I know Jenessa’s too skinny. We’re both too skinny, and although our mama is also skinny, and perhaps it’s partly genetic, I know it has to do with our nutrition; with the careful rationin’ of canned goods and the slim pickins of bird, rabbit, and squirrel I’m lucky to shoot. I constantly salivate over the thought of wild turkey, but trackin’ those noisy birds leads me too far from the camper and Nessa.
We sit at the table and eat quietly. The truth is, we’re both ravenous, no matter the complainin’ we do or what food we’re sick of. We’re luckier than some, Mama says. I reckon she’s right. We have a bed, roof, clothes, food. I reckon we’re crazy luck. It’s hard to imagine not havin’ the essentials.
Finishin quickly, I pick up my violin, gettin bean sauce on the neck, but that won’t hurt it none. I play in spurts, the notes clunky, determined to git it right.
Crack!
There’s a feelin that comes before danger falls. You can see it in the eyes of the deer or pheasant moments before the shot. Synapses firin’ the instincts on, I reckon. Knowin your life is about to snuff out, moments before the inevitable bang. I don’t even remember settin my violin and bow on the empty chair next to me.
Jenessa jumps up and freezes, her eyes widenin’ until the whites show, her forgotten spoon drippin beans onto the front of her patched pink dress. I place my index finger to my lips. Immediately, two fat tears pop from her eyes. We both watch the urine run down her legs, fillin’ her sneaks and coatin’ the leaves. We don’t have time to hide before he stumbles into the clearin’, his heavy boots makin suckin’ sounds as he tramps through the mud to our table.
I wrinkle my nose. From a few feet away, I can smell the moonshine, and lookin’ into his eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, I feel goose bumps colonize up and down my arms.
“Where’s Joelle?”
The tears flow fast and furious down Ness’s face. I watch her spoon in free fall, bouncin against the leaves.
“She went into town for supplies” I stammer at his feet, my stomach gathered up in one huge cramp.
“Don’t you look away, girl. Only liars look away!”
I look into his eyes, and it’s all I can do to hold his gaze.
“Do you know our mama, sir?”
I’m buyin time, time to think of somethin’. I’m in charge. My steady voice fools even myself. My mind whirs a mile a minute.
“I’m Carey. This is my sister, Jenessa.”
“Pretty little things, aren’t ya?”
My heart drops when he laughs, a soulless sound if ever there was one, capped off by a cobwebbed meth cough, a sound we know all too well. Jenessa leans over and empties her stomach on the ground.
In four lightnin steps, he covers the leafmeal between us, his hand dartin’ out to wrap around my throat.
“You don’t know what you’re doin’,” I say. “You’re makin a big mistake.”
“I asked you, where’s your mama, girl? She owes me money and I’m not leavin without it.”
My fingers encircle his fingers, desperate to loosen the hold, my flesh burnin, his grip a vise. I cry out in pain.
“Mama should be back any minute, sir. If you want to wait, you can have some food and—”
“Where does she keep the money?”
I listen to my voice, small and placatin, like I’m talkin’ to someone rational. Tears flow down my cheeks, but he don’t let go.
“I... I—we don’t have no money, sir. But if you wait for Mama—”
“When’s the last time she’s been here? And don’t lie to me, bitch.”
“Five weeks ago.”
I tell him the truth. Maybe he’ll let me go and go lookin’ somewhere else. But he leans in, breathin on me, and my one mistake is turnin’ my head to escape his breath.
“You look at me, girl, when I’m talkin’ to ya!”
My head jerks to the right under the crack of his hand, and white stars dance in the air. Beyond, there’s a lake of blackness. I fight it with all my bein’.
In the Hundred Acre Wood, I could always see them comin before they appeared. Nessa, a pink peekaboo through breathless greenery. Mama, a lemon yellow zing of insulted bushes and low-hangin’ branches whippin across her store-bought ski jacket.
Between the white stars, the lemon yellow flashes, but it don’t zing. It sneaks off in the direction it came, at a quick but silent clip.
“Mama!”
But the scream lodges itself deep in my throat like a rabbit’s knucklebone.
With one sweepin’ gesture, our dinner flies to the forest floor, and he uses his free hand to rip off my jeans and undergarments. He hauls me by my ponytail backward onto the table, the metal edge digging into my calf. As the white stars fade, I see him fumblin with his zipper. He forces my legs apart, his breath quickenin’, his weight crushin’. I feel white lightnin rip through my stomach.
That’s the last thing I remember before goin dark.
It’s Jenessa’s screams that rouse me. The leaves are a sea, rockin’ me. I grab hold of a low-hangin’ branch and scramble to my feet.
He has Nessa on the table O She’s naked from the waist down, her dress pushed up to her chin.