Gulf

I’m lying on the bubblegum blue rug with a hairbrush in hand when Peggy texts:

HEY, SIS.

We must have been five or four when we espied her parents watching a sexy film one night.

She’s a cousin of mine. But growing up and living in distant cities, a gulf enlarged between us, and my memory of her faded into white. I don’t know whether she remembers: our toy house was curious, and dolls copycats.

Like a house whose residents had to flee in an exodus, I thought of her a lot whenever someone said ‘Peggy’.

We’ve been out of touch for almost a decade, so I’m very surprised to see these six letters on my screen. I wonder what her memories of us are. I wonder, if she remembers more than I do:

Hi, Peg!