Paper Walker

Prologue

Do you have any idea how hard it is to pretend you can't read? Because everyone expects it from you. As a kid, you are read to, as a stimulant to do the same thing one day. Preferably the minute you step into first grade. You know, the famous expression that you can read by the time it's Christmas. That makes everyone always so proud. Especially grandparents and all those in line to hear you perform. And then, once you know all the letters and can pronounce them in the right order, you can get lost in the stories. Isn't that what they call it? I just don't think anyone ever meant that literally.

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When you are young it's doable. For a while you pretend you just can't remember the letters. Make a lot of mistakes, stutter, stammer and snap, you're skipped. Unless you have bad luck, then you get special aid. Of course I didn't felt like that, so my next strategy became: to show I could, but didn't want to. That did the trick for a while. Everyone got mad, mind you. That was a down side. My parents tried everything and some things actually worked. Comic books for example, I devoured those. Little bits of text were also no problem. So as soon as the teachers found out my spelling tests were flawless, they finally let me be. They blamed it on stage fright, performance anxiety and more of those terms. There was no way they would ever guess the truth.

It was on my sixth birthday that I discovered why I could never read a book in public.

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"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Zara. Happy birthday to you!" The 'you' echoes around the block and I'm in a fit of giggles. My grandma is always so funny.

"Congratulations, little big daughter. Six years! I remember like it was yesterday how you were born. Right on top of the midwife's book, what a dunce that was."

"Obstetrician, mum, midwives are from your era."

My mother grumbles, but I can't see her face because mine disappears in the foe fur trimming of my grandma's hood.

"Time for presents." Grandma's voice blares through the house and from her bag, that catapults a candy wrapper, she pulls a messily wrapped present. It's square and flat, and gee whiz, what ever could it be? "Oh, a book." My shoulders drop an inch. I was really looking forward to that new discovery kit for my new Barbie doll, it had a real magnifying glass and a little diary. A book is lame. I can't even read yet. Well, perhaps a little, but only picture books, with short words and big letters.

There are horses on the front when I pull away the wrapping, that's something, I guess. "Thanks, grandma", I mumble, after a stern look from my father. I place the book with my other gifts. Grandma notices nothing, she is already sitting on the couch, rummaging in her bag. Probably looking for sweetener.

A sigh escapes me when I look around the room. Two grandmothers, two grandfathers, a great grandma, an aunt with her annoying three year old son. Nobody to play with. I already finished my cake and for now that's all I'm gonna get.

"Dad, can I go play upstairs with my new toys?"

Dad is in the middle of a conversation and waves his hand around absent-minded. That must be a yes. I slide from my chair, walk behind the couch and grab my Barbie and the book from the shelf. I'll get the rest later. If I just read a few pages in the book, than at least I can tell my grandma in all honesty, that I've read it. After that I can play with the doll. The door creaks, just as grandma bursts out in one of her exuberant laughs, so no one hears me leave. Giggling I skip up the stairs. Why is mum always so annoyed with grandma? I think she's hilarious. Upstairs I push my complicated family dynamics to the back of my brain as my foot shuts the door to my room a little too loud. Petrified I hold my breath. After a few minutes I release it again. Luckily my cousin isn't allowed upstairs yet. Carefully I place the Barbie with the doll house and then I lump down on my bed. My stuffed animal falls over and quickly I straighten her on my pillow.