Another vignette I wrote for English while studying The House on Mango Street
Smile, he says. So I smile big as the sun and the camera flashes and burns my eyes with a thousand sparkling diamonds. Crouching in the dirt, gritty little pieces coating my hands like flour. My fire in front of me. A ring of stones, each one almost as big as my fist. Little sticks and orange and green and brown leaves nestled inside, comfy and cozy.
Smile, he says and I squat in the dirt wearing my red shirt with Riverbear on it that says I Go Bananas over Riverside and smile as she whispers, So cute. And they share a special look. Sam laughs at me and looks at my fire like he wants to stomp on it. And he and she, they think I’m cute.
But me, I’m not cute. I’m proud. I’m proud of my fire, proud like in kindergarten when we sang songs wearing pink and yellow plastic sunglasses shaped like stars and she said, So cute. And he smiled. Proud like in third grade when I danced in black with colored scarves swirling like tropical birds and she said, So big. And he smiled. Proud like when I was Tiger Lily and yelled Ugga-Wugga Meatball! And she said, Our big girl. And he smiled at me.
I’m proud of my fire. Not cute, not sweet, proud. So big. Mom and Daddy think I’m their little girl. They think that I will always be So cute. I will always be the baby in the family. But I know some day I’ll grow up. Big and tall, like Daddy. And then I can be proud, and they’ll look at me and be proud too.
