This is a drawing my niece made for me, I think maybe five years ago.
It’s one of the few decorative objects in my work cubicle, and despite the rather flimsy material has survived multiple office moves.
In case it isn’t obvious, that’s a robot jellyfish.
I write this because in the last few weeks, people around me have been reminiscing. She was perfect. She was unbelievably well-behaved. She was an angel.
Not that it isn’t true, of course. Sam was really one of the nicest, kindest kids I’ve ever met. She was almost always in an unnaturally good mood.
All well and good, but that’s not all she was.
More than nice, she was intelligent.
She was whip-smart.
She was incredibly witty.
I want to remember her as that — a badass child who thought an already scary sea animal ought to be weaponized and let loose upon the unsuspecting masses.
Please, look at the drawing again.
Look at the motherfucking teeth.
Other people can hold on to their remembrance of her as a sweet, beautiful child.
I’d rather cling to my memories of a funny, intelligent, slightly crazy, robot-jellyfish-drawing badass baby girl.