E is for Elizabeth, me, dark eyes matching curly hair contrasting with white white skin, lover of coloring books, tin doll houses, solitaire.

M is for Mom and Dad, whose love was at best like an umbrella, at worst, a harness.

H is for home, both safe and stifling.

S is for spinal fusion surgery, gone terribly amuck.

W is for winter, or wheelchair, for both happened at once.

D is for despair, and Depend undergarments, my teenager body diapered, darkness.

C is for crumpled in my bed.

H is for healing, hands placed on my head, shoulders, thighs, hoax.

L is for Lisa, a stranger, a witch my parents tried to conceal, put off, a new neighbor appearing at the door, insisting I consider my options.

E is for enemies -the Mooney twins, the Clipper kids, the Brodley boys- children my age, once friends, who attended my preschool and playground.

R is for rumor. Cancer, crazy, abused... and R, also for revenge, let’s not forget that.

B is for baking-brownies, blondies, the lot. Lisa taught me to mix the dry then the wet, to check for doneness with a toothpick’s prick.

F is for flowers in spring, fuchsias, golds, lavenders galore.

P is for poison: bloodroot, hellebore, wormwood

T is for toxic, things in excess.

A is for the annual spring garage sale, my baked goods table a first.

M is for Marc Brodley, who gobbled a blondie without paying (in cash that is).

G is for gag.

E is for emergency, exit, and end.

I is for innocent, a fragile girl like me, in a wheelchair, no less.