It took me a second to pull my mind out of the past. “Homework.” I was writing an essay about my family, but I couldn’t tell her that. Fortunately for me, I hit the page down key on accident, and it looked like I hadn’t written anything yet. She would only have spent the next half an hour telling me that I better not make her look bad, and then stand over my shoulder while I wrote. And it would never be right. If I stayed neutral about her, she would pick up on the lack of enthusiasm; if I praised her as the next Mother Teresa, she would only accuse me of making fun. No, it was best she didn’t know what I was doing.

     Mom cocked her head to the side and looked at me with narrowed eyes. All my friends thought that my mother was beautiful. And she was. Beautiful and terrible. The three of us stopped telling her what happened in school ever since she threatened to kill Junior’s metal shop teacher. She was five feet two and the teacher was six feet tall, but he believed her just the same. She could hold our entire house paralyzed in fright while she ranted and raved for a week, then turn around and buy us all expensive presents on a three-day shopping spree. My dad got her pregnant before she could finish high school, first with me, then with the twins, and I don’t think she’s ever forgiven any of us for it. Maybe not even herself. Her love and her hate for us were so mixed up, and of such volcanic fury, that I spent most of my time trying to hide from it.

     Her eyes traveled to my computer screen. “If you’re doing homework,” She asked softly, “Why is the screen blank?”

     Something pressed against my chest, making it hard to breathe. That slow boil look of hers always made me feel like I was three years old, and about to get hit. “I’m trying to think of what to say.”

     “Do you know what I think? I think that you’re in here all the time because you can’t stand to be around us. You got bumped into the smart classes, and now you think you’re too good for us. Get your butt into the living room and visit with your family!”

     Without another word I grabbed my notebook and a pen. I left the computer on so it wouldn’t look like I was trying to hide anything. She didn’t move, so I had to walk around her to get out of the door. The aura of irritation surrounding her was almost palpable; I skirted it as carefully as I could, wishing that she wouldn’t make it so hard to get to the door without touching her. The skin on my back wanted to climb off me and run for cover. I hadn’t been hit in a long time, but I remembered how it felt.

     My room is at the short end of an L-shaped hallway, facing the closed door of my mother’s bedroom. There are no windows in the hall, so when Mom closed my bedroom door, everything became darkness. I walked down the hall blindly, my mother padding silently behind me. Dad said I wasn’t going to get hit anymore. I was too old. They could reason with me now. I think it was a relief to him, knowing he didn’t have to use his belt on us ever again. I wasn’t too sure about my mom. Sometimes, when Junior mouthed off, or one of the daycare kids made too much noise, I could see her fingers twitching toward her waist as she ground her teeth. One of these days she was going to lose it, and whoever she hit was going to get all of the beatings she’d wanted to give but couldn’t.

     I made it to the end of the hallway untouched, and paused in front of my brother’s bedroom, letting my eyes adjust to the weak winter light that painted both the first and second living rooms in a watery gray. Actually, what we called the first living room was really supposed to be a formal sitting room that opened onto a den, but we never called them that. They were always the first and second living rooms. I checked to see if the twelve or so pictures of me that I nicknamed The Shrine were still hanging in their hallowed spot in the first living room. I hated the thing. I wish my mom would let me take it down. It always felt as if the thing were staring at me. I wish we could shove it into a corner that nobody would see. I was the only kid I knew who was babysat by images of herself. Seeing all of those pictures of me, only me, gave me the willies. I felt like I should be leaving oranges and burning candles or something, but it was a good indicator on how my stock was doing. More pictures of Lasjon and Junior meant I was in trouble. On the good days, when Mom wasn’t upset with me, it looked as if Lasjon and Junior didn’t exist.

     I did a quick once-over, and breathed a mental sigh of relief. It was still the all-Jaquere show. I kept the expression on my face pleasant and went to the living room, where I had to thread my way through Lego blocks, tinker toys, and the odd police car with its siren disabled to get to the couch. We had a ‘no noisy toys’ rule in the house, which was pretty weird, considering how loud everything else was. The daycare kids were watching Sesame Street, where Ernie was yelling ‘fishy, Fishy, FISHY!’ so loud, the Gunters next door could probably hear it.

     Lasjon was sitting in a corner by herself, talking to someone on the phone in a voice loud enough to be heard over the TV. Mom sat down on the other couch. The steady boom, boom, boom of hard core rap shook the wall that separated the living room from the garage. “Chris,” My mom said to one of the daycare kids, “Go tell Junior to turn that off.”

     Chris got up and ran for the garage, which goes to show that he was more scared of my mother than of my brother. His voice was lost in the growl of the bass, but Junior’s voice was quite clear when he yelled, “Get out of here you little cornholio before I step on you!”

     Chris scuttled back to the TV. Junior was right behind him, holding a large laundry basket full of clean clothes. “Don’t send those retards to talk to me, if you got a problem, come tell me yourself.” He dumped the contents of the laundry basket on top of the daycare kids, kicked a clear space on the carpet, and sat down to fold. The kids squealed in pleasure rather than annoyance; it was bitterly cold in the living room, and the fresh dried clothes must have felt good. I grabbed one of Junior’s sweaters and pulled it on. It was about four sizes too big and gloriously warm.

     “Hey, I don’t want any of your perfume on my clothes.”

     “I’m not wearing perfume. Just let me wear it for right now, okay?”

     Without answering me, Junior turned to the daycare kids, who were burrowing in the mountain of warmth, and said, “Now don’t you morons go drooling all over my stuff, or I’m going to smack you.”

     My mother bristled, “Stop messing with the kids!”

     “Then clean up this house! Do you think I want to be in here with you nagging me? There’s nowhere else to go. They’re sitting on the only clear spot in the entire house, and that’s only because you never let them get up.”

     I really, really wanted to go to my room. Why did they always insist that I witness these things? It was like they wanted me to intervene, or something. How was I supposed to stop them when they couldn’t even stop themselves? My mom just doesn’t like Junior. I don’t think she ever did. He’s always been the bad one in the family, but ever since his last growth spurt, it’s been worse. I don’t know why. It’s like hitting six feet was an unforgivable sin. She constantly picks fights with him, and when he doesn’t back down, it throws her into a frothing fury. He’s no better; I think he sometimes picks fights just to make her scream. And he doesn’t even shave yet. They’re locked in a vicious struggle for I don’t know what, but they don’t seem like they’re going to stop until one of them is dead.

     Knowing that it probably wouldn’t do any good, I tried to intervene, which only proved what an idiot I was. “Mom, the kids don’t mind the laundry. Do you, kids?”

     “No,” Chris said, “It’s warm in here.” He grinned at me, and I gave him a wink before he dove back under the white socks and T-shirts.

     Junior smirked, and opened his mouth to say something stupid, but I caught his eye, and wonder of wonders, he shut up. He and my mom subsided into a reluctant silence that was as close as they could get to peace.

     If the wall hadn’t started vibrating again, everything might have been all right.

     “Why did you leave the radio on?”

     “Hmm, let me think about that.” Junior put a finger on his chin. “Maybe because I’m listening to it?”

     “Don’t talk to me like that. I hate your nasty music, go turn it off!”

     This time I didn’t bother to stop them. They must enjoy hating each other. Meanwhile, I had my homework to do.

     I learned a long time ago how to tune them, and everything else, out. All I needed was something to concentrate on, and the world fell away from me. I didn’t hear or see anything I didn’t want to. I flipped my notebook open, and grabbed the college application hidden there before it fell out. I stuffed it back in and turned the page. My friend Cherease gave it to me this afternoon, and I hadn’t thought about it since. There was no way I was going to school in New York. My parents would never let me. My dad wouldn’t even let me go around the block by myself, let alone to the other coast. Besides, I couldn’t afford it without a scholarship, and who would want to give me one of those? No, it’s the local community college for me, and then maybe San Jose State, if I can find a job to pay for it.

     Still. I rubbed the wire spiral that held my notebook together. There wasn’t any harm in applying. Like Cherease said, I might get lucky. I could never really go there of course. I would never say yes even if they wanted me. Of course I wouldn’t. I had to stay home and help the family. But it would be nice to be wanted. Even if I never went. Which I wouldn’t. Who’d want me anyway?

     The fight between Mom and Junior was so loud, it temporarily beat down my self-imposed deafness.

     “Do you think a girl is going to want you? You’re a lazy, good-for-nothing, woman-hating pig and I’m sick of you! Clean up this living room and go to your room!”

     “The only pig in this family is you! You sit on your butt all day watching TV and talking to your friends on the phone, and now you want me to clean up your mess? I’m not your slave, do it yourself.” Junior snatched up his laundry and threw it back in the basket unfolded. “Forget this.” He took off for his room, and threw the filled laundry basket against his bedroom wall. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the front door.

     “Where are you going?”

     “Somewhere you aren’t.” The front door slammed, shaking the walls.

     If I applied, I could use Cherease’s address so my parents wouldn’t know what I was doing.

My Family

By Jaquere Walker

     The thing is, I’m not sure I can write about my family. It just is, and I give as much attention to it as I do the air I breathe, which is none at all, unless something goes wrong.

     I’d say we’re a happy bunch. Again, it is kind of hard to come up with concrete examples, but that’s because I live in it everyday. Everyone probably has the same trouble I do, trying to nail family members down. It’s like we know too much about them, and it gets in the way of writing it out. But I’d say we’re happy.

     Later, when my dad came home, my mom relieved me of couch duty. I went to my room just in time to catch the last few minutes of Lasjon’s primping ceremony. She was staring at herself in the mirror and putting on a pair of my earrings. She caught my eye and asked, “Can I wear these?”

     “Whatever.” I went to the computer and turned it on. Earlier, while pretending that my pen ran out of ink, I came in here and closed everything down. I can never leave anything open around Lasjon. She had a knack for reading exactly what I didn’t want anyone to see, and using it to get herself out of trouble with our mom. Thank God she didn’t know how to break through my encryption codes. Not yet, anyway.

     Lasjon lined her lips in brown. Still staring in the mirror, she said, “You should talk to mom about laying off of Junior. If she keeps pushing at him, he’s going to do something stupid. Again.”

     Like the time he stole all of Mom’s CDs and sold them to the Rasputin down the street. The old helplessness came back. “I have talked to her. I don’t see why you and Dad think I can change anything. Neither of them listen to what I say.”

     “Sometimes they do, which is more than they do for anyone else.” Lasjon moved back and stared at her outfit in the mirror. “I’m going to a party. I’ll see you later.”

     She opened the bedroom door, and Junior was there, filling up the space of the door. He moved to the side, and Lasjon slid past without a word. They were twins, but you’d never know it to look at them. Junior was what Cherease called tall, dark and handsome. He was the lightest of the three of us, and looked the most like my mother. He had her wavy brown hair, and skin like light mahogany. Lasjon was five foot four, and almost as dark as our daddy. She got her woman figure at nine, and has been using it to great effect ever since. They used to be really tight. Somewhere in middle school they started drifting apart, and now, in their sophomore year, they’re like strangers to each other.

     Knowing that Junior was going to leave in a second if I didn’t give him an excuse to come in, I asked, “Can you help me hang the mirror higher? Lasjon is too short to help.”

     Junior came in, and held the mirror at different heights as I tried to make up my mind. “She’s right you know.”

     Used to the way Junior starts mid-thought, I said: “You didn’t admit it.”

     “I’ll never admit anything to her. I’d never hear the end of it. But she’s right, I do have a problem with women. But it’s her fault. She’s always messing with me until I can’t see straight and I want to hit something.”

     I hammered in the nail in silence. I didn’t know what to tell him. He knew Mom didn’t like him. He wasn’t stupid. I ached for the days when all I had to do to solve his problems was to go to his school and beat up whoever was messing with him. He used to tell me all about his day, but that also stopped in middle school. Something happened to us, all of us, when Junior and Lasjon left Gresden Elementary. Nothing had been right since. But I seemed to be the only one who’s noticed. Or at least, the only one who was trying to fight it.

     It was the first time in a long while that Junior had come to talk to me, and I didn’t know what to say. He was being pushed into a way I didn’t want him to go. He would’ve laughed at ‘I love you.’ I’m not the one who should be saying that to him. I wanted to fix things so bad it was tearing me in two. But getting all emotional would only have turned Junior off, so I buried everything under a calm face and said, “Not all women are like her, Junior. We have a wacked mom. You’ll find somebody who brings out the best in you.”

     He gave me a mocking smile. “Thank you Polyanna.” He turned and strolled out the door.

My Family

(Con’t)

     My dad is Black, and my mother is Mexican, making me, by the family joke, Blexican. I know it’s corny, but we call ourselves the Walker Five. We’re all very close to each other, and get along really well. I really appreciate this, because I know that there are families out there that don’t really work. I’ve seen some of them.

     We Walkers are so close; we can’t be apart for very long. We all have our friends and our different activities, but we always seem to make time for each other.

     I’m very lucky.

     I was awake when Lasjon crept into our bedroom. She was so quiet that I barely heard her; if I hadn’t suddenly smelled cigarettes and cheap beer, I probably wouldn’t have known she was there. She stumbled against something, and froze. I turned over. “Don’t worry about it,” I whispered, “I’m awake.”

     There was a half-second of silence before Lasjon asked, just as quietly, “Why are you up so late?”

     “Homework.” I’d stayed up to finish my essay. I really wish I could have blown off the assignment, but it was worth one hundred points. What I was going to turn in wasn’t my best work, but it was as good as it was going to get, considering that I’d had to make it all up.

     Lasjon moved quietly back and forth between her bed and the closet, getting ready for bed. It was so dark in our room that I couldn’t see what she was doing. She just smelled so bad I could track her progress back and forth. “Girl, what have you been rolling in? I smelled you coming in the door.”

     The pause was longer this time. Lasjon must have been tired if she was this slow on her feet; she usually had an answer ready before you finished the question. “I told you Nala’s dad smokes. Between that and her jerk brother spraying us with Budweiser, I almost called you to come get me.”

     Right. The thing that got me was that you could never disprove what she said. Nala’s dad does smoke. And she does have a brother who’s twenty-one. Sometimes I wondered if it really was all in my head. Mom and Dad partied their way through high school--wouldn’t they notice what Lasjon was up to quicker than I would? I didn’t know. I just had this feeling that I haven’t seen the real Lasjon since she hit sixth grade.

     I didn’t ask any more questions. I would never be able to get anything out of her anyway.

My Family

(Con’t)

     My parents are really great. My dad makes enough money so my mom can stay home with us, which is really, really great. She’s always there when we get home, and somehow knows just what to say to make you feel better. My mom and I are really close. I can tell her anything. She’s my best friend.

     I have a sister and a brother, Lasjon and Robert Jr. They are fraternal twins, and are in their second year of high school here at Colton. I really love them a lot, even though I sometimes envy their close bond to each other.

     What can I say about them individually? Lasjon is outgoing, a natural leader wherever she goes. Making friends comes easily to her. I wish I knew how she did it.

     My brother, Robert Jr., is kind of hard to describe. He isn’t as outgoing at Lasjon, though he does have his circle of friends. He’s really in to music, and wants to be a DJ when he gets out of school. He’s good at basketball, and is going to try out for the team next year.

     I know that my family doesn’t sound all that extraordinary, but they are, at least to me. They’re the only family I have, and I appreciate them for what and who they are. I wouldn’t change them for the world.

     I walked into the house, still seeing the red ink scrawled over the first draft of my essay: TOO VAUGE. ADD MORE DETAILS. I KNOW THERE IS MORE TO YOUR FAMILY THAN THIS. What did she care about my family? It wasn’t like she really wanted to know what it’s all about. It’s like when people say ‘how are you?’ They don’t really want to know. They just want you to say you’re fine so they can go back to worrying about themselves with a clean conscience. More to my family. Like I’m really going to tell her.

     I was so wrapped up in my own irritation, I was half way across the first living room before I noticed that something was wrong. It was the Shrine that first caught my eye. It had mutated. It used to be twelve pictures of me in one corner of the room, but now, now it spanned the entire arch that separated the first living room from the second. And every single picture was of me. Me as a baby. Me as a kindergartner. Me in every pose and every kind of clothing imaginable. There had to be fifty pictures on the wall. Some of them weren’t even in frames; they were attached to the wall with staples or tacks or grey duct tape. I had fifty pairs of my own eyes staring back at me. It was monstrous. It was obscene. I looked into the second living room, ready to object, and the words died unspoken.

     My Dad was home. He was sitting on the couch, next to my mother. Lasjon was in her corner by the sliding glass door, arms wrapped around her legs and her face pressed into her knees. It looked as if a bomb exploded in the middle of the room, flinging them all into different corners. It was dead quiet. The daycare kids were outside, sitting facing the sliding glass door, as if we’d suddenly become their live action TV.

     It was Junior. It had to be. Someone knifed him after school. Or hit him in the parking lot after detention. He was in the hospital. He was dead. I squashed the rising hysteria and asked, “What happened?”

     My dad looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin ashen. “Junior’s been arrested. He tried to snatch someone’s purse.”

     I stared at my dad, tried to make sense of what he was saying, and I couldn’t. “You’re lying. Junior wouldn’t do that. Why would he do that? You’re wrong.”

     “I knew this was coming.” Mom’s voice was ragged and hoarse. “Didn’t I tell you this was going to happen if he listened to rap music? He’s selfish, and greedy—“

     “Stop it!” I put my hands over my eyes. Junior gets arrested and all she can say is she knew it would happen? And the pictures. God, she must have spent hours putting them up.

     Mom continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “I got the call at one. Junior cut school after lunch with his friends and went to the mall. He snatched a lady’s purse as she was coming out of Macy’s. Why didn’t you know your brother was gone from school? Why weren’t you watching out for him?”

     I gaped at her. “What?”

     “Yolanda, stop it,” Dad said. “How was she supposed to know?”

     “They go to the same school Robert.”

     “And that makes me responsible for him? I’m supposed to follow him around and make sure he doesn’t get into trouble? I’m not his keeper.” Junior, Junior, Junior. My heart shriveled inside of me. I pushed the feeling down. I would not cry in front of this woman.

     “That’s what Cain said about Abel.”

     The old fear of her was gone. For one moment, it was completely gone, burned away in the heat that filled me. She’d pushed and baited and nagged and shoved at my brother until he had to take it out on someone else, and now she was trying to blame me for it? Everything I ever wanted to say to her and didn’t dare all tried to come up at once, and I choked on it. The eyes of the Shrine pressed upon me, grinding me into the floor.

     Frustrated, I ran to my room and slammed the door. I found the college application and filled it out. I didn’t know if I would be accepted, but if NYC wanted me, they could have me.

My Family

     I don’t know why I’m writing this. No one is going to see it. I’m going to delete this as soon as it’s done. My family sucks. My mother is a manipulative terror. My sister parties all night and is going to get herself pregnant some day. My brother is a failed thief. The only one worth anything is my dad, but he’s trapped in our collective nightmare and can’t get out. I wish I could just reset everything and start over again, but I can’t. I don’t know why we are the way we are. I can’t find where the problem started. I’m too weak to change anything.

     Much later, there was a knock at my door. “Jaquere?”

     I was lying on my bed, trying to make myself do my homework. It wasn’t working. I’d been staring at my computer monitor from across the room for the last fifteen minutes without really seeing it. In my hands was the application to New York City College. I didn’t want to talk anybody, not even my dad, but I wasn’t quite mad enough to ignore him. “What?”

     “Can I come in?”

     God, what was I doing? At least he asked before he came in. Mom just barged in, banging through the door like I was personally insulting her by wanting some privacy. “Yeah.” I closed my notebook and dropped it on the floor.

     He walked in, still wearing his blue on gray repairman’s uniform and beat up A’s hat. His boots made a steady clomp, clomp, noise against the wood floor as he walked. In his big hands he carried a pink, threadbare towel, which he carefully placed on my desk chair before sitting down.

     I looked at my watch. “It’s seven o’clock and you’re still in your work clothes?”

     “I’ve been too busy to change.”

     Yeah, busy listening to my mom say ‘I told you so.’ I scowled.

     “Your mother went to a friend’s house for dinner.”

     “And Lasjon?”

     “Your mother was going to drop her at Nala’s on the way.”

     We were all alone. The daycare kids left at six. “Well I guess she got over Junior pretty quickly.” I threw my pillow across the room.

     “That isn’t fair, Jaquere. She was very upset when she called me this afternoon.”

     “Upset about what? She hates Junior, you know that as well as I do.”

      There was a long pause. “Your brother,” Dad said carefully, “-is turning into a man. Your mother had some bad experiences with men before I met her--” he stopped, without completing his thought. He splayed his black hands over the grease-streaked fabric of his work pants, and stared at them.

     That was all I was going to get. It was more than I usually got out of him. I could talk to my dad openly about a lot of things, but my mom wasn’t one of them. We always had to talk around her, approaching what we really wanted to say sideways, or my dad would spook and break off the conversation. I think he considered talking about a mother to a daughter inappropriate. All I know is that he never bad-mouthed her, and he wouldn’t let me, either.

     I don’t know if I loved him or hated him for it. It would have been a relief to hear him agree that yes, my mom was wacked, and yes, there were serious things wrong with our family, and no, it wasn’t my responsibility to fix everything and make everyone feel better. It would have been a relief to hear that this silent understanding between us existed for him, too, and wasn’t a dream I created out of my own loneliness and desperation.

     “I just wanted to tell you that it isn’t your fault.” He looked me in the eye, body completely still. “You were in your classes, the way you were supposed to be. You were doing what you were supposed to do. End of story. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad because you couldn’t stop him. Junior isn’t your problem. He’s mine. I’m going to go see him tonight.”

     “And you want me to come?” I asked, not sure I wanted to go. Not sure I could look at the stranger that inhabited my brother’s body. Not sure I could look at any of them the same way again. For as long as I can remember, I’ve told anyone who would listen about my perfect little family, but until today I hadn’t realized how much of it I had started to believe. Or hope for, as if I could create that family single handedly, if I was only good enough and kept trying. I was such a fool.

     “No.” My father’s voice broke through my thoughts. “Juvenile Hall is no place for you. I just wanted to tell you where I’m going, and if you have anything to say to Junior…well, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

     “Tell him…” I stopped, and tilted my face up to keep the tears where they belonged. “Tell him…I’m still his sister.” I put my fists into my eyes and fought for control. A moment later I heard the rustle of fabric as my dad stood, and walked out the door. I can’t stand this any more. I had to leave before they tore me apart and consumed me. “I wish I could take you with me,” I whispered to my dad, but he was already gone.

My Family

(Con’t)

     I can’t do this assignment. I don’t have a family.

     “Jaquere. Jaquere, wake up!”

     It took me a while to figure out that the voice was not part of my dreams. It took a hand shaking me to make me care. I batted at the hand. “Leave me alone.”

     “Shh!” The voice hissed. The hand shook me again. “Jacks, please wake up, please.”

     Lasjon, but Lasjon like I’ve never heard her before. Afraid. Off-balance. And she called me Jacks, a nickname she hadn’t used since she was eight. It was enough to wake me up all the way. “What’s wrong?” Lasjon was kneeling next to my bed, so close that I could see her as a deeper shadow in the darkness. She was completely featureless, except for the dull glimmer of her gold hoop earrings and the whites of her eyes. “What happened?” I repeated.

     “Jacks,” Lasjon’s voice was a wobbly whisper. “I think I’m pregnant.” I might have yelled, except Lasjon slapped a hand over my mouth before I did more than open it. “Don’t wake up Mom.”

     I peeled her hand away. “What…did you say?”

     “I missed my period, but I didn’t really worry about it until I missed it again, and when I took one of those tests, I got two blue lines. Did you hear me? Two blue lines. That means positive. What am I going to do?”

     My first thought, as my brain woke itself up, was that I hated being right all the time. Just once I wish my family would do something unexpectedly good instead of forseeably stupid. God. I should be upset about this. I should be, but at—I glanced at my clock—at two o’clock in the morning, I was having trouble believing this was real. “You need to take another test and make sure. Do you have another one on you?”

     “Yeah, I bought a two pack.”

     “Then go take it right now.”

     Lasjon stood and moved away, deeper into our room, where the darkness almost swallowed her. She glided across the floor and out our door, leaving a trail of jasmine perfume in her wake. I stayed in bed, and stared at the blank expanse of ceiling above me as I waited. I thought about what would happen if Lasjon really were pregnant with a detachment that had nothing to do with how early it was in the morning. Something happened to me when Junior was arrested three months ago, and I mailed in all those college applications. I—I don’t know how to explain it, except to say that I unplugged a little from everything around me. I wasn’t trying to ignore what was going on anymore, but neither was I trying to fix it. It was like I was watching all of them on TV, interested in what happened next, but separate. The feeling’s been worse since last week, when both NYC and Florida State sent me acceptance letters. Now, no matter how sad an ending this movie had, I knew that, sometime in August, the curtain was going to go down, the lights were going to go up, and I was going to leave the theatre.

     Lasjon came back. “Two blue lines. What am I going to do?”

     I rubbed my eyes. “First you are going to go outside and throw the pregnancy tester in the big garbage can where Mom won’t see it. Then you are going to come back here and get some sleep. Tomorrow you are going to tell Mom and Dad.”

     “I can’t!”

     “You have to. This isn’t something you can sneak past them. Not this time. Tomorrow say that you’re sick, and stay home from school. Wait until the kids are taking a nap, and Mom’s done with Oprah, and tell her.”

     “She’s going to kill me.” Lasjon’s voice was very, very small.

     “No she won’t.” At least, I didn’t think she would. Out of wedlock children weren’t exactly a new concept for her. “You need her to tell Dad for you, unless you were planning on doing that yourself?”

     Lasjon shuddered. “No. I thought…maybe…you could tell him.”

     “This isn’t my baby.” I did not want to see his eyes when he found out what was up with Lasjon.

     “Do you hate me, Jacks?”

     “No.” I found her hand, and squeezed. It was all I could give her. They had all taken everything else I had to give long ago. “I’m still your sister. Now go to sleep.” I lay there, staring at the dark, thinking that I wasn’t as detached from what was happening as I thought.

My Family

     I know it’s weird to write an essay about why I can’t write this essay, but there it is. Some of the things that have happened recently in my family made me realize that I was living in a weird never-never land that had nothing to do with reality.

     Have you ever fallen asleep while driving, and only discovered what happened when you opened our eyes, and realized several exits went by without your knowledge? That’s kind of where I am right now. I used to think that I didn’t really have a family because the one I was given wasn’t perfect, and that it was up to me to create one from the ground up. I was wrong. My family has problems, but dropping them in favor of some fantasy doesn’t do anyone any favors, least of all me. I’ve kept my eyes closed to the bad in my family, blinded myself with stories of my own making, so that I never saw the good that is there as well.

     All I can say in my defense is that from now on, I’m going to take my family as they are, and not try to force them into a form that’s easier to swallow. My eyes are open now, and I won’t ever close them again.

--Jaquere Walker

     I eased the front door open and slid into the house as quietly as I could. Everything seemed normal. The kids were sitting in front of the TV, watching Barney the Purple Dinosaur. Lasjon was sitting in the first living room, listening to the radio with a pair of headphones on. She looked whole. I caught her eye, and at my questioning look, she nodded ever so slightly. Mom knew, then. The Shrine was still the same, spreading like mold across the wall. There weren’t as many new pictures as I thought there would be. I walked further into the house, so close to the Shrine that I could almost touch it, and at Lasjon’s nod, looked again into the second living room.

     “Dad.” He was sitting on one of the couches, staring at the back yard through the sliding glass door. He turned when I spoke, and the grief in his eyes made me wish he hadn’t.

     Mom barreled out of the kitchen and stopped in front of me, shaking a crumpled paper under my nose. “What is this?

     I looked. It was my acceptance letter from NYC. I turned on Lasjon, “You little, conniving, sneaking witch!” She did it again! The little slut went through my stuff so she could buy her way out of trouble. I was going to kill her!

     “She didn’t give it to me. I found it when I went through your desk.” Her eyes narrowed, “Little Miss Brainy thinks she’s too good for us. You’re not going to New York. You’re not going anywhere. You’re just a jumped up little snot, and you’re going to stay home until you learn to respect us!”

     I should have been afraid. I should have, but wasn’t. The red tide of anger that washed over me the day Junior was arrested appeared again, and built as my mother talked. It washed over me, pressing against my insides, and then it exploded. “Let me get this straight. Lasjon tells you she’s pregnant, so you go through my desk. Your youngest daughter just threw her life away, and all you can do is yell at me for getting into college?”

     “I told you—“

     I yanked a picture out of the Shrine and slammed it to the floor. In the shocked silence that ensued, I said “You’ve spent your whole life screwing everybody over and making me clean up your mess, but I’m not going to do it anymore. I’m not your golden child anymore. I’m leaving, and if you go through my stuff, if you make my last months here miserable, if you do anything to mess up my chance at a sane life, when I leave I will never ever see or talk to you again. I swear to god! Now give me back my paper!”

     The woman I used to think of as my mother handed me the paper. I pulled another picture off of the wall, and slammed it into the hallway. I went to my room, the glass from the Shrine grinding under my feet as I left.

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