#1 I, Isabel Scheherazade am 10-years old, but this blog is not-just-for-kids. It’s a memoir. If it were a movie the rating wouldn’t be G or even PG. The reviewer would say it’s got an edgy quality. And if they gave those parental warnings for violence and death it would get one. (I read a lot.)

by storytellerisabel

Mom and Dad were just killed. Killed.

A guy in a truck ran a red light; my parents swerved to avoid him and rolled over and over down this steep hill.

They wouldn’t let us see Mom and Dad after the accident. This means that the last time I saw them was earlier that evening. Mimi and Pop (my grandparents) had come over to babysit so my parents could have a date night. I was on our front porch in my PJ’s, brushing my teeth, and telling them through all the froth that Pop and I were going to play Settlers of Catan. I didn’t even give them a good night kiss.

Since that night, me, Clyde, Sam (they’re twins) and Mimi and Pop have been sipping down, sometimes gulping this Huge Cup of Sorrow.

I’m noticing, though, even during the worst days, I can see OVER the lip of the cup. Sometimes only just a tiny bit. But at least a peek.

Stories jump up and down to get my attention.  I’m like this lady Pop told me about. She thinks someone is trying to poison her, so pretty soon, since she expects it, all her food begins to taste funny.

Because I’m hunting for stories, I find them.  All around me.  Just waiting for me to pick them up.

It’s like my memory is one of those minivans–the kind with three rows of seats?

I’ve got stories about what’s happening Right This Minute. The Front Seat memories. They’re full of our life With Mimi and Pop, school, neighbors, every day kinds of stuff. Some big. Some little.

I’ve got stories of Mom and Dad’s car crash and the guy who caused it–the killer. That’s the Middle Row of Seats. But most times it’s like when that row gets turned down for storage. You know how you can press a lever to fold and turn the seat cushions so they’re out of sight? That’s how it is with the crash day memories. Usually.

Then there’s our whole life with Mom and Dad.  Before.  It’s like they’re just sitting in the Way Back Seat of my memory, waiting for me to notice them.

So, here goes.  This is the story of our first few months–After.  You’ll see how memories and stories jump out of the Way Back and into the Front.

Sometimes plunk right into the Middle.

ISABEL

PS (DO blogs have PS’s, I wonder?) But anyways:

PS, since this IS my BLOG, feel free to make comments. I’m going to reply to everyone. Hey. Why not.

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