April 1958
The first time my sister died, we were at home by ourselves. Our parents had gone to the neighbors' to "lighten things up a bit," and Cindy and I were left to the small black-and-white television and two cans of tomato soup my father had picked up at the A&P on his way home from work. The neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson to me and Cindy, had just returned from a vacation to Florida and had stories to share. Mrs. Johnson, like my mother, stayed home all day while her husband sold real estate. They had no children, and I often wondered what Mrs. Johnson did all day in such an empty house. Sometimes I would see her sitting on their back porch. She would sit and smoke, staring into the two maple trees my father had helped them plant years before. She would smile if she saw me. She would raise her cigarette in a type of salute before turning her face away.
"We won't be late," my mother said as she and my father walked out the front door. I noticed that she had put her pearl necklace on.
"Behave," my father said.
"I'll make the soup," Cindy said when they were gone. "And some toast. I'm going to eat in my room. You can watch TV."
"I'm not hungry," I said.
"Yes, you are. You just don't know it." She walked into the kitchen while I lay on the carpet beside Tiger and scratched his ears. I removed my leg and tossed it onto the frayed sofa.
"What do they do over there?" I said.
"Parcheesi, or something," Cindy said from the kitchen. "Sometimes they play cards. And they probably drink. I'm making you two pieces of toast. I'm having peanut butter on mine."
"I'm not going to eat," I said.
"Yes, you are."
I was still lying beside Tiger when Cindy carried a bowl of soup and the two pieces of toast into where I was in the living room. She set them on the end table beside the sofa. "I said that I'm not hungry."
"There's your food," she said. "Don't let Tiger get it." She went back to the kitchen and got her own bowl and toast. "I'm going to my room." The smell of peanut butter lingered when she was gone.
I crawled to the sofa, then sat on the cushion nearest the food. Tiger watched, his head tilted as he watched me eat. Cindy's room was down the hall, closest to the bathroom. As I chewed my toast I heard something fall and break. Waiting for something else, I heard nothing more. "Stay," I said to Tiger. I put on my leg and walked toward Cindy's room. I put my ear to her door but could hear nothing. "What was that," I said. "Cindy?"
She was lying half on, half off her canopy bed as though she were in mid-prayer. The soup bowl had shattered when it hit the floor, and tomato soup was soaking into the rug. The window was open, and I could hear cars as they passed in front of our house. "Hey," I said, but she didn't move. I got closer and looked down at her, at her blue face. I pulled her shoulder, and she slid off the bed so that she was lying on her back with her face toward me. My first thought was to call the Johnsons' house and to talk to my parents. Instead, I reached beneath Cindy's armpits and pulled her upright. I patted her back--softly at first, then hard. Her mouth sagged open, and I stuck my finger deep inside. Whatever was there was thick and soggy. I curled my index finger around it and pulled, removing a large, sticky piece of toast coated with peanut butter. I slapped her back again, and she seemed to belch and cough at the same time. Her eyelids fluttered. When I set her down and leaned her against the bed, she stared up at me as though trying to figure out who I was.
I looked down at her. "I was happy," she said flatly.
I left her room but did not shut the door. I returned to the sofa and found that Tiger had eaten my dinner. I wondered if I should call my parents anyway, let them know what had happened. But I just sat there and listened to Cindy as she rustled about. When she walked into the kitchen and dropped the pieces of soup bowl into the garbage can, she seemed to be fine. On her way back to her bedroom, she stopped a few paces away from me and seemed to take in her surroundings. Finally, she looked at me. "You finish your dinner?"
"Yes," I said.
"Okay." She considered her hands, then lifted her eyes to me again. "There's so much to see," she said, and then she went into her bedroom and shut the door.
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