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.