Non Fiction Draft 1.docx - Krista K Harris Harris 1 Rachael Stewart ENG 110-100 Exercise 4b Draft 1 Non Fiction “Do you know what she said today That

Non Fiction Draft 1.docx - Krista K Harris Harris 1 Rachael...

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Krista K. Harris Harris 1 Rachael Stewart ENG 110-100 September 10, 2019 Exercise 4b: Draft 1, Non Fiction “Do you know what she said today? That she hurt her vagina on her bike. That girl has a nasty mouth and you need to do something about it” my grandmother lamented to my mom when she came to pick me up. “She can ride a bike?” was my mom’s initial retort, followed by “what would you have her call it?” “Naw that girl can’t ride an actual bike; she was riding that little big wheel thing. And with all those legs to boot. I don’t know how she even wraps her legs inside there, but she done figured it out. But she needs to learn how to talk like a refined girl, not a harlot. She should call it a colonel. When she gets her a man she can call his a major and folks will know what she is talking about.” None of this made any sense to me as I didn’t even know anyone in the military other than my dad who had died some 4 years earlier. All I did know was that I was tired of folding up my legs on some contraption better suited to me at the time of my daddy’s death than modern day me. Yes, modern day eight-year-old me, ready to be liberated to the wide-open road. Well, at least a wide-open two block radius; I wasn’t allowed to go further than the brown house two streets over on the left and Messmer Catholic School on the right. Though since we had an alley, I technically felt like it was three blocks, which seemed pretty far to me. The long and short of it, I was ready to hit the road. My newly minted family was preparing to hit the actual road; my mother and much later to be step-dad were planning a move for all of us to Rolling Meadows, IL. Having lived all of my life in an actual city, Rolling Meadows sounded like a place where you would get stung by bees, lots of bees. Little did I know I would be living an oxymoron – giving up my 3 story white
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mini mansion in the city for a dumpy apartment in a place that I later heard called Rolling Ghettos. Suburbs. I was giving up my precious private school where I was just being immersed in all things French and my future, never-to-be husband, Tristian Petit. Yes, that was his real name. Now that I look back on it, I thought it was pure coincidence that a boy named Tristian Petit was in my French school, but really, he was probably just French. I didn’t realize what I was really losing, my extended family. My mom was number 1 of 7 girls, figurately and literally.
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