in the closet

We live at Crazy Lynn's house. We moved out of the house where Mama died and into a house where much worse things happen.

Crazy is on a rampage. Cassie is 14 and crying because her 4H project escaped from it's pen, and now she can't get it back in. She and the other sisters have pointed the finger at my little brother. They said he left the gate open. They all lie, and are not even that good at it. But we are not really hers - so nobody hears us anyway.

Cassie's project is a 250 pound pig. Little brother stays far away from that pen - we all do - even Cassie - especially Cassie. That pig is mean and out weighs all of us - Little Brother in particular - he is only seven.

I can hear her shouting, "When I find him!", and I know I need to - before she does. He is in his closet and when I open it, his face is white with big eyes, his knees pulled tight to his chest. I climb in next to him.

"I didn't open that gate," he says.
"I know."
"She never feeds him, he gets hungry and then he just busts out."
"Yeah." There is not much I can say. We both know what will happen when she finds us, and there is nothing we can do about it. It is just like when Tiffany's bird died, or when Gina didn't get her dress hemmed up, or when Anthony set the backyard on fire. It is always four against two - and we always lose. I used to think that Cinderella was a fairy tale - but for us it is real - and nothing good happens in the end.

I put my arm around little brother. I cannot protect him, but he knows that I am sorry for what is going to happen. I listen hard to her voice calling his name. I am trying to decide how far away she is - if the hallway is clear. If it is we can run - out the door and across the street to Chris. Little brother wipes his nose on his wrist.

I wish for Mama. I pray that she can see us, small and quiet in this closet. My eyes are shut tight and I wish that the ghost of Mama would be here - not to save us, but to kill Crazy - to scare her to death - or worse. But Mama doesn't come and it is still three hours until Daddy gets home. We have to stay hidden for three more hours. . .

But we don't. The closet door slides open and there she is. Linda Ronstadt beautiful but with crazy in her brown eyes. I grab little brother's hand. "Let go," she says. "Get out." And I do, Because if I don't she will get both of us, and there will be nobody left to take care of him.

She shuts the door behind me, and I kneel in the hall. My knees are scratchy on the carpet and my forehead pressed against the wall. There is crying in the room and out here too. Shouting. And then the cracking sound like two hard books being slapped together. Shouting cracking crying. Tiffany walks past me in the hall. She sees my tears and she stops to look at me, and there is sorry in her eyes, but she doesn't say it. She twists her chin at me and walks away.

Shout. Crack. Cry.
Shout. Crack. Cry.

And then quiet. She opens the door and walks out. And I am always afraid to go in - afraid of what I will see. Today the tears are still on his face and he is on his knees. His coffee colored eyes meet my blue ones. There is nothing I can say to him, so I just sit next to him and wait. Finally he gets up and nods at me. We don't talk but I follow him out of the room.

In the living room Cassie and Gina are laying on the couch watching TV. They are cramming Doritos into their mouths and laughing at something - probably us. "Mom says you have to put the pig back in." This is Gina. She swigs her coke and burps right at us. I wish I could put her in a pen.

Little brother nods at them and looks down.
"She's not OUR mom," I say

Cassie says, "Shut up ugly," and shoves a handful of chips in her mouth. Gina glares. Twin pigs. I hate them both. But not Tiffany. I do not hate Tiffany. I don't like her - but I do not hate her.

Little brother opens the sliding door and I follow him outside. We are quiet when we walk to the back of the yard. The pig is rooting around in the red berry bush. Little brother grabs a metal scoop from the shed and dips it into the bag of pIg chow - that's what the bag says - pig chow. As soon as he hears the metal sliding into the grain, Pig comes running toward us - fast. Little brother runs into the pen, drops the chow in the bucket and starts climbing the gate. The pig runs in and I lock the fence behind him.

"He was just hungry."
"I know."
"Did you lock it tight?"
"Yes."

Daddy comes home at five. He asks how our day was. Little brother shakes his head at me and says, "Good."
Daddy smiles at me, Little Brother stares. And I say nothing.

Nothing.

Mama said to help them - to protect them. And I can't protect them both. Up until that point everything in our life had just happened to us, but that day I chose. I chose to keep Little Brother's secret. And from that day on - nothing was the same.