Ridges

When I was 4 I rubbed the webbing between my fingers until it bled. I dug at my gums until they bled. I wrapped my leg in toilet paper and tried to get my sister to sign my "cast". I spoke with a fake speech impediment to be like my friend Lori, telling my sister it was how I really spoke. I wore a long blonde "fall" wig from Woolworth's with a pink head band told my neighborhood friends it was my real hair, while hiding my short brown curls. I told these same kids I had a nail polish factory in my basement and I could make any color they want if they gave me all of their nail polish first. It worked! But then I got busted by my parents. I was seven. I remember being obsessed with Colorforms especially the weatherman you could dress to match the day. I wanted one! I really wanted a carrying-case record player to play 45's and dance. No dice. I remember deciding it sucked to be a mother at home and being convinced that my stepfather had a better life going to his midtown Manhattan office by commuter train every day. His office was full of art supplies and artists and photographers and a lady switchboard operator. His secretary was a Judo expert and a black belt in Karate. There was even a Chock Full O' Nuts downstairs on the street level and my sister and I sat at the counter and ate brownies wearing matching dresses (we were 5 and 7). I remember at age 11 slamming my thumb between two hard plastic-topped school desks so I'd have ridges on my thumbnail like Jacob had. Well, I do have those ridges on my thumb now.