JUNE 12, 1991
Lizzie
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH HER?”
“Nothing.” Mammy continued to cradle me to her chest. “She’s
perfect.”
“Why isn’t she talking by now?” Caoimhe didn’t look happy. She didn’t
sound happy either. “Lizzie is three, Mam. Three. And she’s not doing
anything she’s supposed to be doing.”
“She’s fine, Caoimhe,” Mammy said, using an extra happy voice.
“She’ll catch up.” She kissed my cheek, and I burrowed in close to her
chest. I loved her smell and the way she held me tight. I liked to press my
ear against her chest and listen to her heart thump.
Thump, thump, thump.
I smiled and touched her face. She had the best face. She had kind eyes.
They were blue, just like mine. I knew the color. I knew all the colors and
wanted to tell my sister that. I just…couldn’t get the words to come out.
My voice wouldn’t work.
“Do you think she’s slow?” Caoimhe asked, sounding sad, and I wanted
to make her feel better because I wasn’t slow at running. I was super fast.
“Does she need, like, a special school or something?”
“This is not a conversation for little ears.” Mammy’s voice was cross
now, and I didn’t like it. Burrowing in deeper, I hid my face in her cardigan.
“So please, just go and do your homework. We can talk about this tonight
when your father gets home.”
“I want to go home.”
“We are home, Caoimhe.”
“No, I want to go back to our real home,” she shouted. “I hate it in
England, Mam. I don’t have any friends, and everyone at school teases me
for the way I talk.”
“They’re idiots,” Mammy told her. “Ignore them.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” my sister said before turning to me. “You
ruined everything,” she screamed. “I wish you were never born.”
“Caoimhe!”
