Notes

When my sister started first grade she joined me
on my walk, and my storytelling afternoons were
over.
“What do you do if you have to go to the bath-
room?” she asked. Then, “Why aren’t you talking to
me?”
I tried to ignore her, but it was useless; she contin-
ued to pester me with her inquisitive chatter. I sighed
heavily and explained about the stories in my head,
and she demanded to hear them. I didn’t want to
share, but she persisted. So I tried to explain what
Elizabeth looked like, the color and length of her
hair, and how she wore it in a ponytail when she
rode horses, but the words got caught in my throat.
I couldn’t do the voices, and Elizabeth sounded dull
out loud. Erin began kicking the rocks in the road
and saying she was hungry.
The next day when we got off the bus, the sto-
ries didn’t come. I tried to think about where I’d left
off, but drew a blank. My breathing felt tight, and
I blamed my sister; she’d ruined everything! I walked
quickly home and picked up a notebook and pen,
because I didn’t want to forget. I sat down at my desk
and started to write.
When I wasn’t making up stories, I was read-
ing them. Mom read books to my sister and me every
night. Even though we didn’t have much money, going