Tuesday, April 07, 2009
When I was eleven, my family moved from San Francisco to 633 N. Mariposa Avenue in Los Angeles. I remember the Wentworth kids across the street and two doors down--a realer version of the Brady Bunch. I remember listening to the radio for hours, imagining what it might be like to fall in love with a handsome boy. I remember riding minibikes in the abandoned dirt lot, and the two boys who called me Kike. I remember finding newborn kittens in the garage, and looking out my bedroom window at the palm trees, wishing a wild parrot would land and be mine.