Free Dwarf: A Memoir by Tiffanie Didonato, Rennie Dyball Page A

training.
     As people filed off the plane and greeted their families, I spotted her. She was dressed
     in a deep blue skirt that touched just below her knees and a button-down blue dress
     shirt. Her hair was different. She had chopped off her gorgeous blond locks and returned
     with hair so short that it practically stuck to her head. Mom had a special pin on
     her shoulder and ribbons across her chest. She looked like one of
them.
I ran with my arms spread as wide as I could to hug her. I never wanted to be without
     her again.

    Our new home on the Medina air force base near San Antonio was sizzling, stifling,
     and flat. Mom and I were going to be stationed there for the next couple of years.
     The houses were made of brick or stucco and no one had wooden fences like so many
     back home in Douglas. Instead, tall stacks of gray cinder blocks outlined everyone’s
     property and their windows were covered with twisted, wrought-iron bars that reminded
     me of black licorice. The whole neighborhood was outlined with barbed wire.
    The houses weren’t the only big differences from Massachusetts. Texas had snakes,
     fire ants, giant spiders, scorpions, torrential rainstorms, flash floods, tornadoes,
     and heat that didn’t feel “dry” at all— someone had lied to us about that one. These
     new additions were poor replacements for the many things I missed dearly, like our
     stereo system, Bruiser, my Papa and his favorite dish that he would always make for
     me when I came to visit— linguine with clam sauce. And, of course, I missed my dad.
    Mom and I moved into a plain-looking brick duplex fastened to a cement slab. The nameplate
     attached to the small parking pad read:
1st Lt. DiDonato
. That part always made me smile. In the background, rapid gunfire popped in the air.
     The airmen were doing training exercises, and I swore they were right in our backyard.
    We walked into our new house through the kitchen door. Our moving truck took up the
     entire driveway and part of the street, too. Men wearing back supports hauled boxes
     upon boxes, each of them numbered with a neon orange tag, into our new home. While
     Mom stood with a clipboard in her hand, checking off each one, I took the opportunity
     to explore my new setting. I was disappointed to find that the kitchen was nothing
     special. It was cramped and stark white and it had just one tiny window above the
     sink— far too high for me to see out of it. The dining room was also small and opened
     up to the living room, which had a sliding glass door. I pressed my face up against
     the glass and peered out. We had the view of a dirt road, some stubby trees, and a
     big cactus. I wondered how many rattlesnakes might be curled up underneath.
    “I can make anything look like home,” Mom said, approaching me from behind. She rested
     a hand on my shoulder and gave me a kiss on the top of my head. I only came up to
     her waist.
    “Everything is bigger in Texas,” Mom had said on our last night in Douglas. “You’ll
     love it!”
    I wasn’t so sure. Just when I had gained four inches, I was being whisked away to
     a place where things were even bigger than they were back home.
    As I continued my tour of our new home, outfitted with a dull, cream-colored carpet
     throughout, I began feeling stuck between two places. I wanted to be with my mom while
     also wishing I were back home with Dad, and even my brother. But our house in Douglas
     had been rented out to strangers and Dad spent his days in the Webster apartment with
     Bruiser. I wanted our Bonneville back, too, because it was familiar and it was ours.
     But Mom had sold it and bought an electric blue Pontiac Grand Prix. There were colorful,
     glowing buttons splashed across the dashboard, and the car reminded me of a spaceship.
    Texas may as well have been another planet.
    In the living room, Mom plotted to fix the ugly carpet situation. She measured from
     corner to corner just before our couch and television