Chapter IV.
Here Is No Why

"What the Hell is this?"
I opened my eyes with a jolt.
Mom was home-she had either seen the kitchen or finally caught Alex smoking pot.
"I just bought these god-damn steaks!"
Kitchen.

I got out of bed and looked at my face in the mirror. Not too tear-streaked and mom probably wouldn't even notice. She'd know if she was missing a dime from the bottom of her purse or if there was one less package of ramen in the pantry but she would not notice running make-up on her youngest daughter's face?
At least I hoped not.

I climbed down the ladder and into a disaster area: plates, silverware and cups all over the coffee table. The kitchen looked worse with even more dishes on the counter and a cast iron skillet sitting in the sink.
"What happened to the steaks?" Mom asked no one in particular
"You're home early," Alex yelled from down the hall.
“Yeah, I was able to escape," mom replied as she threw her purse against the couch, lit a cigarette and sat down. "You going to get Alexis?”
“Yeah, she’s off at ten,” Alex replied as he stepped out of his room across the hallway from mom. There were times that I wished he was upstairs...as it would stop Wednesday and Paul's symphony of guttural noises. No, it would not stop them...maybe they'd be louder just to annoy him like it annoyed me. I never asked Alexis' opinion..
“Be careful driving out there,” mom replied as she wrestled to take her coat off without getting up from her seated position.
“I hear you mom." Alex picked his jacket off the back of the couch and walked into the kitchen. "Looks like shit."
I was very close to telling him what he could do rectify that, but instead I went in to do what was my daily chore: dishes. We had an interesting way of doing dishes.
Alex's method: doesn't do them.
Alexis' method: Only washed her own.
Wednesday: She would smash dishes and throw them away. She got away it up until the time when the trash bag ripped (due of the weight of the shattered plates) and mom found it.
I just washed the damn dishes to get it over with and to make me feel that for a whole thirty minutes or so, a part of the house was clean, my way.

My mom worked at a hardware store...Griffith Hardware and Supply, I think, some huge store on the other side of Spokane. It took her over fourth minutes to get from the house and out to north side. She would be gone until late in the evening and expected us to take care of the house; keep it clean, don't kill anyone or each other and no boys or girls in Alex's case I can't even guess how many times those rules were broken.

We were given alternating chores but it didn't take long (not even a day if I remember) before Wednesday picked up a broom, took two sweeps to the floor and then exclaimed to the rest of us: "You know what? Fuck this shit."
She then abruptly dropped the broom, walked to the ladder and went upstairs.
"Way to stick it to authority, Wednesday! Now, why don't you say that when mom is actually here, eh?"
"You tell her, Alex."
"I may look stupid, but I'm not that dumb!"
Alexis rolled her eyes form the living room; which was her reply to everything that pissed her off, which apparently wasn't too hard for any of us to do. We could just think about glancing at her and she would explode in a diatribe. I admit, at times it was fun to see what it would take to get her to lose her temper but over time--a few days--it got bored and you kind of change your mind when you hear her crying in the middle of the night.

I finished drying the last coffee cup when the outside door opened.
"Hello, all!" Wednesday and Paul had come home from wherever it was that made them leave after destroying the kitchen. I didn't look at her or Paul because if I had I would have wanted to throw a cup at the both of them.
They moved past me and into the living room.
"Mom, did you get the mail?" Wednesday asked. I took a few steps away from the sink in order to look into the living room. I couldn't see Mom, but Wednesday and Paul were in my frame of vision.
"Do you really think I went by Reardan?" Mom asked.
"Well, uh, don't you think you should've?"
"Maybe."

I walked into the living room and over to the large window that allowed us to see whenever someone came to the house. It was like a big-screen television without curtains or blinds, which were taken down some point in the past and were never put again...oh wait, Alexis used it as a door for her room and since Mom never went upstairs (if she did, it was because she was pissed and wanted to continue whatever argument she was having with one of us) and she would mutter and curse under her breath with every step down the ladder.

Paul looked at me through the reflection in the glass. Again, a part of me was disgusted but another part of me kind of wanted to know what he would ask or do, if I gave him the chance. Not that I'd say anything to Wednesday about his not just flirting gestures. She wouldn't believe me or she'd just laugh it off and say I should be flattered.
"You haven't checked the mail in over two weeks. We could have won Publisher's Clearing House and have the winning envelope."
"Yeah, right."

I wouldn't say Mom gambled, but she did have an intricate system that she swore, one day, would win the big drawing in the Washington State Lotto. It was a system made up of our birth dates and some other set of numbers that she would never talk about. Let's just say neither Coca-Cola or Colonel Sanders had anything to match her.

When the lottery would get over the one hundred million mark she would make it her mission to play her number games for as much as we could afford, usually at the sacrifice of eating nothing but ramen and potatoes for two weeks...or until Alex would sneak in some food he would steal from the grocery story after he dropped Alexis off or would purchase with his "420 money".
"Could I have the key and go check it?" Wednesday asked as I sat down next to mom.
"A little late to be doing that, isn't it?"
"No, not really. Think of the one followed by all of the zeroes"
I wanted to hear the conversation but make it look like I wasn't interested so picked up a book and feigned reading.
"Yeah," Mom reached inside her jacked and pulled out her keychain. "Yeah, go check it. Don't lose my keys!"
Mom tossed the keys across the room to Wednesday.
"I won't."

And without any further words, Paul and Wednesday ran out the door. I laid my book down and looked at mom. She had her head back in a very uncomfortable position. She was either asleep, in a coma, or dead. I would have checked, but noting her mood would hop around, it was best to not wake the bear--for a lack of better words. Besides, what would I have to tell her that would be good news? I kept on reading.
After reading the same sentence four times in a row I put book down and walked into the bathroom that was to the side of the living room. We had two bathrooms in the house, both were on the first floor. One had a shower, the other had a bathtub that ceased working since forever and had the only large mirror in the mouse. I locked the door and looked at that mirror as it showed a depressed twelve year-old who thought her life couldn't get any more in the shit than it already was.

She was wrong though, there was always a way to dig a deeper hole. She could have gone shoplifting, stabbed someone...and those would have been a better fate; at least then there would be a warm bed and food to eat and she wouldn't have to tell her family that she was screwed.
Literally.

The thought occurred to me every. Single. Time. It didn't matter how I felt at the times: nervous, euphoric, horny; that little voice, singing "rock a-bye baby" in a small and evil whisper was ever present. While we were going out, the issue was not as huge as I'm making it out to be; I mean, we talked out it: how we would go and find a place for ourselves--estranged from our families where no one would know us and we never had to expect anyone coming over to tell us how to live our lives.
And, for as far as I knew, Josh was saying the same thing to Michelle: telling her how she looks so cute and how hot her body is...and all that other lovey-dovey shit.
I so wanted to shatter the mirror, but, as I said, it was the only large one we had in the house...that, and I didn't need seven more years of bad luck.

The kitchen door soon rattled and then slammed open.
“You need to tell him how to drive!” Alexis yelled from the kitchen.
I opened the bathroom door to see Mom, her eyes in a "shit! What was that? Where's my gun?" expression.
Alex strolled right on through the living room, on the way to his room.
“How fast were you driving?” Mom asked, causing Alex to stop and actually communicate with everyone.
“Like, over eighty!” Alexis fumed.
Alex shook his head.
“How fast?” Mom asked again
"He was going over eighty, and-"
Mom snapped her fingers at Alexis--her infamous non-verbal command that meant: "shut up for a moment, please.”
"I was pushing sixty-five, mom, tops," Alex stated,
"That's bullshit," Alexis' retorted.
I moved away from the bathroom door and into the kitchen.
"You were going sixty-five?" Mom asked.
"Yeah, I mean the speedometer fucks up sometimes--"
"Liar!" Alexis threw her backpack down the hallway. Fortunately for her she kept her make-up in her purse that was still on her shoulder.
"Yeah, whatever," Alex replied as he sat down on the couch, opposite side of Mom.
"You took every single curve on the highway at seventy!"
"No, I didn't. I took the curves at a safe speed."
Alex handed a cigarette to Mom.
"What do you consider safe?”
"Fifty-five."
"The sign says thirty-five!"

Alexis knew all of the laws, but she had failed the road test three times in a row and had to wait three more months to try again.
"I can drive at fifty-five miles an hour on a curve and be safe doing it." Alex said and took a drag off his cigarette.
"You've rolled that car once already."
“That was an accident.”
“So was your birth!”
Alex sprang up from the couch and stood up against his twin.
“Oh, good one, you been practicing?”
“Been waiting to say it for quite a while.”
“Happy to oblige, bitch.”
"Do you really want to see a bitch?”

“Enough!” Mom yelled. "Both of you go to your rooms. I don't want to hear anymore from either of you tonight!"

Alexis picked up her backpack and I could swear that, for a second, she thought to swing it at her sibling, before she went to the ladder and climbed upstairs without another word.
Alex walked down the hallway to his room and closed the door.

No slamming doors. Of course, we didn't have any upstairs to slam but Alex did...but he chose to just close the door. I doubt he was sorry for anything he said but it was hard to tell, this was how we always talked to each other. "Bitch" could be used as a term of endearment or used in a Christmas card. It did make me feel a greater longing to be locked in the attic of a Victorian mansion.