I have a photo of the very first bedroom I remember. In the photo, my aunt is sitting against a wall, and my two-year-old sister is sitting on her lap. The photo used to make me think about the room, but now, the photo has taken over any true memory I have of the room itself. As far as I’m concerned, the room has only the one wall, and my aunt and my sister are forever sitting against that wall. My aunt is wearing a button-down shirt with stripes in multiple colors and she’s smiling down at my sister. It almost looks like her eyes are closed. My sister is wearing a navy blue sundress over a t-shirt, and she has an impish smile which seems to have been replicated exactly on her six- and four-year-old kids. The wall behind them has an endless parade of white bunnies on it. I don’t know why my mother didn’t let me choose the Wonder Woman wallpaper that I wanted. If she wasn’t going to let me choose, I don’t know why she showed me all those swatches and asked me what I liked. When I focus on the wallpaper in the photo, I think of the childhood agony of not getting the things you want. When I see those bunnies I see Wonder Woman instead.