Then I hear them from down the hall.

Coming our way.

And

there is Liz

caught

between two men.

One on each side.

Their hands tight

on her arms.

She

fights.

My sister the fighter,

who almost gave up

to try and kill herself,

she

slings her body this way and that.

I stand

to go to her.

To get to her.

To take care of her.

But Momma, she grabs at my arm,

pinching.

There’s an

animal in my throat

that wants to scream

its way out.

It could tear my

throat apart,

I think.

They get to the door

to the sign

Liz fighting fighting fighting.

One guy

he presses at a buzzer

I somehow missed

seeing.

Liz works

to free herself.

Growling.

Oh baby,

Momma says.

Her voice is a long wail,

twisting like a snake.

Liz turns and looks back.

She catches sight of us.

Me one step closer.

Momma holding on to my arm.

Now Liz screams.

Now she bucks.

Now she throws her body
from side to side:

a wild thing.

My guts wrench for Liz.

They tie themselves

into a knot.

I take another step

but Momma

pulls me back.

Don’t let them take me,

Hope,

Liz says,

don’t let them take me.

Her voice

pierces me in the chest,

right under

the breastbone.

And my heart,

right then and there,

rips in half.

I can feel the weepy

tear in it.

One man says,

How the hell

did the two of them get up

here? Call

security.

Now Momma cries loud,

banging her fists on the wall,

dropping her head

like it is too

heavy to hold

up

on that skinny neck of hers.

I’ve never seen her act this way before.

My Liz, she fights

and hollers

and begs.

No time for anyone to call

with Lizzie fighting

like that.

Hope,

Lizzie says

my name over

and

over

and

over

again.

Hope!

And, oh,

I stand there.

Oh, my heart.

I stand there,

still.

Get her inside,

the man says.

He looks at Momma

crying,

wailing,

and at me,

unmoving,

and says,

Get the hell out of

here.

This is a restricted

area.

His voice is loud as Liz’s.

The door opens

and then

Liz is

gone

from us.

But not before she

calls out.

One last time.

My sister says,

Hope.

My name echoes in the hall

long after

that door is closed.

21.

I need words

for what has happened

here

and there aren’t any.

Not for what I have seen.

At first

I sit, quiet,

on the sofa with

no back.

Then I get up

and walk myself over

to that heavy door

and

tap

on

it.

My hand shakes.

I press my ear

to the metal,

all cold.

Lizzie?

22.

I want to talk

but no voice

comes out.

And that door

stays shut

tight.

Don’t be so

damn melodramatic,

Momma says

and gives a sniff,

wiping at her nose with her arm.

Then she is crying again.