Blaine Sativa grows up in a family of hysteria. Her mother, a bitter woman who raised her in the remote woods of Colorado, dies shortly after Blaine's older brother Clarke is institutionalized. That fateful day after losing her family, Blaine lives...
Blaine was fifteen when she lit her first joint. The smoke curled down her throat like something wicked. She hacked worse then when Uncle Herbert swallowed a turkey bone during Thanksgiving dinner.
Pot wasn't taboo in her family. The parents would smoke privately in their room but it was never kept secret. A skunky smell of herb wafted down the hall every afternoon once Dad was home from work.
Of the three siblings, Tina is the bravest. Middle child and black sheep. Compared to her fair and blonde relatives she's a cup of coffee contrasting cream lattés. After school, she sneaks into the parents room to pocket any green left on their nightstand.
One Thursday afternoon, Tina stumbles into the bedroom she shares with Blaine. Who will never forget her sisters eyes gone hollow behind a film of tears. Tremors wrack Tina's body like an electric current as she collapses against the doorway.
Blaine props her school backpack against the wall to wrap her in a hug. Before she can embrace her, Tina's hand clamps around her arm crushingly.
"Don't tell them."
Snot clogs her nose but sniffling doesn't affect the icy edges of her tone. She rummages in her jacket pockets, dumping a handful of cigarette butts, a gum wrapper, and a joint onto Blaine's palm.
"I can't take this, Tina."
"You have to." Wobbly, she totters a step back. "They're making me visit Clark. For real this time. Maybe forever."
Clark is the eldest. No one really mentions his name anymore. A knot the size of a small country closes off Blaine's throat. Two years ago, Clark started acting strange. Never home until late. Always with a stench of alcohol reeking from his breath and clothes like he bathed in it. He never left his room where he'd write. When he ran out of paper, he'd scrawl long confusing monologues across the walls.
"But Tina... you're not like Clark."
"What if I am?" Her tone is almost too soft to distinguish. "What if we all are?"
Alarm turns Blaine sluggish. She's never seen Tina so hysterical before. "Are you being taken to the mental institution?"
Blinking, she uses her sleeve to wipe eyes dripping black with eyeliner. "Mom and Dad think it's the best place for me."
As if on cue, Mom's voice echoes down the hall. "Tina! Time to go sweetheart!"
Forcing a smile as sunken as the rest of her, she says, "Keep my stash safe for me sis."
Blaine is stiff, unresponsive as a board, when Tina hugs her goodbye. She's startled by this new harsh reality and doesn't acknowledge her Mother either. Mom pokes her head into their room explaining Blaine would spend the afternoon with Grandpa Albert.
She remembers faintly mumbling something like, "please come home soon," before they're both gone.
Numbed by the quiet of their house, not a home, she consumes herself in the weed Tina passed her. Blaine was thirteen when Clark was sent away. Now, with her sister leaving only two years later, she can't help but wonder... Will she end up there too?
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