” I could hear the announcer boast to the people as I jumped on a dark spot in the hallway carpet. Everyone, even Scott across the street, watched in amazement as I danced on ice.
I was not scared of the metal blades on my skates, or of spinning too fast. I was fearless. I, Michelle Kwan, made my final landing at the end of the hallway. As I landed, I raised my arms as high as they would go and bowed to my audience. “Amazing! She is an ice ballerina,” everyone cheered.
At that moment, I knew the crowd had gone home and turned off their TVs. The bathroom door beside me hung open, inviting me to step in. I turned on the light, revealing light blue marbled tile walls. They looked like the clouds on my birthday: July 15th. That was my favorite day of the year because everyone was happy and the sun was really bright. And I got presents and ice cream cake.
Offhandedly, I wondered if I would have grown-up teeth on my next birthday. The thought didn’t hold my interest, so I let my mind wander. I stood on the toilet and climbed onto the sink cabinet. My foot slipped into the sink and my sock got damp, damp like dogs in the rain. Or maybe like the sponges before Dad painted my bedroom walls.
I stared at the girl in the big bathroom mirror. She had straight blonde hair and big brown eyes. Everyone said they were pretty brown eyes, and I thought they were, too. I liked to look at them because they made me proud. I don’t know why something that I didn’t do made me feel so proud. I stared closer. I stared so closely that my eyes almost hit the glass. Was it glass? It was smooth and hard like glass, but I wasn’t sure.
My eyes were so close to the mirror that I couldn’t distinguish them as eyes. They were shiny brownness surrounded by whiteness. The white was so white because I was young, because when you’re old, the white won’t be white. It will be beige, like kitchen walls.
When I backed away a little bit, I saw something else in my iris. The iris is the part of your eye that has the color. Mom told me that, and she was smart, so everything she said was right. Inside my iris, I saw the girl: a miniature me.
This made me wonder: Are eyeballs mirrors? And what is a mirror? I didn’t understand how a person could be born with eyes because they seemed too complex. There were too many little pieces that could break. And doctors couldn’t fix them! If your eyes broke, then you never saw again.
I knew that I couldn’t let that happen to me. I needed to see because I needed to drive a purple Camaro and I needed to become a world-famous figure skater. I couldn’t let my eyes break because they were beautiful.
I knew that I had to work very hard to become a skater and veterinarian and waitress. I wanted to wait tables and wear a short skirt, just like the ladies at Rosewood. As a waitress, I would dance with my hands filled with trays of food. I would spin and fling the trays to the people. They wouldn’t be able to believe how gracefully.
It all seemed possible, and I’ll never forget the little mirror in my eyes because it’s helped me remember that all this time.
Mom was doing other stuff that day, so she didn’t have time to talk to me. Dad was still at work. He didn’t get off until 3:15, which the small, wooden clock on the sofa end table would remind me.
The living room was full of light. To the unknowing eye, it might have appeared happy, but Mom was so sad that the light seemed out of place, mocking. As the happy sunshine cascaded upon our dingy calico carpet, it revealed gloomy stains and wear. The plant in the bay window was dying.
Our kitchen was all beige walls, and the cabinets were too high. I couldn’t climb them, and Mom didn’t like it when I tried. There were no snacks in there anyway, just canned green beans and instant potatoes.
A little gate divided the kitchen from the back of our house. As I leapt and bounded over it with the nonexistent gracefulness of a young girl, I was stuck on the top of the gate with my toes just an inch off the ground. It hurt my crotch really bad, but I couldn’t make a sound because Mom would tell me to stay in the living room. I didn’t want to do that because it just made me sad.
Once over the fence, I sat right next to the China Cabinet. I loved the way its wood-grain man screamed like he was crazy. I didn’t know how the man got in the wood, but I knew that he didn’t mind being there. From against the wall, right next to the front window, wood-grain man could stare at my dad’s shrubs all day.
My dad worked very hard on his shrubs because he loved them. He loved them almost as much as he loved me. He loved me the most, and I knew it. It might have been the only thing I really knew for sure.
Sitting beside the China Cabinet Man, I watched our neighbor, Scott, wash his Camaro. Dad said Scott chose to drive a Camaro because he was middle-aged and sad, but that didn’t make sense to me. I told him that I thought everyone should drive a Camaro.
I thought Camaros were beautiful, and I knew that when I grew up, I would drive a purple one with sparkles. It would be very fast and I would drive it perfectly. In my dreams, I envisioned washing my Camaro the way Scott washed his: in the driveway with a big bucket and a hose with a big green spray head. Our hose wasn’t long enough, so I knew I would have to buy a new one when I got older.
Scott finished washing his Camaro, so sitting next to China Cabinet Man became pretty boring. I tiptoed into the White Bathroom. The White Bathroom was very small, and it belonged to Dad. I accidentally walked in there once when Dad was peeing. I saw his butt, and I didn’t mean to, and I know he was mad, but I didn’t know he was in there. I was very sorry, and ever since that happened, I hated that bathroom because I felt like it made me do something bad.
The same calico carpet from the living room ran all across the China Cabinet Room and the hall. I followed its splotchy patterns with my feet. I stretched my legs as far as they would stretch, like I was an ice dancer in the Olympics.
As I stretched and twirled, I dreamed: I am Michelle Kwan. Everyone claps and knows that I am the most beautiful figure skater at the Olympics. Everyone in the whole world is watching me.
“She just landed a perfect Triple Salchow,” I could hear the announcer boast to the people as I jumped on a dark spot in the hallway carpet. Everyone, even Scott across the street, watched in amazement as I danced on ice.
I was not scared of the metal blades on my skates, or of spinning too fast. I was fearless. I, Michelle Kwan, made my final landing at the end of the hallway. As I landed, I raised my arms as high as they would go and bowed to my audience. “Amazing! She is an ice ballerina,” everyone cheered.
At that moment, I knew the crowd had gone home and turned off their TVs. The bathroom door beside me hung open, inviting me to step in. I turned on the light, revealing light blue marbled tile walls. They looked like the clouds on my birthday: July 15th. That was my favorite day of the year because everyone was happy and the sun was really bright. And I got presents and ice cream cake.
Offhandedly, I wondered if I would have grown-up teeth on my next birthday. The thought didn’t hold my interest, so I let my mind wander. I stood on the toilet and climbed onto the sink cabinet. My foot slipped into the sink and my sock got damp, damp like dogs in the rain. Or maybe like the sponges before Dad painted my bedroom walls.
I stared at the girl in the big bathroom mirror. She had straight blonde hair and big brown eyes. Everyone said they were pretty brown eyes, and I thought they were, too. I liked to look at them because they made me proud. I don’t know why something that I didn’t do made me feel so proud. I stared closer. I stared so closely that my eyes almost hit the glass. Was it glass? It was smooth and hard like glass, but I wasn’t sure.
My eyes were so close to the mirror that I couldn’t distinguish them as eyes. They were shiny brownness surrounded by whiteness. The white was so white because I was young, because when you’re old, the white won’t be white. It will be beige, like kitchen walls.
When I backed away a little bit, I saw something else in my iris. The iris is the part of your eye that has the color. Mom told me that, and she was smart, so everything she said was right. Inside my iris, I saw the girl: a miniature me.
This made me wonder: Are eyeballs mirrors? And what is a mirror? I didn’t understand how a person could be born with eyes because they seemed too complex. There were too many little pieces that could break. And doctors couldn’t fix them! If your eyes broke, then you never saw again.
I knew that I couldn’t let that happen to me. I needed to see because I needed to drive a purple Camaro and I needed to become a world-famous figure skater. I couldn’t let my eyes break because they were beautiful.
I knew that I had to work very hard to become a skater and veterinarian and waitress. I wanted to wait tables and wear a short skirt, just like the ladies at Rosewood. As a waitress, I would dance with my hands filled with trays of food. I would spin and fling the trays to the people. They wouldn’t be able to believe how gracefully.
It all seemed possible, and I’ll never forget the little mirror in my eyes because it’s helped me remember that all this time.