by Debra Diaz
Emily:
I Think I Love You
Laura lives for TV. She’s ten-years-old and she
can tell you what’s on any channel any time of the
day.
She watches everything. Starting in the morning
with "Gumby" and "Rocky and his Friends," and
then continuing after school with "Hobo Kelly,"
"Speed Racer" and "Kimba the White Lion." On
weekends she watches the really stupid stuff, like
the "Banana Splits," "HR Pufnstuf," and "George of
the Jungle (watch out for that tree!)."
Laura even has her snacking scheduled around
the TV. Every weekday afternoon at the 4 p.m. commercial
break, Laura goes into the kitchen, pulls
out five slices of Oscar Mayer bologna and carries
them into the living room, where she knows she’s
not supposed to be eating. She lies each piece of
bologna on top of the couch arm. One, two, three up
one arm. One, two up the other. It’s really gross.
Then one by one, she slowly devours the pieces, first
stripping the outer rind with her front teeth, spiraling
it into her mouth, then nibbling away at the
remaining circle by turning the shrinking center of
meat round and round and round. She finishes the
last slice by 5 p.m.
But Laura’s favorite programs come on at
night. She loves "Bewitched," "I Dream of Jeannie"
and "Here Comes the Bride," but her all-time
favorite is "The Partridge Family." Laurie, Keith,
Danny, Tracey and that obnoxious little boy. Those
little eggs and birds at the beginning and that
"Come on Get Happy" song make me sick, but she
loves them. When she watches "The Partridge Family,"
she gets this real happy look on her face, like
it’s her birthday or something. I think Laura
believes she is a member of the Partridge Family.
Mom bought her the Partridge Family album for
Christmas, and when she can’t watch TV, she
stands in front of our bedroom mirror and plays it
over and over again, lip-syncing and pretending
that she’s playing the keyboards, just like Laurie.
She plays that album so much, I can hear the songs
in my sleep.
I like to watch TV, too, but sometimes I wonder
about Laura. There are times when gazing at the
screen she appears to slip into a trance. She gets
real still and quiet. Not quiet like me when I’m
being mean or when I’m afraid and don’t know what
to say, but quiet like she’s real far away, with that
shine in her eyes and her voice softly humming, "I
Think I Love You."
(THE RED CAMP is reprinted with permission from the publisher of The Red Camp by Debra Diaz (University of Houston – Arte Público Press, 1996) to buy a copy of THE RED CAMP, go to their website at http://www.arte.uh.edu/view_book.aspx?isbn=1558851690)