I am three years old, standing on my twin bed, gazing at the wall. I am mesmerized by the pretty wallpaper, a pattern of tiny white flowers outlined in cranberry. In my right hand I grasp a tube of opened toothpaste. Probably Colgate. I squeeze the tube and smear white goo on the wall. I know that’s not something I should do but I feel compelled to decorate anyway. My Mommy walks in. I freeze. Her blue eyes look cold. Years later I won’t remember what happened next. But I will be a good girl, one who follows the rules.
Sharon Goldberg is a Seattle writer whose work has appeared in the Gettysburg Review, New Letters, The Louisville Review, River Teeth, and The Best Small Fictions. www.sharongoldberg.net