Casual Pinch, 1992

*inspired by the photo “Candy Cigarette” by Sally Mann*

Icy blue stare and perpetual pout. Blonde hair like a mini-Brigette Bardot.

She’d be trouble, that one.

Just like her mother.

I don’t think I ever saw that child smile the entire summer she’d come to stay with us, the summer of ’92, when her mother, my impossible sister, decided it would be more fun to drive down to Baha with her braindead surfer boyfriend, so the two of them could party their ways to an early grave without the little pitcher with the big ears hovering nearby.

Seven years old and already with that fuck it all posture. All summer she’d stand in the backyard holding a candy cigarette like a pro, a loose and casual pinch, her thumb rubbing the faux filter as she stared off into space with those dead eyes. She’d stay in one spot for hours, slouched and deflated like a bored supermarket cashier, while her two cousins, my brats god love ‘em, played the way kids should play; running themselves ragged in our dusty backyard, howling in frenzied and off-key hysterical bleats. My two little demented goats.

I had to remind myself she was still just a child, even with her seen-it-all, done-it-all attitude. I’d secretly observe her, watching from behind the screen door, pretending to be doing kitchen-y stuff because I worried about her. My sister was an unreliable narrator. No, let’s be honest; my sister was an out of control liar. So, I worried about what this strange little creature had exactly seen and done.

The girl needed a mommy. I tried to be a summer stand-in, but most every attempt fell flat. She had no interest in dolls or make-believe games. Same big fat ‘Nah’ when we attempted to engage her in any sort of sporty activity.

The only time I saw her brighten was the time our neighbor’s nasty cat wandered into the yard with a half-dead chipmunk dangling from its mouth.  My two kids, horrified, came screaming in through the backdoor. My niece stayed put. Took a fake puff of her fake cigarette. The cat dropped the maimed chipmunk at the sullen child’s feet, then swatted the poor thing around the dirt. Talk about a real cat toy. I gotta hand it to that predatory feline killer. At least it knew how to bring a smile to the stone statue’s face.