It’s hard to remember the moment you first wake up, if we can even call it that. You know, the moment you are born alive? Out of the womb, screaming or silent. Maybe I should have said, “Born out of the Rabbit Hole.” Born Alive! That’s the important part. It was late March, sometime in the mid-nineties. For me, anyhow. Like many before me, I simply won the biological lottery. I was healthy, whole, breathing. They named me Laura, by the way.

So, where the hell do we proceed from here? Honestly, I was so young back then that I can’t remember jack squat. Like, nothing solid. It’s all a fogged-up lens, a smudgy old photo that won’t ever come fully into focus. I guess I nursed from my mom’s deformed boob, but who even cares? It was kind of a bizarre type of boob. My mother’s, obviously. One teat was much smaller than the other. Lopsided. Like, “oops” on Mother Nature’s part. But whatever. Years later, I would fix that boob curse on my very own bustline, FOR GOOD. Thank you very much, modern medicine. Best five thousand bucks I ever spent.

Some kids love getting dressed up—stiff little dresses, shiny shoes, bows in their hair—but not me. Hell no. As a kid, I’d rather wear my tutu and tiara in my playroom, alone, than endure some fake fancy brunch with soggy eggs and forced smiles. I didn’t want to talk to strangers. I didn’t want to play the part. I just wanted to be left alone. Back in the day, it was all about solitude and sparkles, on my own terms.

What a true blessing it is to truly know your grandparents. So many kids never even get the chance. So many people just drop dead, way before their time. But my brother and I? We won the lottery in that regard. Praise the Lord! We used to call them “Nina and Pappy,” and they were exactly what you’d hope for in grandparents: lovely, kind, warm to everyone. They were devout Church of Christ folks, too solid and faithful. The type of people who’d make you feel safe just by being around them.

There was something magical about the Arizona White Mountains. When we were much younger, the whole family would take a yearly, much-anticipated trip up there, yes, even all the way to Greer, Arizona. If you’ve never heard of it, you’re not alone. Most people haven’t. But for us, it was our hidden paradise. A quiet, beautiful, and quaint little town tucked away in a cooler climate, far from the oppressive 108-degree Tucson summer heat.