[ When I was a little girl I played with myself and myself. They were my height and my size and my age and my color and they always wore exactly what I wore. But I never saw past their cherry dresses. Their arms grew out of ruffled sleeves. Their legs grew out of lacey mesh. Their heads grew out of satin collars. I heard a story once. There was a little girl who always wore ribbon around her neck. No one knew why. One day when she was sleeping her mother saw her wearing the ribbon around her neck. She thought ‘that ribbon must be uncomfortable to sleep in.’ So she pulled the end and the ribbon came off. The next morning, the mother came in to check on her daughter. ‘Wake up, wake up,’ she said. But the little girl did not wake up. So she shook her. And the little girl’s head rolled off the bed. The ribbon was holding her neck together. I never forgot it. Myself and myself always wear ribbons around their necks. Sometimes I’ll see them with my toys. Sometimes I’ll see them eating when I’m hungry. Sometimes I’ll see them cry when I’m sad. Sometimes myself and myself will fight with me. But myself and myself never fight. But I know that they are mine and I am always in the middle. Without me, they don’t exist. Sometimes they are invisible. And when I tell them, they say, ‘We’re not the ones who are invisible. You are.’ ]