THERE WAS ONCE a tall, tall girl.

She was born on a chilly Autumn day in a hospital named after peach trees. She was named after her grandmother and her mom's favorite uncle. Her last name was Japanese. It meant "big lake."

Her family moved to a little island and lived there for three years. She went to the beach on the little island. A lighthouse, painted with red stripes, loomed next to her, protecting her from the sunlight. She drank Coke from a straw and was happy.

Her brother was born in a town of parades and French cafes. Niether of them understood why they had to move again. Niether of them knew what cancer was, or why their mother lost all her hair. The girl and her half-sister with red hair made her bald mother cards.

Her mother lived solely on prayers and got stronger solely on happiness. They moved and moved. She played in the mud with her cousins. She broke her toe on a merry-go-round. She learned to ride on a golden horse.

She towered above everybody. Nobody wanted to be her friend.

But she drank Coke from a can and tried to be happy.

One day, her parents decided to start a restaurant. She was excited. The restaurant had a wooden ramp that she would play on. She lost the top of one of her nesting dolls. She ate cheese grits and helped her brother draw superheroes. She loved to draw. She was good at it.

The golden horse died. The restaurant shut down. She kept growing. She kept drawing.

She had to go again. She was sad.
 
She fell in love with her last name. She watched anime. She learned Japanese from flash cards. She found out she could tell stories. She often did. She drew them too.

She moved again. She didn't have one friend.
 
Finally, middle school started. A tall, tall girl, just like her, walked up to her. She told the girl she liked her art. She told the girl she liked her stories. She introduced the girl to more friends, who also liked her art and her stories. The girl smiled again.

She drinks Coke from a glass bottle. She's happy.