To Sophia,

I remember the first time I saw you. You were wrapped in a white hospital blanket, tiny and pink and wrinkled, six pounds heavy in my chubby three-year-old arms. 1

Jonathan remembers. Do you? When he was five and happy, with not a mean bone in his body? When he bounced over your crib, crooning, "So-o-phie's a sweetie pie, So-o-phie's a sweetie pie" - can you see him? I think we all fell in love with you then.2

You pulled our hair and clutched our fingers and you wouldn't let go, and we were proud of that. At night Mommy would take you out of the crib and let you rest on her chest, sleeping to the thud of her heartbeat. She sang, then, as she knit in the rocking chair, little socks and hats for your baby-feet and baby-head. "Rockabye Baby" and songs in Korean, her native language - why doesn't she sing anymore?3

Daddy smiled as though the world depended on it. Maybe it did. He didn't go on business trips and bought you toys and trinkets. He invited everyone to see you, his little princess, Jonathan's "sweetie pie," my sister.4

Our uncle was afraid to hold you. "What if I drop her?" he asked. "She's so fragile." You were, like glass - we were afraid that so much as one harsh word would crack you.5

We were right. I don't know why - but they were fighting, throwing words like bullets from one end of the table to another. And he almost left - he marched to the door and put on his jacket. We clung to his legs like you clung to our fingers and we didn't let go - and he came back, he came back and said how sorry he was. But she was crying and she was angry and she couldn't forgive him and she had had enough of being quiet. We used our tears to boil happy-ever-after and could only hope it wouldn't affect you.6

But it did. Now you spend all your time in books and on computers. You shun real life - why did you have to take after me? Jonathan spends the day typing in his room, blaming everything on us, and he fights with our mom as if there's no tomorrow. Mom doesn't sing. Dad doesn't smile. When he returned to the kitchen table, he only came back halfway. I left myself behind as that shell clinging to his leg and I'm sorry I can't stop your tears anymore. I can't even stop my own.7

You're a premature teenager. You have the mood swings, you slam doors, you don't listen; your catchphrases include "whatever" and "duh" and "shut up!" You've fallen out of love with fairytales, so you say, but you curl up with them at night when you think no one's looking. You flinch when I touch you.8

I love you, I love you, I love you.9

We are suspended in limbo. Come back. Maybe everyone else will come back with you. 10

- girl on the highwire who's made too many mistakes [and will fall unless you don't let go]11

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