Where I lived was typical for a middle class family: small, close to school, and near a park. My neighborhood was full of families struggling financially, the same way we were. My father is big in stature; not in a fat way but more in a muscular toned up sort of way. His skin is naturally bronzed, the type of brown that people crave while they sit in the sun for hours or pay to sit in a box and become artificially tanned with a florid undertone. I have always marveled at my fathers knack for being so strong, both physically and psychologically. He always told me and Teia that in any crunch, rely on our instincts and we will find that good people tend to make good decisions. He has always been in our corner. Teia is three years younger than me. We have different mothers, but we do not make that obvious. She is six years old and such a pest. I had outgrown that adorable stage, becoming awkward and quirky rather than cute and captivating. While she was bathing in attention and getting away with everything, I tended to be blamed as the culprit of it all. Everyone always believed her lies without question. I was the only one to see through the facade of a sweet, innocent, and fragile child who could do no wrong.
I remember looking into her light brown eyes and yelling, Teia do not ever talk to me again; we are DONE! as we went outside to the park next door. It was the first week out of school, a warm summer day; freedom was ubiquitous. The grass crunched under my feet as I trotted to my favorite spot on the play structure, the top of the monkey bars. I remember liking that spot because Teia was too small to climb up there without assistance, and I surely was not going to help pull her up today. The top of the bars were unique in that you could see the entire park from there. Teia and I had gotten in a heated disagreement prior to arriving at the park so she brought her Malibu Beach Barbie Jeep along with Tammy, her favorite doll, to occupy her time.
