My childhood looks like. My girlhood looks unlikely. I, girl, told to work hard. I didn’t sell peanuts on the street. I was mostly well-liked, sang Whitney on cue. I liked singing on the day bed. It was unlikely for a girl like me to sell peanuts on the street. Instead I sang and I will always love you. Girlhood looks unlikely. I got away with most. Sternest instruction was to do whatever it took to not end up—tedium of likeability. Tedium of remembering. Recall being liked, singing to a Tita with much bravura. A girl gets what she deserves: ice cream from the pharmacy next door. I liked singing in the car. A drive to the mall was likely on a weekend. I play-sang, liked malls and shoestring potatoes sold in cans. Were other girls told to work hard, too? Not sell peanuts on the street. Not be the girl without the shoe.