1989
In the car. On the way to see Her.
She scares us. They say . . .
Why do you always do that? I hate when you do that.
Do what?
Narrate our story. Where we’re going. What we’re doing. You know I can hear you. I hate it so much.
But they’ll want to know one day. She said they’ll need to know.
No one cares about you, girl. No one cares about us.
They will.
Cars never bounce around the way they make them appear in the movies. No, instead they glide, more like the lull of a boat on stale waters. And they’re just as loud as the boat’s engine, even with the windows rolled up there are always loud swooshing noises assaulting the senses. The sounds should be calming, like the ocean, but they never are. They are annoying and invading. Or at least it’s what the girls always imagined what the beach and ocean should sound like. They had never been farther than Kentucky Lake, a few hours away from where they were now. The water there was so muddy that you couldn’t see your hands in front of your face and everything that moved within its depths looked like invading, misshapen piranha out to devour your flesh. But the girls loved it so. Except when the motion threatened to make them sick.
The car swerved around a sharp corner, another wave threatening to take over, and the girls swayed in the back, holding on to each other. Their tummies were not holding up well under the stress, though it probably had nothing to do with the car ride and everything to do with their destination. The girls looked at each other, their minds quiet for a moment. There was no need to speak, nothing to say.
In the driver’s seat, the girl’s aunt turned to stare at their mother. Auntie’s eyes, dark and weary, stared for so long that it was scary. As the car veered toward the middle of the street, the lines on the road before them slid by between the tires of the car. After what seemed like a long moment, the woman turned away and righted the car, putting them all back on track.
March 26th
6:30 p.m. on Sunday afternoon.
In the car with momma. She’s sad. Auntie’s driving us to see her, but if she’s not careful, she’s gonna kill us before we can even get there.
So, that’s what you’re worried about? Dying? The girl seemed insulted. Momma’s not sad, she fucking sick. She’s not getting better.
She’s not sick. Stop saying she’s sick.
She’s fucking sick. Stop pretending that you don’t see that.
You stop cussin’. I’m the oldest, so I said stop it! I mean it, Baby. Stop it.
Sissy reached out to nudge her little sister, reassuring her. They didn’t fight often, but when they did, she always pulled the “oldest” sister card to get her way. It had always worked in the past but it was beginning to get old — literally — and her sister, Baby, wasn’t going to be so easily controlled anymore. Baby avoided her touch, rolling her eyes. Why couldn’t she just get her sister to understand that she knew what was best for them, she just wanted to protect her? It was her job, to protect her sister.
