The Girl in the Picture

I loved to look at the old photographs, especially the ones with me in them. I suppose that was bad of me and proved I was stuck on myself, but I couldn't help it. The pictures with me in them were just more interesting. Every stage of my life was there, snapped by the camera and stamped on a glossy piece of paper. I loved seeing myself at three, standing with my brother, Donald, in front of the house in our matching cowboy and cowgirl outfits, or standing on a chair in front of the kitchen counter, mixing a birthday cake for Mother. The pictures reminded me that I was real, that I always had been real and always would be real, and that I wasn't just some girl someone had made up