idea,” I said.
“Why?” Sissy asked as she finished tying the knot.
She lowered her hands to her sides and the knife floated in suspension above our heads.
“You’re digging into my shoulders,” I said.
Sissy hovered on top of me for a long moment after that without speaking. Her eyes fixed to the space directly above my head where the knife hung suspended. Her nails scraped into the headboard of my bed. She’d grown thin in the last months, skin like a noose, bones like cream.
“Okay, fine,” I said, “I’ll bring her over.”
“Great,” Sissy said, and leaped off the bed, suddenly animated, “I’ll make dinner.”
I took the knife down from the ceiling after Sissy left the room and the next day at school invited Jeanine over for Sunday dinner. Jeanine arrived at our house on the edge of the swamp the next Sunday evening dressed in spring colors and a face painted with dark blue eye shadow and meat colored lipstick she stole from her mother.
I met her out on the porch.
“Watch where you step,” I said, “Theresa likes to set traps everywhere. And bake needles into the rations. Oh, and don’t sit down on the couch or stick your hand into anything. She likes to hide stuffed squirrels everywhere. And avoid Momma’s eyes if she ever smiles at you like she’s got a secret.”
“You worry too much,” Jeanine said.
She laughed and kissed me on the cheek. I hesitated to touch her in return. I didn’t recognize her dressed up all in colors. She even smelled differently, like freesia and fake rain instead of meat and grit and hair dye.
“It’ll be fine,” she said, “look at you, you’re more nervous than I am.”
We went inside. Sissy waited for us at the kitchen doorway across the great divide of the living room. She too, was dressed foreign, in one of Momma’s lace corsets from her teenage days, and a ruffle skirt that swallowed up her legs. She hid her face behind a mask of plasticine powder.
Even though nobody was on the couch, the television continued to play loud enough to bust the ceiling. I took Jeanine by the shoulder and guided her across that seemingly vast, infinite space toward the kitchen. Sissy lit a cigarette and leaned against the door frame.
“Your girlfriend looks like a whore,” Sissy said. When she smiled the dried makeup cracked on her face.
“Please don’t hate me for this,” I whispered to Jeanine.
We followed Sissy into the kitchen where she’d arranged at the kitchen table the government rations onto the special occasion silverware. In the dark green light I could almost imagine our monthly bread and meat paste was a real Sunday dinner. One from our childhood, before the factory shut down and Daddy left.
Momma sat in the corner of the kitchen next to a dead stuffed deer, her chair propped up against the wall.
"Sit down Jeanine," Sissy said, stabbing her cigarette against the edge of her plate, "sit next to Momma."
"I want to watch the Teddy and Delilah show," Momma said.
"Shut up Momma," Sissy said, "we're having dinner. Don’t embarrass me."
Jeanine and I sat down and Sissy played host, cutting the meat paste and fried bread into delicate, bite-sized portions. Then she served them to Jeanine and me one square at a time on the tip of her silver fork. Her bones shook with the strain. Jeanine and I waited in silence for Sissy to finish, and when she did, we picked up our silverware in tandem and ate in silence. Momma didn’t eat at all.
"Well then, do you like my deer?” Sissy said, indicating the stuffed deer with hollow green eyes propped up in the corner, "my father made it. His best one he took with him. But he left this one with us."
Jeanine and I exchanged glances. I felt cut off from her, like we were separated by a pane of glacier glass. I wanted to push my hands through the crystallized air and touch her, but I thought we might both break.
After a moment, Jeanine turned back to Sissy. The fork in Jeanine’s hand quivered.
"I like it,"
“Why?” Sissy asked as she finished tying the knot.
She lowered her hands to her sides and the knife floated in suspension above our heads.
“You’re digging into my shoulders,” I said.
Sissy hovered on top of me for a long moment after that without speaking. Her eyes fixed to the space directly above my head where the knife hung suspended. Her nails scraped into the headboard of my bed. She’d grown thin in the last months, skin like a noose, bones like cream.
“Okay, fine,” I said, “I’ll bring her over.”
“Great,” Sissy said, and leaped off the bed, suddenly animated, “I’ll make dinner.”
I took the knife down from the ceiling after Sissy left the room and the next day at school invited Jeanine over for Sunday dinner. Jeanine arrived at our house on the edge of the swamp the next Sunday evening dressed in spring colors and a face painted with dark blue eye shadow and meat colored lipstick she stole from her mother.
I met her out on the porch.
“Watch where you step,” I said, “Theresa likes to set traps everywhere. And bake needles into the rations. Oh, and don’t sit down on the couch or stick your hand into anything. She likes to hide stuffed squirrels everywhere. And avoid Momma’s eyes if she ever smiles at you like she’s got a secret.”
“You worry too much,” Jeanine said.
She laughed and kissed me on the cheek. I hesitated to touch her in return. I didn’t recognize her dressed up all in colors. She even smelled differently, like freesia and fake rain instead of meat and grit and hair dye.
“It’ll be fine,” she said, “look at you, you’re more nervous than I am.”
We went inside. Sissy waited for us at the kitchen doorway across the great divide of the living room. She too, was dressed foreign, in one of Momma’s lace corsets from her teenage days, and a ruffle skirt that swallowed up her legs. She hid her face behind a mask of plasticine powder.
Even though nobody was on the couch, the television continued to play loud enough to bust the ceiling. I took Jeanine by the shoulder and guided her across that seemingly vast, infinite space toward the kitchen. Sissy lit a cigarette and leaned against the door frame.
“Your girlfriend looks like a whore,” Sissy said. When she smiled the dried makeup cracked on her face.
“Please don’t hate me for this,” I whispered to Jeanine.
We followed Sissy into the kitchen where she’d arranged at the kitchen table the government rations onto the special occasion silverware. In the dark green light I could almost imagine our monthly bread and meat paste was a real Sunday dinner. One from our childhood, before the factory shut down and Daddy left.
Momma sat in the corner of the kitchen next to a dead stuffed deer, her chair propped up against the wall.
"Sit down Jeanine," Sissy said, stabbing her cigarette against the edge of her plate, "sit next to Momma."
"I want to watch the Teddy and Delilah show," Momma said.
"Shut up Momma," Sissy said, "we're having dinner. Don’t embarrass me."
Jeanine and I sat down and Sissy played host, cutting the meat paste and fried bread into delicate, bite-sized portions. Then she served them to Jeanine and me one square at a time on the tip of her silver fork. Her bones shook with the strain. Jeanine and I waited in silence for Sissy to finish, and when she did, we picked up our silverware in tandem and ate in silence. Momma didn’t eat at all.
"Well then, do you like my deer?” Sissy said, indicating the stuffed deer with hollow green eyes propped up in the corner, "my father made it. His best one he took with him. But he left this one with us."
Jeanine and I exchanged glances. I felt cut off from her, like we were separated by a pane of glacier glass. I wanted to push my hands through the crystallized air and touch her, but I thought we might both break.
After a moment, Jeanine turned back to Sissy. The fork in Jeanine’s hand quivered.
"I like it,"
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