97/365: Anita

She had a long, Russian sounding name that sounded exotic and cool to my seven year old self, and my fascination with it embarrassed her. Her parents constantly hovered around. When I invited her over to my house her father followed in his car as my mom walked the two of us home, and then parked outside for the duration of her visit. "You don't understand," he said, "You have two. We only have one, and if we lose her that is it." Mom was deeply offended at the suggestion that either of her children were expendable in that way. Anita never came over to my house again.