K. Randis - Spilled Milk

My hand reached for my hair. It was wet.

“Why was she taking a shower? I mean, I helped her take one this morning.”

“Damn cat peed on her bed. She must have laid down in it before she figured it out and got it all over her. I threw the sheets out, disgusting mess that made. Brooke’s clothes too, piss all over them. I can get her new pajamas, I threw those out too. I didn’t think she needed to go to the hospital, figured she just turned too fast or the wrong way and sent some pain through her. It’ll teach her. She’ll be fine Molly, I checked on her a few times.”

Jesus was all Mom said. Then there was silence, and the TV was all that echoed through the corridor.

My throat stuck together and my chest heaved as I struggled to hold back my sobs. My hand lowered between my legs, praying that it had all been a dream. A scary dream. My fingers rolled over swollen skin, and I cried so hard it rocked me to sleep.

Mom leaned against the shopping cart as we maneuvered our way through people in Wal-Mart. “The pain in my back makes me walk on my toes. The doctor said it shortened my Achilles tendon, so there is a surgery to make it longer. I can’t believe I have to have another surgery. Never a dull moment.” She stopped and picked up loose leaf paper from the shelf. “Didn’t you need this?”

I looked at the price. “No,” I dismissed her. “How long is the recovery?”

“A week. Maybe two. He didn’t say. Why?” She shook her head at the notion that I had a problem with her recovery time. “It’s a serious surgery Brooke, you can’t rush things like that.”

I turned my head toward the fluorescent lights hovering above our heads. The thought of being alone in the house, again, for more than one night terrified me. It was like catch twenty two. If I stayed with a friend, I risked Dad lurking on one of my siblings. If I stayed home, then I was subjecting myself to the unknown and to him. Every time, I chose to stay. I chose my peace of mind knowing they weren’t hurting, every time. It was the right thing to do, I was older.

I threw a pack of paper towels into the cart. “Just wondering.”

“So who’s this Judd character you’ve been hanging out with? Your father doesn’t like him. You meet him in school? He’s in 8 thgrade too right?”

“Yea, I met him on the bus. We’re in the same grade. And Dad doesn’t like any guy I’m friends with.”

“Friends?” Mom cocked her head and raised her eyebrow.

“Yes. Friends. Guys and girls can be just friends.”

“Uh-huh. Well ask this friend to come over to our house. I don’t like you always going over there, I don’t even know if his parents are home.”

“They are.”

It wasn’t a total lie. His dad worked on their farm, so technically he was home, even if he was somewhere in a field miles away.

“I got a hundred on my project,” I said, shifting the conversation.

“What project?”

“My Spanish one.”

“You’re taking Spanish?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yea. And I got a hundred on it.”

“I don’t know why your brothers and sister can’t work more like you. I don’t even know that you have projects until they’re getting handed back to you with a grade on them.”

It didn’t take me long to figure out that if I asked Mom if I could go hang out at Judd’s house, she would more often than not say yes and I could use it for leverage when Dad asked where I was going. I already had permission. It was set in stone. I could go.

Judd was taking a lighter apart and I was sprawled across his bed flipping through channels. “It’s like you use my house to sleep or something.” He focused on the little pieces he was collecting in his lap. “Don’t you sleep?”

“Yea,” I said, stretching my arms above my head. “I sleep here.”

“Haha.”

“You know what’s haha? Your hair. What is it, white now? Doesn’t get much blonder than that.”

“This is deep.” He ran a hand through his crew cut. “Nobody else can pull this off.”

“MmmHmm. You hungry?” I climbed off the bed and made my way to the door before he answered.

“Nah. I’m eating a big dinner tonight, gonna save room.” He rubbed his non-existent stomach and a hollow sound erupted from underneath his shirt.

We were both picked on for our weight, or lack of weight really, which is how we became friends overnight. We stuck together. He towered above me when he stood up. I challenged him. “Are you not hungry or do you just not want to eat?”

He smiled. “I’ll have a little I guess.”

Judd ate two grilled cheese sandwiches and a bowl of tomato soup. I knew better than to bring this to his attention so instead I just asked if he wanted more. “No, but why do you eat so weird?”

I looked at my plate. “What do you mean?”

“You pull everything apart. It’s like a war zone of grilled cheese.” He flicked a crumb from my cheek. “Can’t you just eat everything instead of picking it apart like that?”

I bit my lip. “Yea, habit I guess.”

“Who taught you to eat like that?”

“No one,” I shot back. “Leave it alone.”

It was a vicious cycle. Most of the time, there was barely any food at home. My brothers and I would start to steal pop tarts and other food from the pantry. If we were sent to bed without dinner, or there just wasn’t anything to eat, we would dig into the stash in our bedrooms, stale or not.

Then Dad bought a locking system for the food cabinets. Food was disappearing, and he would get enraged when mom would ask him to go to the grocery store more than once a week. He brought the key to work with him. I could get food when Dad got home just by asking. So I asked every day, just to fill my sibling’s stash.

On the rare occasions there was enough food for dinner several nights in a row, the experience was always overwhelming. Six bodies crammed around a table within feet from each other, and everyone tried to get the seat farthest from Dad. His hands would shoot out across the table faster than a whip and catch someone in the face because of something they said or did. We were not allowed to get up from the table until he was finished eating, and our plates had to be clean too.

Dad never hit me. Never. So I would often claim a place next to him at the table to give my siblings distance between him. Most of the time, I just couldn’t bring myself to eat sitting next to him. My stomach danced and dipped throughout the meal.

I adopted a way of eating where I would rip whatever it was I was given into little pieces. If I pushed these pieces around my plate enough, it looked like I ate. When there was no food, I couldn’t eat. When there was food, I couldn’t eat. And everyone wondered why I was so skinny?

Judd reached over and picked a piece of crust off my plate and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed graciously, wiped his mouth with his bare arm and smiled that wide toothed grin that always seemed to get him in trouble.

“Like you have any room to talk about the way a person eats,” I said.

He ruffled my hair and threw his arms around my neck for a fake choke hold. I fell to the ground to psych him out and laughed as I socked him in the stomach just hard enough to get him to back off.

“Whew, all right muscles.” He groaned getting up from the floor, smoothing his hair. “The guys should be here soon, we goin’ swimming?”

“Yea,” I said. I took Judd’s outstretched hand to help me up. I followed him into his room and he pulled a bottle of vodka from the back of his closet. He kissed it with puckered lips. “I’ll bring the refreshments.”

After a few guys showed up we walked through two fields behind Judd’s house and in-between an electric fence that held the cows in. We were just small enough to fit through the middle wires, but Judd would hold the wires apart for me with sticks anyway. “Careful, go slow Brooke.” I took pleasure in the worried tone his voice carried. We crossed the last field and I ran the rest of the way when the guys started to push each other into cow pies.