A tribute to Mali

I typed this in highschool, about my little sister Mali. (apologies for the grammar, apparently my brain wasn’t working too well at the time…) I was doing college applications on the computer, and she came into the room and was trying to distract me:

Me:” Run out and play”
Mali: “No, I stay right here,” she grinned, “and bother you.” She reached up and pulled my ears
“Hey, stop that,” I moved away
“No I not, I only stop when I say so.” She ran after me, victoriously slapping me across the posterior.
I turned and grabbed her, flipping her upside down and tickling her fiercely, she grins, screams with delight. She must be exhausted. I put her down. “Tickle me!” She demands, “do it again!” She dangles off my braid to emphasize her point. Smiling up at me, completely happy. This could go on forever, I must put an end to it. “No. Bekah is busy. I have to do calculus and college applications. Go away.” I don’t smile and look solemn, to add a little weight to my statement. She grunts with worked up exasperation, “oh college applications!”

There that was easy, she is gone now. I began to type lies furiously, ‘why I want to learn science at Stanford’, etc. Behind me , I feel the cold air on my back, someone just pulled up my shirt. “Hey…!”
Pbpbpbpbpb she is blowing on my back, it tickles, I laugh involutarily, put on my exasperated grown-up face, “mali! Don’t do that.’ I pull down my shirt and give her a stern glare.

She is grinning, she saw the involuntary laugh disguised as a grunt. She is smiling, victorious, (I know what she is thinking, “I am funny and smart and am bothering bekah!”)
“Mali, you don’t do that stuff to people! Its not…modest—“ She has already pulled up the front of my shirt and is beginning to blow on my stomach. I try to pull her away. She is strong for a five year old and clutches to my shirt and hair, giggling. I hope nobody comes into the room, and try to extricate myself, I resort to tickling. She shrieks with laughter, squiggling away, keeping her arms to her sides but still lovingly kicking me and squirming to keep up the fun. I finally rescue the last painful locks of my hair out of her fingers and stop tickling. She dives at me again. I tickle desperately. “Mali! Don’t pull up my shirt and blow on my tummy. Its Immodest.

She pauses, looks up at me with large eyes, confident of her own logic, “But you do it to me when I was baby.” She blows. I pull her away and deposit her outside the office door. I turn to make a break for it, she’s beat me already, giggling shrieking, back into the office. She sits in my chair, clicking on the Microsoft Paint icon. She looks on me with a victorious grin. She seems to say (I am funny and smart and can bother bekah if I want to)


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