The kitchen clock blinks 6:45 a.m., and I have dewy spiderwebs and mascara spots clinging to the corner of my eyelashes, suppressed yawns lining up at the base of my throat, and my more-trashbag-than-backpack backpack hanging from my right shoulder. Monday mornings are tired, they’re grumpy, they’re the start of a promise that I’ll eat better, I’ll sleep more, I’ll send that email, I’ll push through. At the very least, I’ll have some tea; that, I can do.
I set my backpack down, turn away from the counter, pressing my palms against the cool marble surface, and push myself up on to it. I stand on the counter, get on my toes, and reach for a mug.
I spend a lot of time on my toes, actually. Being 4’11" is a curious thing. All you have to do is strategically suspend any following growth spurts, and suddenly you’re cute and compact and a tip-toer. Someone once told me that I’m just tall enough to touch the ground. Yeah, yeah, I stay grounded. Yeah, yeah, the weather is fine down here, thanks. Yeah, yeah, I make a good standing-up armrest. Yeah, yeah, funsize. I’m not sure about the cliché jokes, but I do know that because of them, I have to be louder. I have to be stronger. I have to be more creative, more innovative. I can’t be stepped on, so I have to jog. I get to the same line you could in your four strides, but I do it in 12. I must recompense at all times, in all fields, or else risk the alternative: be small.
I've always been short; but not small. Never small. Legend goes that when I was a baby, my dad refused to have me wear the headbands most little girls wear (out of pure vanity- he said they were ugly), so my ears stuck out. They stuck out, they grew, and so I absorbed more. As one thing grows another must follow, and so, not long after, my curiosity exponentially expanded. Before long, garbled sounds from adults at the table became coherent phrases to me, and I was pushed away to play as they gossiped about important, sensitive matters, such as why a certain aunt had been disinvited to that week’s lunch. What else could a little girl toppling over from big ears do but squat behind a plant and listen? Shhhh, listen. Bueno, entonces, como decia, esa tal tia... Aha! I understood the Mexican economy, the Bush administration, how to make mole, and I still hadn’t even peaked (barely hitting 4’3). Every so often a story would be retold incorrectly and I’d pipe up from behind my hiding spot with a correction. The adults called me "Dumbo", like the elephant. Grounded yes, but I was pleased with my breadth of information and thought highly of myself.
When I wasn't eavesdropping, I was dragging along my stinky pink blanket and pestering my parents to "cuenta cuento", tell a story; when their desks became too full for that (the taxes! the tuition! the mail!), I had to learn to get stories for myself. When you’re short, you should technically be taking in only a fraction of the calories of an average person, but in doing so, I still felt hungry: I had a huge informational appetite. I became a voracious reader- devoured Tolstoy’s War and Peace in 5th grade and nibbled on an autographed copy of Garcia Marquez’s Cien Años de Soledad. At school, I earned several demerits sneaking in food for thought under my desk- I’d try to take bites of Magic Treehouse books while nodding along to arithmetic. The more I learned, the bigger I became.
The demerits led to detentions, which led to time. Tick tick tick tock, I’d make lists. Lists of this and lists of that. Short Lists.
I’m short, but I’m not small. I have big ears. I have big curiosity, and a big hunger, and, following this trajectory of my life, big plans for the future. Also, I have a list.
Short list
- Fit. Fit in cars. Fold into airplane seats. Cut down, not add to, the dress size.
- Front. Front of the picture. Back of the PE basketball line-up. Up on shoulders. Under the plant.
- Feel. Feel comfortable- never intimidating. See differently, bigger. Avoid chests in hugs. Lick the pages.
- Lie. Lies don’t work- don’t pass as 18. Identify the reality. Stand straighter. Faster. Louder. Lower. Better.
4’11. Reach. Reach for the mug. Promise on Monday. Tip on toe.
