A memoir before bed

"Mom, do you have a piece of lined paper?"

It's Anna calling up from the bathroom.

Her teacher told her that she ought to write poetry. "I have been given a high compliment," Anna said after school, her feet barely coming into contact with the ground. "At least, I think you would call it a compliment."

Lined paper, delivered.

She took out the first big, flat writing surface she could find, which turned out to be a copy of "Oh, The Places you will Go." and started to write.

I found her, like a young girl in Pompeii several minutes later, bare chested under her covers and sweaty, pen grasped firmly in her hand, paper slipping ever so slightly toward the edge of the bed, sound asleep.

Her skin felt surprisingly cool - the trick of the fan, and with the sweat, made her almost clammy. I peeked as I moved the book and paper to the shelves.

"My Life"

My name is Anna B... I have blonde hair and brown eyes.

That's it. So far. Her work is done for the night. She doesn't even twitch as I lift her fingers from the pen.

I wonder who told her that she was blonde? And can't she see her eyes are green?