Rumors About a Neighbor
I heard she’s a narcissist he said.
Because she had self-worth I thought.
But I am only eight. What do I know?
Maybe she is used to pretty things.
She’s vain, Aunt G told me, he added.
For emphasis which he does sometimes when unsure.
I walked away; a good book was waiting on my bed.
You shouldn’t be uppity, he yelled after me. I flashed a grin.
She’s rude, he said. His voice filtered up the stairs.
Loud laughter now at the new woman’s expense.
She’s probably overbearing, grandma said loudly.
She cannot hear, so her voice travels through concrete.
She’s pompous, over proud, horrible, I thought, rolling my eyes.
I already knew that in this family only males were encouraged toward pride.
Women were expected to be docile, chattel, easy to control and mold.
My sister squealed, probably gets to bake cookies.
I picked up my book and became Pippi Longstocking, the Pirate Queen.
Aloof, self-assured, living by my own assertiveness and clever wits!
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