Whispered Prayers of a Girl

My stomach flipped, and my heart beat wildly in my chest. “Me, too,” I whispered, too quietly for him to hear.

I dropped my bike in our small front yard and ran up the gravel driveway to the ramp leading to our house. Rocks skittered beneath my shoes, and I almost slipped twice. When I hit the ramp, I slowed to a walk. It was weathered from the rain and snow, a little crooked, and wobbled if there was too much weight on the left, but Ritchie built it by himself. I was proud of him for doing something that dad would have done.

I bypassed the kitchen, moving into the hall so I could change out of my damp and dirty clothes, when she yelled at me. “Stop!”

I sighed. A million excuses raced through my mind, reasons why I shouldn’t—couldn’t—listen. Reaching out a finger, I traced the peeling yellow wallpaper in front of my face. The daisies depicted there were beginning to look like black-eyed susans. Wanting to ignore her but knowing I couldn’t, I stuck my head into the living room. “Yeah?”

“Where you been?” She asked the television more than me, since she didn’t even look my way. She might’ve been a paraplegic, but her neck still worked just fine.

“I was riding my bike.”

“It’s raining.”

“It wasn’t when I left. Only caught me on the way back.”

She maneuvered her chair to face me. Her wrinkled, blue eyes narrowed and her forehead lined. “What’s with the stupid grin? Are you on drugs?”

At her words, I realized I’d been smiling like I had the whole ride home. My face burned with embarrassment and more than a little dislike for my mother. It wasn’t her, exactly, more her ability to point out anybody’s happiness as if it was a bad thing.

“No, I’m not on drugs. I was out with…a boy.”

Her eyes narrowed further. “I don’t like you going out with boys and coming home looking like that.”

I rolled my eyes and moved back into the hall. The conversation took a turn there’d be no coming back from without a fight. “You don’t much like me anyway, so I don’t see the problem.”

“What’d you say?”

“I said I’m going to get changed!” Before I reached my room, however, I was stopped once more.

“What’re you two yelling about?”

I smiled genuinely at my brother. “Hey, Witchy Ritchie. Nothing. Mom’s just being her usual, happy self.”

He sighed and leaned against the door to the linen closet. “Give her a break, Cam.”

“Yeah, I know. Save the lecture.”

“Really, though, what was that about? Mom thinks you’re on drugs?”

I pushed into my bedroom, tired of standing around in wet clothes. My brother didn’t take the hint I wanted to be alone and followed me in.

“Who cares what she thinks? I’m not. I came home happy. Since she can’t stand to see that, the accusations started.”

Now Ritchie’s eyes narrowed as he studied me. “Why did you come home so happy?”

My mouth snapped shut, and I spun away from him. I busied myself by gathering clean, dry clothes to put on from my dresser. “No reason. Can’t I just be happy?”

“Yeah, you can. Happiness looks good on you.”

The sad note of his tone had me turning around again. I clutched my pile of clothes to my chest. I forgot my clothes were wet, and therefore got my clean clothes wet, as I tilted my head to the left and took in my older brother. “Speaking of, are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.” He waved me off with a swish of his hand.

Tired wasn’t the half of it. He had deep purple rings around his eyes, but we usually did, as our mom spent half the night awake and yelling through her nightmares of the accident that stole our dad and

her ability to walk at the same time. But the paleness of his skin was new. He looked ill and it concerned me.

“Why don’t you go take a nap? I’m here now. I’ll just get changed and make mom some lunch.”