she is shot at from an early age by her brother and father and learns to quickly dodge catapults, the backs of hands, peashooters, food and air rifles until she gets so fast she zips about the place. making a sound very much like a sleeping bag being done up with haste. soon she is just a blur. a smear at the edge of the eye. a bite from your doughnut. a gust from nowhere.
so, next time you lose those anniversary tickets, (the ones atop the mantlepiece for weeks), remember her. next time you hear a creak but no ones there, consider her. and next time you finish lunch rather quicker than seems possible, blame the zipper.