Seventeen
Precocious Little Thing
By the time I have the kid—she reminds me that her name is Harmony—seated on the bathroom counter, my heart rate has slowed enough to remember that I do know where the first aid kit is and that since this small human is bleeding and 911 is not an option, I should probably do something to help her.
Except she’s totally chill and not at all panicked by the rivers of blood staining her blond-hair-covered legs, and judging by the healed scars on her shins, she’s either a daredevil or a klutz. She skillfully instructs me in the steps I am to take to clean and disinfect these latest bodily insults, extracting the necessary remedies, in order, from the well-stocked medical kit spread across her lap and countertop.
“How do you know so much about this?”
“I’m l
