Memory Share: Richard Strand

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The room is soft in pastels of yellow and blue. The pictures on the wall seem more child-oriented than anything else. Your sister decorated it – she'd overruled your choice of a pleasant dark green and a more adult-like decoration. 'growing girls don't want their rooms to look like a stuffy scholar lives there' she'd said. You still don't agree, but at least you were able to get your way about the books. She needs something more substantial than 'Goodnight Moon.'

The weight pressing against your leg, wiggling a little is light, but it's still amazing how much heavier she was then even a few weeks ago. She's growing so much, and the thought of it is almost frightening. What are you going to do when she starts school; or when she starts to look at boys? Cheryl can't stay with you forever, and this is all new territory for you. You can barely handle an adult girl let alone a tiny one that you'd managed to create.

“Dad?” The tiny voice is calm but questioning — a girl's voice. When you turn to her, there's a little girl there, sitting on your lap with a questioning look in her deep blue eyes. She looks like you, it's strange, but there isn't very much of the woman who had her there. Just you; or maybe you only see what you want to.

“You wanted 'The Deranged Cousins' right?” You can't help smiling about that. Cheryl hated that you get her Edward Gorey, but she loved it. She also liked it when you read Greek myths and ancient books to her – Cheryl had banned those while she was visiting though. There was also an increase of traditional children's books showing up in her room. You'd have to sell them once she left.

Opening the book, you begin to read. There are pictures, and the young girl looks at them with rapt enjoyment as she listens to you carefully and rhythmically reading the words. “Seventy-nine years ago there were three cousins whose names were Rose Marshmary, Mary Rosemarsh, and Marsh Maryrose. They lived in a house covered with roses on the edge of a marsh ...”

As you continue, the girl reads with you, as if she knows the book by heart. She does. This is a book you've read to her several times. It's her favorite. There's a soft clink as a mug of tea is set beside you, and both you and the girl look over to see a woman settling herself into another chair, sipping from her mug. “You're gonna make her weird, Richard.” It's said with rolled eyes as the girl crinkles her face at the comment.

It's an old argument. Be a normal dad, read her normal things and make sure she has a normal life. Charlie isn't normal. She's extraordinary, she's your daughter, and you plan on making sure she knows just how smart she is, just how extraordinary she is. “If anyone thinks that then they aren't worth her time. Right, Charlie.” Your voice is both soft and strong with conviction.

The girl nods then she taps the book. “I wanna get to her killing her cousin.” It's a demand that you can't say no to, so you keep reading even as Cheryl sits back with a small smirk on her face. Only you would read something like this to an almost three-year-old girl, and only your daughter would enjoy it.