Maggie

In eleven years of life Maggie had never conceded the last word. Her father's people were lanky Northern rangers, but she was built of her mother's stock, pigeon bodied and squatly proportioned, potent and inexhaustible. She carried on their Mediterranean tradition of speaking very quickly and all at once, like taking a conversation in turn was wasting time, cultivating the talent of reconstructing the torrent, mentally breaking down the Tower of Babel brick by brick. She was the youngest on her bough of the family tree, she would remain the shortest person at every holiday until she had nieces and nephews. Maggie compensated for her stature by increasing her volume, a tried and true method of her lippy Italian ancestors.

Maggie was exaggeration. She stuck her hip into every expression, her mouth a corkscrew at the end of every sentence. There were no pauses, spaces or pacing to her thoughts, each sentence began with a deep breath and she would not surface for another until she sputtered out. To Maggie being quiet was withholding her sparkle, and generally reserved for punishment, crossed arms and the iron grip of her eyes holding you in an easily forgivable contempt. She couldn't manage to be mad at anyone for long, and she demanded large hugs from her father and uncles, the contrasting sizes dwarfing her and speaking to her extremity.

On parent-teacher conference day Maggie's mom went to the school and met her beleaguered young teacher. Nothing had prepared him for the unwavering intensity of the tiny girl. "Maggie is a fine girl," he said looking down at his grade book, "but not without issues. I have a list of things I'd like to discuss about her."

Her mother reached into her shoulder bag and removed a sheet of paper. "Good," she said putting on her reading glasses. "Maggie's given me a list of things she'd like you to work on, too." The teacher gave pause, his mouth hanging open for a second. "I'll go first."

It was late and the family had already eaten, Maggie had the captive audience of her father and sister without the verbal competition that only her mother could give. She looked in on her husband, sleepy on the couch, and her quiet daughter reading by a soft light. She found Maggie in her room, texting with friends and having 7 other conversations on facebook. Maggie turned and smiled at her mother, the full bowls of her cheeks generous and warm, like a mischievous cartoon monkey. No words passed between the two women.