to Anne

“Barbie’s corvette is too big,” my brother explains, again, in exasperation. I roll my eyes. Our country is facing its biggest threat yet from the evil Cobra Organization (under the direction of Cobra Commander) and he thinks Barbie’s corvette is too big?? I sigh and fold my arms across the top of the pink convertible when we hear something from upstairs.

My brother jerks his head toward the sound of the front door opening, then footsteps moving in our direction. I look up from the G.I. Joe Aircraft Carrier USS FLAGG that manages to cover every square inch of our unfinished, unfurnished basement and perform a quick head count:

  1. Sarah (sister): opposite me, a Cobra Nightraider Jet held aloft in her hand, honed in and ready for attack.
  2. Kevin (brother): immediately adjacent ready to fend off the Cobra attack that is temporarily on hold.
  3. Jill (not a family member, but somehow always here): visual confirmation never required, constant stream of chatter…something about how boys shouldn’t like Barbie.
  4. Mom: upstairs, not visible, but the sound of a knife on the cutting board confirms her presence.
  5. Dad: dead, probably time to stop including him in my head counts.

All accounted for. Then it must be Anne who’s entered the house, I think to myself and breathe a sigh of relief.

“What’s up, losers?” She greets us as she bounds down the stairs. White keds. Red tube socks. Basketball shorts that hang below the knee. A glossy Chicago Cubs bomber jacket, blue with red snaps.

“They won’t let me play,” I moan.

“They will if you use GI Joe,” Jill chimes in from her perch on the stairs. Older than us, she’s experimenting with make-up (bright pink blush!) and hairsprays (those teased curls!). Jill never takes the final step onto the exposed concrete floor. I think she likes looking down on us. Then she adds, “boys shouldn’t play with Barbie, anyway.”

Anne, who happens to be Jill’s big sister; who is in high school; who famously declared at age 3, “ruffles hurt my tummy” and has worn only sports clothes since; who has definitely never played with Barbie; who would much rather be helping Kevin defend our nation against Cobra Commander; smacks Jill on the back of the head, grabs Skipper and sits down beside me. “Scoot over, loser. I’ll play with you.”



Comments

  1. Oh Barbie! I still remember the day when my sister confidently declared "I don't want to play with Barbie anymore". She was 13,5 and I was 11. The biggest shock of my life until that moment. A whole world collapsed inside me! Your Slice of Life brought me back to my childhood. Super!

    ReplyDelete
  2. I love reading memories that spark memories for me. I spent a lot of time in basements playing Barbies and there were a few brothers in our neighbourhood who either had to play Barbie or play alone.

    ReplyDelete
  3. My sister had several Barbie dolls. Of course, back in my day they made good hostages who needed to be rescued. They sometimes even lost their head...oops!

    ReplyDelete
  4. Alex, this slice introduced us to your whole family sharing some traits so candidly. A special memory!

    ReplyDelete
  5. This is a perfect throwback and connected to so many moments - recalling a neighbor's basement and rooting through toy chests to find the 'right' toy. Glad to be here with you!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

to Mrs. McCurdie

to Redemption

to Wild Places