I figure, this is a spot about me, right? So I should probably tell wewe a bit about myself. Except, I’m not a shabiki of straight up facts. I’m not going to sit here and bore wewe kwa telling wewe what the weather was like the siku I was born. So I think I’m gonna share a bit of myself with wewe in story form. Just little bits of memories I have. They won’t be in order and they won’t always be important. But all these memories have made me who I am. Read them au don’t, care au not, here we go.
One.
“I want that one.”
“The gray one sleeping in the corner?”
“No, the one inayofuata to him.”
“Her? She bites…”
“I want her.”
“Are wewe sure wewe don’t want another one?”
“I want her!”
The saleslady at Petsmart gave me a dubious look, but arguing with a very stubborn six mwaka old never works out well. Instead, she turned to my parents.
“Better give her what she wants,” my mom alisema with a smile.
The lady – whose name I’ve long since forgotten – shrugged and went to get the guinea pig I’d pointed out.
My dad, who looked ten feet tall to me at the time, looked down at me. “Having a pet is a big responsibility. wewe have to feed it every siku and change its cage. Are wewe sure you’re ready for that?”
“Daddy, I know.” That’s all he’d been telling me for the weeks before we went to pick out my guinea pig (even though what I’d really wanted was a puppy).
The woman returned, cupping a little orange, black, and white furball in her hands. The guinea pig’s eyes were wide, and the whites of them were inaonyesha around the edges. Her head swung back and forth, up and down, fear and curiosity possessing her. Her whiskers quivered and her nose twitched. She was so delicate, so novel.
The Petsmart lady dumped the guinea pig in my hands.
“Her name is Daffodil,” I declared.
Daffodil promptly bit me.
One.
“I want that one.”
“The gray one sleeping in the corner?”
“No, the one inayofuata to him.”
“Her? She bites…”
“I want her.”
“Are wewe sure wewe don’t want another one?”
“I want her!”
The saleslady at Petsmart gave me a dubious look, but arguing with a very stubborn six mwaka old never works out well. Instead, she turned to my parents.
“Better give her what she wants,” my mom alisema with a smile.
The lady – whose name I’ve long since forgotten – shrugged and went to get the guinea pig I’d pointed out.
My dad, who looked ten feet tall to me at the time, looked down at me. “Having a pet is a big responsibility. wewe have to feed it every siku and change its cage. Are wewe sure you’re ready for that?”
“Daddy, I know.” That’s all he’d been telling me for the weeks before we went to pick out my guinea pig (even though what I’d really wanted was a puppy).
The woman returned, cupping a little orange, black, and white furball in her hands. The guinea pig’s eyes were wide, and the whites of them were inaonyesha around the edges. Her head swung back and forth, up and down, fear and curiosity possessing her. Her whiskers quivered and her nose twitched. She was so delicate, so novel.
The Petsmart lady dumped the guinea pig in my hands.
“Her name is Daffodil,” I declared.
Daffodil promptly bit me.