Made in Russia

Chapter Three: Dry Spell

Chapter Three: Dry Spell

***

Little Fly,

Thy summer's play

My thoughtless hand

Has brush'd away.

Am not I

A fly like thee?

Or art not thou

A man like me?

For I dance,

And drink, & sing;

Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life

And strength & breath,

And the want

Of thought is death;

Then am I

A happy fly,

If I live

Or if I die.

During the summer of my seventh year, my father received a letter from the small town of Sarapul. His mother had died, he read aloud to us one night, at the ripe age of sixty four. Food poisoning. Very aggressive case.

My mother and Yuri and I walked on eggshells around him. This clearly wasn't enough, seeing as how my father broke a beer bottle over my head for a giggle that I mistakenly let slip during a family dinner. I still have the small, jagged scar on my temple.

We packed what little we had a drove up to Sarapul for my grandmother's funeral. I'd only met her a few times, but the babushka that I knew was kindhearted. She used to sneak us butterscotch candies when my father wasn't looking.

In spite of the few happy memories I had of this woman, I felt nothing as I stared down at her lifeless body. She wore an awful red pantsuit with matching lipstick and gaudy blue eye shadow. I couldn't help but think that she would never have chosen this ridiculous ensemble for herself had she been alive.

My mother cried, although I wonder if this was for herself or for Father.

He had the good sense to respect himself. Not once did he lay a finger in any of us during the entire three day excursion. This was for the sole purpose that his family wouldn't perceive him as the monster we knew he was. The three of us were lost in bliss.

Our happiness, of course, was short lived. Not quite an hour after we'd returned, my father began wreaking havoc. My left arm was broken and Yuri had a slash across his leg that was sure to scar. Mother had hidden in the attic. Sacrificed us to him.

Now I sit on the ratty couch in the living room of our apartment. Yuri's in the shower and I'm staring at the television but not watching it.

"Ollie!" Yuri yells.

"What?" I call back.

I hear the bathroom door open and seconds later a dripping wet Yuri is standing in front of me.

"What the hell, Yuri? Move!" I toss a pillow at him.

"The water! They cut it off!"

"What? Who cut it off?"

Yuri begins to pace. "The city, Ollie! We're going to get evicted. First the water then the power and then we're evicted. We need money." He disappears into the bedroom and resurfaces moments later in a sweatsuit.