Fatick, Senegal – April 2010
“I’ll be the queen,” Melody said. She pointed at me, “You can be the princess, and Ethan will be the bodyguard.”
I leaned back, enjoying the shaded hut in the Forsythe’s front yard. “I want to be the queen,” I said, lazily stealing a 9-year-old’s dream. “I don’t want to have to move.”
Melody is nicer than me, so she quickly agreed. “Okay, I’ll be your servant!”
This selflessness made me uncomfortable. “No, I mean. You can be a princess. You can sit here with me.”
“No, no, no. I’m your servant. What do you want to drink? Can I get you something to eat?”
“…Well. A Vimto would be nice.” Melody ran inside to satisfy my whim.
Ethan stood nearby with a stick. “Do you want to jump on the trampoline, Miss Trish?” he asked.
It was so hot. “I don’t think queens jump on trampolines,” I said sadly.
Melody returned, carrying a can of Vimto with a straw. “I had the best idea!” she said. “The kingdom is under attack, and you have to get married!” Continue reading
It Is Trish 