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I was taught to be shy, demure, sweet, God-fearing, quiet.
It was not my real self, but it is what was drummed into me.
I was too wild, too loud, too uncontrollable, too rebellious, too me.
So I did what I was told, because I wanted my mother to approve.
It was nigh onto impossible at first, but it got much easier.

Trixie was a wild woman at six; she ran not only all over the neighborhood
But she ran all over town, at first on foot, later on a bike.
She had more freedom than the boys. She talked loudly, and laughed more loudly.
She was undisciplined, a pirate, an Amazon woman, a leader among men.
I was intrigued, amazed, and in awe.  She had the life I wanted.

We grew up and did not know each other much anymore, as if she ever spent time with me.
But she did spend time with my future husband, because he had been a run-around-town-kid too.
They had run around town all of our childhood, saying and doing whatever they wanted.
They had freedom to be themselves, making no apology for their true-ness.
I was envious of both of them, as I watched them from my socialized cell of dullness.

When we were twenty-seven, Trixie got murdered. Bam. Dead! Gone. Killed.
The night I heard about it, I thought “if they can murder Trixie, they can murder anybody.”
She had two little kids. I had two little kids. The only thing is, I had NEVER truly lived
and she had…..
She who was gone, dead at twenty-seven.
The next day I decided to be the real me. 
If they get me now, I resolved, at least I will have LIVED.
I began by laughing loudly, and enthusiastically began regaining my childhood self.
The one I had shoved into a dungeon years ago to please my mother.

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