that I will need you outta here

when I bring my friends

over.

All right,

I say,

hating the idea

that we have moved

on my Liz.

72.

Last night,

after I was settled

in from the move,

I had another

nightmare.

It’s one that

haunts me.

Creatures

come from outer space.

They look just like people

only they’re covered

in brown fur.

And they’re blind.

They snap long whips

to see where people are.

In my dream they

always get close,

but they never can quite catch me,

which is good,

because then I can warn people

aliens are here on earth,

coming to get us.

I jerk awake

and remember the diary.

I know where it is.

I know

where Liz’s kept it hid all along.

I turn on my side

and stare at my sister’s mattress

left propped next

to the wall

because Momma didn’t

have the time to

set things up

for Lizzie.

She ain’t here is she?

Momma said.

So why should I do it?

I couldn’t

argue with that.

My hands shake

and I’m not sure

if it’s the dream

making me feel this way

or the little book.

But

something leaves me with

cold guts.

Think of something else,

I say to myself.

My voice sounds so loud

in the semi-dark

of this new room

with less of a promise

of Liz

than the last.

And lonely, too.

73.

A month and a half

before Liz

went to the hospital,

Momma said to her,

Let’s paint this room

of yours any way you

want.

We’ll decorate it

your choice.

What colors do you choose?

It’s my room too,

I said.

Butter yellow and olive green,

Liz said.

Momma ignored me.

Butter yellow and olive green it is,

she said.

It’s my room too,

I said again,

feeling rumpled inside.

I’d like purple and . . .

Did I ask you?

Momma said.

Did I?

Keep your mouth shut.

I wanted to be mad

at Liz,

but she had been looking sad

for a few days now

and the butter yellow and olive green idea

seemed to cheer her up some.

Is that okay with you?

she asked,

when we walked out to the car.

I can change colors if you want.

I looked at her sad eyes.

No,

I said.

I think it’ll be fine.

Momma bought spray paint,

three different cans

from the hardware store,

one yellow,

one green,

one white

to mix with the other

two.

Then she said,

Your choice of restaurants,

Lizzie girl.

What place do you choose?

Bahama Joe’s?

Liz said,

like a question.

Perfect,

Momma said.

And she laughed a light laugh.

And that’s where we went.

A seafood place,

though I hate seafood

and Momma and Liz

both know that.

It’s fine,

I said,

I’ll get hush puppies and coleslaw.

Maybe clam chowder, too.

But it wasn’t really okay.

I felt grouchy inside,

bugged that Momma chose Liz

for everything.

I couldn’t think one time

Momma ever let me