from my room

down the

hall

looking for

the dream,

I find

Momma.

Crying and drinking.

Her mascara has smudged

and her nose is red

and when she talks

her voice

is all run together

and plump

with words.

Oh, Hope,

she says,

I sure do

miss your

daddy.

I sure do.

46.

One Sunday afternoon, two weeks

after the gun, I

sit eating a peanut butter and

guava jelly sandwich

watching wrestling on

TV.

Trying not to think

of Lizzie

so far away in the hospital.

I did think, though.

I thought all about her.

I couldn’t help it.

Even as the wrestlers

holler at each other,

pound on each other,

I think about

my sister.

Momma

waltzes in the living room

smiling

like nothing else matters.

Guess where we’re headed?

she says.

She waves her hands,

flapping like she might fly

if she gets going

fast enough.

I don’t look at her.

My favorite wrestler,

Big King,

is beating the tar outta

a little muscle-y guy called

Lightning Bolt.

Hope?

I grunt. Keep

watching.

Not not thinking.

You listening?

Momma’s hand flapping

stops.

I nod, but I’m not.

Body slam

goes Lightning Bolt

onto the tarp.

His face twists in pain.

Big King throws himself

over Lightning Bolt.

Then,

Psycho Killer Man appears

outta nowhere.

Leaping over the ropes

to save

Lightning Bolt.

Momma

stands in front of the TV

and switches it off with her behind.

Guess where we are

off to right this very minute,

she says again.

Hey now,

I say.

I was watching that.

I have a sadness in my mouth

that never seems to leave.

You got to know,

Momma says,

I don’t give a white rat’s ass

what you were watching.

She’s not happy now.

I am trying to talk to

you,

she says,

and I mean business.

You listening good?

We’re leaving.

Where to?

I say.

I make my eyes big.

I look at Momma

like I care about

what she will say.

To visit

my Lizzie

girl,

she says.

Momma comes closer,

leans on my chair,

putting a hand on

either side of

my knees.

And you can see her too,

she says.

Her smile is back.

The four times before

when Momma visited

my sister

I sat

in the waiting room

while she whispered

to her behind closed

doors.

Really?

I say, not caring for TV

anymore.

Hoping to move the

sadness away.

My heart thumps.

Swear it’s true?

I do swear it,

Momma says with a laugh.

Go do your hair

and change your shirt.

Don’t want us looking

like white trash.

She adjusts her bra strap

with a finger

then

sucks something

outta her teeth.

Hurry it up,

she says.

I’m going,

I say.

My knees have gone weak

(I’m so excited to see Lizzie).

I run to the bedroom.

My whole self goes pink

thinking of the visit.

Wuh-hoo!

I pump a fist

in the air.

Keep it down,

Momma hollers in to me.

She turns on the radio.