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In my fourth-grade mind, Ruthy was invincible. Thirteen-year-old Queen of the Quick Comeback, hoop earrings and Vaseline, Patron Saint of the Fist and the Late-Night Call Home from the Principal. Who in the world could touch her, my sister?
A fight had happened; now it would be necessary for us to sit down and eat. It was my mom’s way of emphasizing, Here I am providing for you again. You have always been fed. You have always had a roof over your head. Why complain now? Look at what you have compared to the rest of the world.
