Running princess--

--not much more to the onlooker than a innocent child running across a neatly mowed backyard in a flowing pink dress three sizes too big for her. But in my mind, I was a running princes. My flowing golden locks trailed behind me, waving to the tragedies from which I was fleeing. A faithful white stallion stood on the horizon near the back gate, pawing the ground in readiness. I didn't need the disrespectful duke or my faithless father. All I needed was the freedom of the field and the feist of a rebellious spirit I had seen depicted so often in countless movies and in the trailer of my mind while I gobbled up page after page of medieval stories in my spacious one-shelf library.

Or.

Abandoned orphan--

--really just one great-granddaughter of 20 who collectively mourned the loss of their dear accordion-playing grandfather upon his unanticipated death. But in my mind, at the funeral, I was the last in a line of family members often plagued by rare diseases, left alone on the earth now to fend for myself as my only living relative was lowered into the ground on a forlorn and rainy day. I didn't need the support of the orphanage or a tiring struggle through countless foster homes. All I needed was the black umbrellas behind me to whisper in concern as I wove my way through the curious headstones, fleeing from a past I missed and yearning for a future I would never have.

And.

Dramatized imaginings--

--really. But I know I wasn't the only girl who sprinted across her backyard with a wad of extra material bundled on my hip to keep the skirt around my thin waist, imagining much more than was there. And maybe it was the extreme heat the day of my grandfather's funeral that caused me to see black umbrellas dotting the graveside. But childhood--in the end--is defined by these moments.