You Are Not Magical
I am magical, I said. I can control her.
You cannot!
Yes, I can, and I do.
You do not!
My eight-year-old twin is angry now, with a mean face.
I do not back down. Want to see?
How?
What do you want me to make her do?
Make her come down those stairs.
During Jeopardy?
I am backing up now.
Our mother loves Jeopardy, it is the only TV show she believes in.
I cannot control her during Jeopardy.
I wrack my brain
and it quickly comes up with a plan.
I smack her favorite blue glass vase off the top of the TV set.
There is a loud cracking sound.
My sister’s face turns into a horror movie.
She runs off, screaming “MAWWWWWWMMMMMMMM!”
Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
See? I think stupidly.
I am magical!
Impulsivity is my middle name.
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