ERNIE AND ERNESTINA: Searching

Book Two, Chapter Fifteen: Cruel Words

I am the second of seven children, the first daughter.

I didn’t bond with my family. Better just to run. Skip. Dance. Pretend I’m a ballerina or a cheerleader. Escape this noisy, messy family that embarrasses me by its sheer size. Too many of us. Too conspicuous. Taking up too much room, with not enough room for any single one of us.

In a recurrent dream from my childhood, I need to scream but can’t because a scarf is stuffed down my throat. When I first met Ernie, it was as if I could finally speak. I felt free with him. I could say anything to him, couldn’t I?

I wrote a little ditty for him: Here I sit, broken-hearted. Try to shit, and only farted . . . the I being Ernie, of course. I thought the ditty was funny, and so did Ernie.

That’s how off we both were.