Gently placing more blankets on her frail arms and legs, I return to my seat on her bedside with a deep weary sigh. I lean in close and grabs her hands. She smells like the Earth after it’s rained, yet sweet, like flowers. I intertwine her cool fingers with my warm ones. I rub a finger absent mindedly against the jagged scar on the bottom of her thumb and note the similarity between our hands. They are both rough and calloused from years of laborious yard work. I recall the light spring days we spent pulling roots in her garden. But that was a long time ago and things have changed. The thoughts of her before the illness are a heavy weight on my shoulders. I close my eyes as I lean back in my chair…



They didn’t pay the light bill. I know this even before I open my eyes. I can’t feel my toes and Ruth shivers beside me. Slowly, I crack my eyes open and survey the room. Light peeks through the broken blinds and makes odd shapes on the adjacent wall. I turn my head to stare at the water stained ceiling and listen. It’s quiet. No yelling. No breaking plates or bowls or whatever my mother can get her hands on. They fought last night. Kicking and screaming, punching and scratching. Like cats and dogs. I couldn’t intervene, not after last time. I remember the elbow to the jaw I received and learned my lesson. I slowly rise out of bed trying not to wake Ruth. She curls over into the empty spot I left, her body searching for heat.

I take small steps toward the bathroom, running fingers through my messy hair. Roaches scamper and run from the giant in a ratty t-shirt and cotton shorts. Once I get to the toilet I relieve myself and take a look in the mirror. Splashing my face with cold water and toweling off, I inspect my silhouette. I press two fingers against the bags under my eyes and exhaled. You only get bags like these from lack of sleep. A soft knock draws me from my thoughts. I open the door…



“Hello Mrs. Connors.”

“Hello sweetie. Is she up for visitors today?” she asks in her usual kind voice. My sigh was heavy and filled with heartache. Mrs. Connors must have noticed because a thin, wrinkled hand reaches out and caresses my cheek.

“I’ll come back another time. You get some rest sweetie.” On that note she turns and begins her descent. With a firm grip on the railing, Mrs. Connors hobbles down the few brick steps with her head held high. I remember when Grandmother walked like that. Head tilted up toward the sun. I’m watch Mrs. Connors amble across the walkway when she turns back to look at me.

“You are doing wonders with this garden, sweetie,” she gestures toward the multitude of vividly colored flowers and bushes expertly trimmed. “I’ll need you to touch mine up before Easter, if you don’t mind.”

I smile kindly,” Of course I don’t mind, Mrs. Connors. Have a nice day.” She wiggles her fingers in the air as a farewell. I wave back and close the door. I sluggishly fall back against it and groan. Pulling weeds from Mrs. Connors’ yard was the last thing I had on my mind. Down the hall, coughing echoes throughout the house. When I briskly round the corner, I see my grandmother desperately battle to compose herself. She clutches her nightgown to her chest, each breath causes her fragile body to convulse. Phlegm and drops of blood are speckled against her hand. Eventually the coughing subsides. When it does, she looks up at me and gives me a warm smile...



I open the door and see my little sister doing her own version of a potty dance. I smirk at her childish antics and step to the side. Ruth rushes past me to get to the toilet. I close the door behind me when I leave to give her some privacy. I hear muffled coughs coming from the living room. As I make my way into the common area, I see my father. I try my best to seem invisible, avoiding creaky floorboards and keeping my mouth shut. As hungover as my father may be, he is not blind.

“Aren’t ya gonna say hello? That’s the polite thing to do,” he spits.

I look at him, still keeping my mouth shut. Sometimes he’ll move on if I ignore him. I move into the kitchen and open up the refrigerator. Empty, except the hard piece of government cheese that shouldn’t be this odd shade of green. I close the refrigerator with a slight thump and open the cabinets. A box of raisin bran sits, open, in the back. Stale cereal for breakfast. Bon appetite. When I turn around I barely have enough time to inhale as my father’s strong hand wraps around my neck. I look at him, eyes filled with terror. His chuckle is dark, dry, and lacks humor. His breath is rank. The putrid smell causes my eyes water and my nose to crinkle.

“Ain’t ya gonna say good morning? You are being extremely rude and it’s hurtin’ my feelin’s.”

He pokes out his crusted bottom lip to show how much my silent treatment affects him. It takes a lot of self-control to keep myself from rolling my eyes but I still keep my mouth shut.

“Well? I’m gettin’ impatient.”

It’s when sweat begins to bead on my forehead and keeping focused has become a chore that I decide staying quiet might not help my situation. Using the rest of my air supply, I gasp out a pitiful response...



“Good morning.” I give my grandmother a warm damp washcloth to wipe her face and hands.

“Good morning,” she murmurs. It’s barely even a whisper. She coaxes out a few small coughs to clear her throat. I quickly move to hand her the glass of water that’s on her bedside table. Shaky, unsteady hands guide the cup to her cracked lips. She gulps half of the glass before attempting to place it back onto the table. Her heavy panting leaves her light-headed and she misses the stand completely. The glass hits the floor and shatters, leaving shards scattered across the hardwood floor.

“I’m so sorry, Jude. Here let me help. It’s my mess anyway.” Grandmother attempts to untangle her legs from the blankets and swing them over the side of the bed.

“No, no, no, no. You stay there Ester. I got it. You stay right there.” I rush out for a moment to grab a broom from the kitchen and hurry back. I sweep up all the glass I can spot and dump it in the garbage. I when I return I notice that my grandmother has fallen asleep again. Her breathing, like soft puffs, blows the stray hair on her face. I brush them back and rest my hand on her head. The endless tick, tick, tick of the old clock on the wall mesmerizes me. After sitting with her for a few minutes, I eventually get up and go into the living room. I turn on the TV and try to look for something to take my mind off of the empty feeling in my chest. Flipping through channels, I finally find something worth watching. Jerry sprints around the old shed, Tom close on his heels. My lips perk up at the corners when I see the silly gray cat chase the clever brown mouse. Jerry quickly runs inside the shed. When he notices that the feline is going to follow his actions, he slams the door in his face...




BAM! My father lets go of me and his head jerks toward the front door. My mother comes rushing in looking completely disheveled. Her hair is greasy and pulled back into a messy bun. She’s still wearing her clothes from yesterday, dirty, wrinkled, stained from sweat and God knows what else. She takes a moment to catch her breath before she starts speaking.

“Oh God Denny! He’s mad. He’s mad, mad, mad, mad, mad!”

My father’s eyes widen and his mouth hanging open. He blinks a couple times before he responds. “Didn’t ya ask him for a few more days, Ash?”, he questions.

“He said he was tired of being generous. He said we were gonna pay today and it was gonna be our last one. How are we gonna pay? I told him we didn’t have the money. I told him.”

By then my sister has wandered into the living room and plopped herself in front of our crappy 20 inch TV my father won gambling. Ruth powers on the TV, immediately turning to Tom and Jerry. My parents don’t even glance at her. They’re yelling at each other and Ruth just twists the volume knob toward 10. They mention something about Iceberg, their drug dealer. Something about him stopping by later this evening. It wouldn’t be the first time he has come by. My mother usually takes him to her room and shuts the door. When Ruth asked her about she said they were just talking. She also asked her why she couldn’t talk about it in the living room and she smacked her. Too many questions for her head, I guess. Tom and Jerry begins playing commercials and Ruth wraps her arms around her legs, placing her chin on her knees...



I sigh at the commercials and go back to check on my grandmother. I walk as quietly as possible and peek around the doorway. She’s isn’t moving. I quickly rush to the bed, calling her name.

“Ester. Ester!” I gently shake her shoulders. No response. I start to panic. “ESTER! WAKE UP!” I shake her some more and there’s still no movement. Tears sting my eyes and my arms shake. By then, I’m desperate. “Ester, please,” I beg,” please, please, please, please, please don’t do this.” I grab her hands and look pitifully at her face. Her lips are pale. A deep ripping sob erupts from my mouth. My knees get weak and I fall onto the floor beside her bed. I slump onto her nightstand and manage to knock the photos off in the process...



My mother and father are anxiously pacing across the small room. But when the door is kicked in, it is everyone who jumps. The one picture we had hanging on the wall falls to the floor. The man that talks with my mother on occasion walks in with two associates. They are dressed in all black, the blue bandanas being the only exception. Iceberg opens his mouth to speak.

“My money,” he says,” where is it?” He looks pointedly at my parents. They are stammering, looking for excuses and thinking of weak lies. Finally my mother says something that catches his attention.

“It’s in the bedroom. I’ll go with you to get it.” I know what she means. It seems that Iceberg’s friends know too because they have matching crooked smirks on their faces. The only people who seem oblivious are Iceberg and Ruth. Slowly, Iceberg’s head turns and he looks at me.

“Go get it,” he commands. I glance at my parents, who look genuinely shocked, and back at Iceberg. “You deaf, boy? I said go get it.” Completely confused, I walk to my parents’ room. Where would they even hide money if they had any? I look under the mattress lying on the floor. Nothing. I look in the drawers and in shoes and in pillow cases. Nothing. As I am about to make my way to the door I hear gunshots. One. Two. There’s a pause and my heart is beating frantically in my chest. Three. The final crack of the gun gets my legs moving. I dash out the bedroom door and into the living room. The sight that awaits me is one I wish I could forget. Blood is everywhere. Splattered on the walls, the floor, the table, couch, the TV. It was only when I saw my sister that I lost my composure. I dry heave at the scene laid before me and fall to the ground. The last thing I hear are sirens before I’m pulled into the blackness.

The darkness I’m swimming in is far from welcoming. I reach out, feeling for something to hold onto to but nothing grazes my fingertips. The hole, the abyss, is pressing down on my chest. It’s trying to suffocate me but I won’t let it. I cry out, hoping someone will hear.

I awake in a hospital. The harsh light overhead shows my weak bloodshot eyes no mercy. A woman in a black pant suit is standing next to the chair I’m in.

“Hello Jude. I’m Aaron Michaels.” She pushes her hand out in front of me. She smiles brightly when I take it. I don’t feel like smiling. “Due to some very unfortunate circumstances...” She continues talking and it all flies right past. It isn’t until I see Ms. Michaels ushering an old lady in. I’ve never seen her before. She walks in with her head up and her shoulders straight. The woman takes the seat next to mine. She smells like the Earth after it’s rained, yet sweet, like flowers. Her voice is warm, like tea with honey, when she speaks to me.

“Hello sug. You probably don’t know who I am but we’re gonna fix that. You probably are scared outta ya wits right now, but we’re gonna fix that too.” She grabs my hand and begins to lead me out. It’s calloused and there’s a jagged scar on the bottom of her thumb.