Early Mornings

I am not a morning person. Up until I was a teenager, I'm pretty sure I never saw a sunrise unless it was from an airplane (and even that was rare--I tended to sleep the entire 24 hour trip) or the few days I suffered from jet lag after every trip from Singapore to America or vice versa. I always enjoyed those days, though. My whole family being awake at three or four in the morning, and just hanging out until the sun came up. Then we would walk in the early morning coolness (although even that was hot to us after being in America) to the roti prata shop and enjoy the breakfast we had missed so badly while we were gone.
Even though I enjoyed those early mornings, as soon as jet lag was over, I was back to sleeping in until nine or so (one of the joys of being homeschooled). When I was seventeen, I got a job at a daycare that required me to wake up at 6:00 AM. I set my alarm and asked my dad to make sure I woke up. I took it for granted that he would already be awake--he's the only early riser in our family. While I didn't enjoy the actual waking up, I did enjoy heading out of the house while the world was just waking up. I actually kept getting up early even after that job was over, but before too much longer, I remembered how much I enjoyed sleeping in.
My next job was at Mcdonalds the summer before I started college. My brother and I both got the morning shift from 4:30 to 1:00. We figured that way we could get our work out of the way in the morning and have the rest of the day to do stuff. We were kinda wrong. We ended up going to bed as soon as we got home in the afternoon and basically sleeping until we had to leave for work the next morning. We were so exhausted all the time. Jody drove us in my awesome car, Blue32, and one morning he drove down the wrong side of the divided highway. When I pointed this out, he switched lanes. We jumped at the chance to change to the daytime shift.
Of course, in college, I had to wake up early every morning except for Saturday. Although some of my fondest memories from college are the Saturday mornings when my brother and I would get up early and go to Krispy Kreme or Bagel Heads, just the two of us. Now whenever I have the chance to go out early in the morning, those mornings are what I think of.
With all these fond memories, you'd think I'd be happy when Gehrig wakes me up at seven.

Singapore Memories v.1: The Van

Something got me thinking about our old van the other day, and I started telling Mike stories about it. It had personality for sure. Since I was only four when we got it and eight when we got rid of it, I only have vague memories of it in itself, but I do remember some stories involving it.
It was an old Ford van--this picture was the closest thing I could find to how I remember it. I have no clue about the year (other than that it was old) or the make, but this looks about right. Of course, the steering wheel was on the other side, and it only had one side mirror for some reason (I remember my dad saying that was crazy, and I didn't understand why). Also ours was older than this one and had a hatch in the roof that you could open to let more air in. And it was all white with a black interior.
Another weird thing about our van was that the seats weren't in rows like every other van I've been in, they were all around the sides. It was pretty weird, but it was useful if we had to move something large. We could also fit all of our bikes in the back when we wanted to go cycling at East Coast Park. I always thought it was so cool to be riding my own bike at East Coast instead of a rented one.
Now on to the stories.
We'd been promised that monkeys were everywhere in Singapore, but once we got there, we didn't see one (of course, later on we saw plenty). We kids (especially my brother) were so disappointed. Someone told us that we should visit Bukit Timah Nature Reserve--we'd be sure to see some monkeys there. So we headed to the other side of the island to trek through the jungle. We walked forever through that place and didn't see one monkey. We walked dejectedly back to the parking lot, complaining to Mom (as if she could do anything about it), to find a bunch of monkeys sitting on top of our van.
We couldn't believe it! But there they were. One was trying to pry the hatch open, and I was terrified he would get into our van and we wouldn't be able to get him out. A little one had found a piece of gum someone had stuck on the roof and was chewing it. We just watched them for awhile, wondering how to reclaim our van. Then they ran off, disappearing into the jungle. And we were finally convinced that there were monkeys in Singapore.
Our van was a pretty large vehicle by Singapore standards, and we didn't fit in many of the parking lots. The ones we did fit it, we barely managed to scrape under. We always had to remember to close the hatch (it was always open because, obviously, our van didn't have air conditioning), but, inevitably, one time, we forgot. After that, instead of a hatch, we had a hole in the roof. From then on we had to stick an umbrella out the hole and open it over the top every time it rained.
Since it was so old, the van was also unreliable at times. I remember hating storms because whenever it rained hard, the van would stall and we'd be stuck in the middle of the road. To this day I have a phobia of stalling when I drive through a large puddle.
For a few weeks when I was about five, my parents would drive a woman (who is now like part of our family) to the hospital every day for chemotherapy. We would all sit in the van waiting for what seemed like hours and hours. It was so hot, and we would get so bored. Sometimes Mom and Dad would let us get out and play in a small patch of grass or in an empty parking space. The thing I remember better than anything is getting amazingly thirsty. My older siblings told me to spit and swallow, but they forgot to mention the "and swallow" part. That method was not successful for me.
I also remember sitting squeezed into the back of the van with the last load of our furniture and belongings as we drove away from our first home in Singapore for the last time. Something wicker was squishing me into my seat, and as I looked out the back window at our house, I thought that I should be sad. But I wasn't. I was excited to move to our new home.
While we were home on furlough when I was eight, something happened to the van and whoever was taking care of it for us had to junk it. That was the first and only vehicle we ever had in Singapore, and I'm sure the rest of my family has more memories of it than I do. I think I was sad when I found out it was gone. I asked Dad if I could have the key, and I, the hoarder of the family, still have it somewhere. I'm not sure why other than the memories it holds.

A Lamp Unto My Feet: Chapter 7

I struggled to keep my mind on my email—it was hard since I only had one—then I attempted to update my homepage. But how could I put an update about my life when it seemed like the only thing going on was the one thing I was trying not to think about? Thankfully before too long, I heard the front door open.
“Kids! Come carry the groceries!” Mom called.
She’d gone grocery shopping without me? I loved to go grocery shopping with my mom. It was a dumb little thing—Mom was busy, she couldn’t wait for me just to go grocery shopping—but it made me feel so completely alone and abandoned.
“Erika! Emma! Egan!” Mom’s voice was more forceful as she headed for the kitchen. She stuck her head in the study door. “Riki? Did you hear me?”
“I’m coming,” I said. I closed Internet Explorer, and escaped before the picture confronted me again. Egan nearly collided with me at the bottom of the stairs. We were apparently the only two reporting for duty. I was willing to bet Emma was asleep, and Enid was either asleep or suffering from her usual lethargy.
“I hope she got ice cream,” Egan said. “And Cap’n Crunch.”
When we reached the open trunk, he began searching through the bags for treasure.
“Stop that, Egan, just carry them in,” I scolded.
He stuck out his tongue at me and continued scavenging. I grabbed as many bags as I could carry and turned to go inside. Mom came out the door just as a bottle of ketchup—a plastic bottle, thankfully—tumbled out of the trunk to the ground.
“Egan. What are you doing?” She sighed. I barely had to glance at her to see that her face was more lined and tired than it had been a few days before. More pain than I could bear swelled in my chest. I pushed it down, unable to face it. I deposited the groceries in the kitchen before practically running out to my tire swing.
I climbed into it facing away from the house. I rested my cheek against the rope, feeling the warm scratchy burn as my tears slid down between my cheek and the rope. My head and my heart were both so full that I couldn’t think or feel straight. I couldn’t face any of my family without feeling a mixture of anger and sadness. I didn’t want to be selfish, but I couldn’t help it.
“Sweet pea?”
How come time went by so quickly in my tire swing? Dad was already home? Thankfully my tears had long dried. I waited for him to walk around where I could see him.
“How are you doin’, kiddo? I’m sorry if we’ve been neglecting you.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “You haven’t been neglecting me.”
“You sure? ‘Cause you’re our stable one, and I think sometimes we might depend on you too much.”
I was the stable one? I guess if you equate being quiet with being stable. I was glad Dad thought that though. I was flattered. I guess I could be pretty stable.
“I’m here and your mom’s here if you need to talk or need a hug or anything, okay? Most of all, God’s here. Have you been keeping up with your devotions?”
I dropped my gaze to his feet and shook my head. The truth was I hadn’t even thought about reading the Bible. I was too confused about right and wrong—about everything I’d been raised to believe.
“I know it’s hard to find alone time right now, but devotions are important; I know you know that. God’s the One Who’s gonna get us through this.”
“I know.” I managed to raise my eyes to his face so he wouldn’t know I was lying. He wasn’t even looking at me. I could tell he was staring at the window of Emma’s room. Before I could get annoyed, he looked at me, his eyes telling me he loved me. He ruffled my hair and kissed my forehead.
“C’mon, it’s time for dinner, and after dinner we’ll dig out the air mattress. I think Emma will be quite comfortable in the study for a while.”
My heart soared with hope, but dropped again at the thought of Emma’s reaction.
I climbed out of the tire with Dad’s help, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
“I can sleep in the study,” I said.
“Sweet pea,” he started, but paused. “Well, we might just have to do that.”
The kitchen was bustling with activity when we walked in. Egan had two hands full of silverware with Gus tugging at his arms, begging to help; Emma was attempting to carry three glasses of tea at the same time; and Mom was trying to get the food into the dining room while encouraging everybody to be careful not to spill.
“Here, Em’, let me help.” Dad quickly and smoothly saved the ill-fated tea glasses and carried them into the dining room.
“There you are, Erika,” Mom sighed. “Can you help set the table? Egan’s a little distracted.” If possible, her eyes were even more tired than before.
“Gus!” Egan exclaimed as the silverware he was carrying clattered to the tile floor. “Now they’re all dirty!” Gus merrily grabbed as many as his hands could hold and started for the dining room—his goal achieved. “Mom!” Egan whined.
I realized everyone’s patience was running a little low—even Egan who had little patience to begin with. My pity for my brother was not significant enough to cause me to step in, but my sympathy for my mom was. I was, after all, the stable one.
“It’s fine, Egan,” I said. I bent to help him pick the scattered forks and spoons up. “We can just rinse them off. You go ahead and do these and I’ll get the others from Gus.”
“Okay,” he growled. I was having a hard time remembering if there had been a time when Egan and I had actually gotten along.
I chased my nephew down and sweet-talked the silverware away from him as everyone else finished setting the table. By the time I got the last few pieces of silverware on the table, everyone else was seated. I quickly sat down by Emma, avoiding Enid’s eyes.
Dad swept his gaze around his somber, grouchy family before leaning forward. “Let’s pray,” he said. He bowed his head and began to pray. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t pay attention to his words.
God was going to get us through this, huh? Why had He gotten us into this in the first place?

I washed the dishes alone while Mom, Enid, and Emma watched Wheel of Fortune and Dad and Egan set up the air mattress. Emma warily inquired what we needed that for. When I told her I was going to sleep in the study, she lost it. She asked why she was so terrible that I didn’t want to be in the same room with her before running upstairs and slamming my door.
“Sweet pea,” Dad started, but he looked lost. I couldn’t stand to see that look on my Dad’s face—if he was lost, we all were.
“It’s fine,” I interrupted. “She’s just being dramatic.”
As long as she wasn’t dramatic with anything in my room, we’d both get over it.
Dad nodded and left me alone in my new room. I lay on the cold, rubber mattress for a while, just staring at the ceiling. I tried not to think about Smith, but I couldn’t help it. Had he done something wrong? I couldn’t imagine Smith doing anything to hurt anybody. Surely it must have been Enid’s fault. I wondered if Mom and Dad knew what had happened. Would they be harboring Enid if it were her fault? I wasn’t sure about anything my mom and dad might do anymore. It seemed like the principles I’d grown up with had just been thrown out the window. Was everything a lie?
Was God a lie?
The question chilled me completely through. I jumped off the mattress and ran upstairs. I definitely needed some flannel sheets and a blanket. I stopped at the top of the stairs—all the doors were closed and all the lights were off. Everyone was asleep and the linen closet was tucked snugly away in my parents’ bedroom.
I trudged back down the stairs and grabbed the throw off the couch. It took two minutes curled up as tightly as I could on the air mattress before I retreated back to the couch. I was still wearing my jeans and t-shirt, and I wrapped myself in the throw, snuggling down into the overstuffed couch, but it didn’t help.
This was a chill that wasn’t going away.

A Lamp Unto My Feet: Chapter 6

The TV was on loud when Emma, Egan, and I walked through the front door. The ride home had been a rather sober one with Egan’s occasional reports of elementary stupidity the only conversation.
“What’s on?” Egan yelled, running into the living room. I knew it wouldn’t hold his attention for long—even from where I stood in the hall I could tell it was a talk show. Mom didn’t like Egan and Emma to watch talk shows so I knew Enid would either turn the TV off or chase Egan out of the room. I was betting on the latter, but I wasn’t sticking around the find out. Mom apparently wasn’t home and I didn’t feel like being the peacemaker.
I jogged up the stairs toward my room and the solace of a pair of jeans. I’d attended the same Christian school since K-4, and I’d been wearing skirts to school every day since I started. I hated it. Mom said she didn’t see what the big deal was—she wore skirts all the time and she thought they were more comfortable than pants or shorts. She kept hoping I would grow into a love of skirts and dresses. I actually did have a few skirts I liked now, but I didn’t wear them unless I had to.
It wasn’t until I reached the doorway of my room that I noticed Emma clumping along behind me.
“Where am I supposed to go if you’re gonna be in your room?” she sulked.
I fought against my emotions, but I couldn’t help it—I felt bad for her. She was the one who had to give up her room completely. Who knew what Cashel and Gus would be getting into in there while we were at school.
“I’m just gonna grab some clothes and then I’ll go check my email.” Our family only had one computer too. “I’m sorry. I know things are tough right now.”
She sighed and I knew we were friends again.
“I guess they’re not so tough for us as they are for Enid,” she said.
I nodded, but I couldn’t help thinking that they weren’t so tough for Enid as they were for Smith. I tossed my book bag on the bed and began rooting through my drawers for jeans and a t-shirt. Emma closed the door and flopped down on my bed.
“Why don’t you like sharing a bed with me?” She asked.
I shrugged as best I could while in the middle of peeling my school clothes off.
“I don’t like sharing a bed with anyone.”
“Oh. Okay. Were you talking to Blaine Anderson today?”
I paused just for a second before pulling my shirt the rest of the way on. I could tell by Emma’s tone of voice that she was going somewhere I didn’t want her to go. Was this the only reason we reconciled? Just to fight again?
“Uh yeah.”
“He’s not a nice guy, is he?”
“How would you know?” Completely changed, I opened the door hoping to escape before this conversation went any further.
“I’ve heard stuff,” she said.
“Well, when seventh grade gossip starts being true, I’ll be concerned about what you’ve heard.” I closed the door behind me before she could think of a retort and headed for the stairs, my steps charged with annoyance.
“Riki,” Egan and his whine met me at the top of the stairs. “Enid won’t let me watch TV.”
Enid was married and gone when Egan was too little to remember. He didn’t really think of her as a big sister, just as someone who visited occasionally. He thought Elton and I had authority over her since we were the big brother and big sister.
My annoyance was eager to include him and I didn’t have a problem finding a reason—he sure found it easy to be nice to me when he wanted me to do something for him. I bottled my annoyance with some difficulty and answered in the proper big sister way.
“You’re not allowed to watch talk shows. Go do something else ‘til Mom comes home.”
“But where is Mom? Why can’t Enid change the channel?”
“Good grief, Egan, do I control everything? I think it’s pretty obvious that I don’t. Go do your homework.”
“Why aren’t you doing yours?” He scowled, his niceness disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.
I shoved back the words “shut up”—forbidden words in the Young household—and squeezed past him, taking the steps three at a time. Did I have to run away from every single member of my family to get some peace?
I was nearly to the door of the study when Enid shouted, “Emma!”
I sighed, deflated. What was so wrong with wanting to be alone?
I dragged my bare feet on the carpet as I made my way to the living room—I didn’t have the energy to pick them up. My loud, demanding siblings had drained me. I stopped in the doorway, not bothering to say anything. Enid was alone on the couch—the boys must have been asleep upstairs.
“Hey,” she turned to me. Her eyes were red and swollen, but the rest of her face was ashen. Her beautiful strawberry-blonde curls were greasy and tangled and pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her mouth tried to smile, but didn’t succeed—a dimple barely appeared in her right cheek before it disappeared. I shrank back from this person who used to be my beautiful sister. “Wanna watch TV?” she asked.
“I—I gotta do homework,” I said.
She nodded and turned back to the television. I retreated quickly, but not quickly enough—not before I saw the silent tears run down her pale cheeks.
I sat staring at the blank computer screen for a few minutes trying to figure out if I did have homework. I hadn’t exactly paid much attention in school. Had I lied? Had I really made my sister cry by lying?
I shifted uncomfortably in Dad’s desk chair and my knee bumped the desk, waking up the sleeping computer. That thing was the lightest sleeper ever—it woke up if you walked past it too hard. It whirred softly and the monitor clicked on. I found myself looking at a picture of my entire happy family taken—goodness, had it only been a month ago? We’d gone on a picnic right before Elton left for school. Smith’s grin lit up his entire face as usual. He had Cashel in one arm and the other arm was wrapped securely around Enid’s shoulders. Enid held a tiny Gio, her face just as happy as Smith’s. Elton had Gus on his shoulders and both were laughing. Mom and Dad had their arms wrapped around each other looking more like newlyweds than the parents and grandparents of all these children. There I was sandwiched between Smith and Elton, looking just as happy as anyone.
What had happened? The question I didn’t want to ask rang in my brain. What had gone wrong with our family? How had it happened so fast? Or maybe it hadn’t. Had Smith and Enid been having trouble back then? Surely there had been some signs. People didn’t just decide to separate within a week, did they?
I hated those questions and I hated the sadness and confusion they brought with them. I quickly clicked on the Internet Explorer icon and made the picture disappear.

A Lamp Unto My Feet: Chapter 5

I opted to sleep on the couch until we could figure something else out. I was kinda hoping that Emma would insist that it was my bed and I should sleep in it, she would sleep on the couch. I should’ve known better. She just got upset that I didn’t want to share a bed with her.
Needless to say, the next morning did not start out well. Dad was basically the only one who said anything at all during family devotions. At breakfast, Emma was barely talking to me, and Egan was insisting that he had to take Gus to school with him. Enid sat at the breakfast table, staring into her cup of black coffee, ignoring everyone. Dad kept an eye on Cashel and Gio while Mom reasoned with Egan and Gus.
“I’ll wait in the car,” I said. Not that anyone was listening.
As I started the car and turned the radio on to the oldies station, I knew that this was not going to be a fun ride to school.
Emma appeared first, climbing into the backseat and slamming the door. A few minutes later, Mom shoved a frowning Egan out the front door. Egan scowled his way to the driveway until he saw that Emma had left the front seat for him. His face miraculously brightened as he got in and began flipping through radio stations.
We got to school without exchanging more than three words (those words being “Egan, stop it!” uttered by Emma). I parked and we parted ways rather eagerly.
My friend Clare was waiting by my locker when I got there.
“I’ve got some news,” she said.
“Hm,” I grunted, opening my locker and all but ignoring her.
This didn’t discourage her—it never did.
“There’s a party on Friday night.”
I stopped transferring my books from my backpack to my locker to look at her and give her what I hoped was my best “you’re so wasting my time” look.
“So?”
“So we’ve been invited.”
“Hm.” I went back to unloading my books. “Who’s throwing this party?”
“Blaine Anderson.”
I sighed. I didn’t feel like dealing with this right now. Although my school was a private Christian school, that didn’t mean that it didn’t have its fair share of wild kids. Blaine Anderson was one of these wild kids. He was good looking and pretty friendly, but I could imagine what went on at one of his parties—if I ever took the time to think about it, which I rarely did.
Clare wasn’t a bad person, but she was always waiting for the opportunity to become one. I spent most of my time pulling her back.
“I don’t think I’ll go,” I said.
“C’mon, Rik, you have to!”
“You know I have no interest in going to one of Blaine’s parties.”
“But he personally invited us! And—besides—I can only go if you go.”
“Who says?”
“Blaine.”
“Can we say jerk?”
Clare could see she was losing the argument. I have to admit that it was kind of flattering that Blaine wanted me to go to his party so badly, but I couldn’t imagine why he would feel that way. We didn’t exactly run in the same circles, and I wasn’t exactly the most exciting person of the year.
But that didn’t matter. I wouldn’t go to his party, and I was doing a good thing by keeping Clare from going even if she didn’t think so.
“Please, Riki, just this once.”
“Clare, I don’t feel like convincing you that I’m right. You know that my parents would never let me go. You know that I have no desire to go. Let’s just forget it.”
She sighed and slumped against the locker next to mine. I got the books I needed for my first class and was just about to suggest we should start walking when I noticed Clare was staring over my shoulder.
“I can’t believe you’d give up that,” she said.
I turned to see Blaine across the hall talking animatedly to his best friend Carson Wilkes. For a second I couldn’t believe I’d “give up that” either. Blaine was the stuff prince charmings were made of—messy brown hair, perfect skin, dark brown eyes, and a mouth that could be sweetly serious or teasingly flirty.
Before I could make myself turn away, he spotted me.
“Hey, Erika.” That perfect mouth turned up in a smile just for me.
My mouth went dry and my brain went blank, but I managed to smile and nod before turning and walking quickly away.

“Whatcha doin’ this afternoon?” Clare asked as we followed the crowd heading for the front door.
I tugged my heavy bookbag higher on my shoulder and glanced nonchalantly around. I was keeping an eye out for Blaine while trying to think of an answer that would let Clare know she wasn’t invited to my house.
Why was I keeping an eye out for Blaine? I wasn’t exactly sure. It’s not like I liked him or anything. I just—I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about that smile.
“Riki?” Clare nudged me. “What are you doing this afternoon?”
“Uh—I have to help my mom—uh— ” I tried to think of something I knew would repel her. “Clean out the kitchen—I mean, really heavy duty stuff. Should take all afternoon.” So I’m not a good liar; is that such a bad thing?
“Oh,” Clare looked slightly skeptical, but she had no reason to think I was lying to her, I never had before. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Uh, yeah. See ya’.” We paused at the bottom of the front steps, an uncomfortable pause. I had no clue what to say so I just turned and walked towards my car.
Perhaps I had hurt Clare’s feelings, but I didn’t exactly have time to worry about it. I stared at my feet as I walked across the asphalt parking lot. The day was surprisingly hot for spring and I could feel the warmth rising on my bare legs. I saw the pair of scuffed Doc Martens just in time—I stopped walking barely short of bumping into Blaine. He stood right in front of me—I was close enough to see that the top of my head was even with his nose and also close enough to smell cinnamon on his breath. Big Red.
“Hullo again, Erika,” he smiled and for some reason the Big Red song popped into my head.
So kiss a little longer, stay close a little longer, hold tight a little longer.
I shoved back a giggle and just smiled and said, “Hey.”
“Did Clare tell you about my party?” He asked.
“Uh yeah. She did, but—”
“Are you gonna be able to come? It would rock if you can make it,” he said. He leaned slightly closer and said, “I mean, I would really love it if you came.”
I don’t know what made me do it—I knew I didn’t fit in Blaine’s circle of popular people, I knew I had no desire to be in or near that circle, and I was pretty sure they got involved in some stuff that could pretty well be defined as bad. But right then I, Erika Young, the unnoticed one in a family of noticeable people, was in the spotlight. And Blaine’s brown eyes were so beautiful.
So I said, “I’ll try to make it.”
And, besides, if divorce wasn’t bad, what was? I wasn’t sure anymore.

A Lamp Unto My Feet: Chapter 4

Dinner went by without a hitch. We all carefully avoided the subject. Even the boys seemed to know to stay away from the subject of their daddy. I ate as much as I could, but it wasn’t very much. Normally Mom would have noticed, but she was just about as hungry as I was.
After dinner the boys went back outside to play accompanied by Enid, Emma, Egan, and Dad while Mom and I did the dishes. I looked out the back door as I dried a plate. Dad, Emma, Egan, and Gus started a game of basketball while Enid pushed Cashel on my tire swing.
The phone rang as I was putting a stack of plates in the cabinet.
“Can you get it?” Mom asked, up to her elbows in soapy water.
I ran to the hall and grabbed the cordless on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Riki! How’s it goin’?” The last voice I wanted to hear came through the phone, loud and clear as usual.
“Um—hi, Elton.”
“Is something wrong?”
I knew he’d be able to tell by my voice. I did not want to be the one to tell him. How would I? How did I get out of it?
“Do you wanna talk to Mom?” I asked.
“No. I wanna talk to you. Spill, Rik. What’s goin’ on?”
“It’s—it’s pretty big,” I stammered.
“For pete’s sake, Erika, just tell me,” he was beginning to sound slightly impatient.
“Who is it?” Mom came through the doorway, wiping her hands.
“Here’s Mom—” I shoved the phone at her and went into the kitchen before either could protest. “I’ll finish the dishes,” I called over my shoulder.
Only when I put my hands into the dishwater did I realize they were shaking. I knew Elton got annoyed that I wouldn’t talk to him—he used to get jealous of Smith sometimes.
I cringed—the “used to” sent a knife through my heart.
Mom had finished most of the dishes, only the pots and pans were left. I went through them quickly but thoroughly, running on adrenaline. Just as I put away the last pot, Mom came back into the kitchen with fresh tears on her face.
To my horror, she held out the phone to me.
“He wants to talk to you,” she said.
Unable to say no, I took it from her.
“Yeah?” I said slowly.
It took him a minute to say anything, and when he did, his voice was raw with pain.
“I am so sorry, Riki. I was being a jerk. I know this must be really hard for you especially because of Smith. I know you only talk to him, but if you need to talk, I’m here to listen, okay? Will you at least consider it?”
The lump in my throat only allowed me to whisper, “Okay,” but he heard and that’s all he needed. I handed the phone back to my mom. I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run to—Cashel still sat in the tire swing and Emma’s presence hovered in my room.
I retreated to the living room and turned on the television.
A lot of my friends at school had their own TV’s in their rooms, but we only had one in our house. Mom and Dad said that’s all we needed. I knew I wouldn’t be alone for long. Sure enough, Dad came through the door within five minutes. I was still flipping through channels, unable even to concentrate on what shows were on.
“Whatcha watchin’, sweet pea?” he asked.
“Nuthin’.”
He sat down in the recliner with a sigh. He still wore his dress pants, but he’d taken off his dress shirt and now wore only his untucked white T-shirt.
“Why don’t ya’ turn it to the news?”
I turned it to NBC, which I knew was his favorite station for news, and tossed the remote on the coffee table. I kicked my sneakers off and tucked my feet underneath me. I stared at the television, unseeing. I was grateful for my Dad’s normalcy, but it confused me. How could he be acting like nothing was wrong? This was a pretty big thing, wasn’t it?
Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Smith and Enid just needed a little time apart. Maybe we emotional girls were blowing this out of proportion.
But what if we weren’t?

My Brother's Best Man

When my brother asked me to his best man, it was like every other time he had asked me to do something—it was more of a statement than a request.
“I’m not supposed to tell you yet,” He said. “But you’re gonna be my best man.”
We were sitting there, just the two of us, having lunch a few days after he had gotten engaged. I couldn't answer him right away because my throat had acquired a painful lump.
I am not an emotional person—the only person I ever cry about is my brother. I always thought he was the most awesome person. I would have done anything just so he would think I was cool. I was proud to be his “baby sister” even though I was only two years younger. He was a good big brother—letting me tag along with him, confiding in me, hanging out with me, not getting too annoyed at my little weirdnesses. I always knew he was my best friend, but it had always seemed like too much to hope that I was his best friend.
I fought the tears and sobs that threatened to spill over. I tried my best not to cry around him. He had once stated, “I can take it when anyone but you cries.” He handled my tears well and made everything all better, but right now—in the middle of the crowded Four Winds—neither of us would enjoy dealing with them, even if they were happy tears.
I finally gathered myself together enough to give my usual answer to his “requests.”
“Okay.”
It was a gift. I got a little bit of my brother back in return for losing him.
The preparations were not overwhelming. Alisha and I had a few consultations over what I would wear—my first choice of a tuxedo was vetoed. My second choice of a beautiful white blouse and blue skirt was finally decided on after much running in circles. I fell in love with it as soon as I saw it, and chose it no matter what choice Alisha gave me. She got the idea.
The weekend of the wedding arrived. I was working that summer and only got to fly home Thursday night. Everyone seemed to be tip-toeing around me. I was sad, but not that sad. I tried to assure them I was fine, but for some reason they didn't believe me. I felt numb. I didn't really care anymore. I worried that I would start caring again the day of the wedding and cry the whole time I stood up in front of everyone.
I spent a little time with my brother the day before the wedding, but we were always in a crowd of family members. I barely got to see him at all the day of the wedding. At the rehearsal in the morning he spent the whole time with Alisha; in the afternoon he took a long bath while I went swimming with my nieces and nephews.
The wedding was suddenly there, and before I knew it, it was gone. I didn't cry; I didn't lose the ring; I didn't trip; and I didn't feel funny standing beside my brother. I slipped by to hug him before the mob swarmed out of the church. He absently hugged me, turning his attention back to his new wife. I blinked back the tears and went in search of my niece. She was named after me—I could steal her from anyone who was holding her.
The reception was a blur—I went from holding adorable Mandie-Beth to escorting my other nieces and nephews around. I briefly tried to talk to my brother, but gave up because people surrounded him. People I didn't know; people who didn't know or care who I was; people who were now my brother’s family and friends. The gulf between my brother and me widened, and I felt the loss.
My mom, though busy being a hostess, kept a worried eye on me. I stayed busy talking to family and playing with my Mandie.
“Liz!” A hand on my shoulder whirled me around. There was my brother—away from Alisha’s side for a moment.
“We’re leaving,” He said. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. He wrapped me in a hug and I held him tightly.
“I’ll see you soon. I love you.”
The tears came, and I hated to let him go, but I knew I had to. He held me until I managed to choke out “I love you” and release him.
I wiped my eyes and watched him walk away to join his bride. Then I had a revelation. I hadn't lost my brother. He loved me too much.

A Lamp Unto My Feet: Chapter 3

I tried to remove my smudged make-up with tissues before I went inside, but it didn’t work that well. I looked like I had two black eyes.
I set the milk and the change on the counter in the kitchen. Dinner was almost ready, but Mom had not yet called Emma and Egan to set the table and pour the drinks. I didn’t know where Enid and the kids were. Mom was the only one in the kitchen. She turned from stirring something on the stove, taking in my tear-washed face in a glance.
“Are you okay, Erika?” she asked.
“Mm-hm.” I traced my finger over the tiled counter top. She didn’t ask anything else, but I decided to provide the information anyway. “I saw Smith.” My throat threatened to swell again.
She stopped stirring and turned to look at me. She seemed to be deciding whether to say something or not. I could see the sympathy in her eyes—she knew how I felt about Smith. Finally she just nodded.
“Can you go get Emma?” she asked. “I think she’s still asleep. Tell her to come pour the drinks for dinner.”
“Okay.” I started for the stairs. I wondered where Enid and the boys were, if they would be joining us for dinner, but I didn’t ask. As I left, Mom went to the back door and yelled for Egan and Gus.
Dad would be home any minute, and we would all sit down to dinner. How in the world would I survive it?
I stopped by the bathroom to scrub the remains of my make-up off before turning towards my room. I stopped short because Enid stood in the doorway, Gio on her hip. She must have heard my footsteps. She turned briefly to look at me, and in that brief moment I saw the overwhelming grief written all over her face.
“She looks so little,” she murmured. “I can’t believe she’s twelve already.” I realized she had been watching Emma sleeping. I didn’t say anything—I didn’t know what to say—so we both just stood there, Enid in the doorway looking at Emma and me in the hallway looking anywhere but at Enid. Finally Enid turned to me. “And I can’t believe you’re sixteen already.”
“I—uh—am,” I said, for lack of anything else to say.
She gave me a sad smile and sighed, “Oh, Riki. I can always count on you.”
I wasn’t sure exactly what she meant by that, but I didn’t question her. She went into Egan’s room and tugged two-year-old Cashel out of Egan’s toybox.
“Wiki!” Cashel exclaimed seeing me.
“Hi, Cash,” I said.
“C’mon Cashel, it’s time for dinner,” Enid directed him towards the stairs. “And it’s Aunt Riki to you, buddy.”
“Aut Wiki?” Cashel questioned, cautiously descending the stairs, holding tightly to his mother’s hand.
“That’s right,” Enid said.
I watched them go in silence. Great sister I was, no words of encouragement, no offering to help with the boys even! My shoulders slumped with guilt—I just didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t good in situations like this. Surely my family must know that.
I went in my room to see that Emma had done some tossing and turning since I’d last seen her—my blue plaid comforter had been kicked mostly onto the floor and Emma lay on her stomach, drooling on my pillow, my sheets twisted around her. Annoyance rose inside me—this was not going to work. I could not share a bed with her. She was drooling on my pillow for pete’s sake! Maybe she could move in with Egan instead.
“Em’,” I shook her shoulder as gently as I could considering my sentiments towards her at the moment. “It’s time for dinner.”
She groaned and rolled over.
“I’m not hungry,” she slurred.
“C’mon, Emma,” I said impatiently shaking her harder.
“Stop, Riki,” she whined.
“’Kay. Fine.”
My patience with my sister completely exhausted, I went back downstairs.
I took six glasses and two plastic cups out of the kitchen cupboard, and began filling the glasses with ice. Egan was letting Gus help him set the table; Mom was transferring food from the pots to serving dishes; and I could hear Enid and the boys in the back yard.
“Does everyone want tea?” I asked.
Mom turned, surprised.
“I thought Emma was pouring the drinks,” she said.
“She said she’s not hungry.” I knew my frustration showed through that statement. Mom eyed me and I waited for the lecture that would surely come. Everyone was under a lot of pressure right now, Erika, we needed to be patient with each other. I was the older one; I should be the good example to my younger siblings and nephews. We had to stick together to get through this.
But no lecture came. She simply said, “Oh,” and turned back to the food.
The front door opened and closed almost too softly to be heard. Only one person closed the door like that. I felt my spirits lift, and I almost felt Mom’s spirits lift too. She abandoned dinner and went to the front hall. I wanted to follow, but I knew she wanted to be alone with Dad. I heard Egan headed that way with Gus on his heels.
“Egan! C’mere!” I called.
He slumped into the kitchen with an impatient look on his face. Gus followed close behind, looking happily ignorant.
“What?”
“Do you want tea?”
“Yes.” He turned to leave.
“Why don’t you go out back for now? Let Mom and Dad be alone.”
He scowled at me, but took my advice. I heard Enid and Cashel greet him enthusiastically.
“I want tea,” Gus attached himself to my leg.
“No, you don’t,” I said, ruffling his hair. “You want milk.”
“No, I don’t. Can I have coke?”
“Nope.”
“If I say please?”
“No,” I couldn’t help but laugh—he was so much like his father! But that thought brought me back to the present and I stopped mid-laugh. “Go tell Egan to help you get washed up, okay?”
“Okay,” and he ran out the back door yelling, “Egan! Help me!”
It seemed like forever before Mom and Dad finally entered the kitchen. I was sure Mom had called Dad at work and filled him in as soon as she found out, but I knew they also needed to talk in person. I’d just finished putting all the drinks on the table when they came in. Dad put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a quick hug.
“How’s my Erika holding up?” he asked.
“Pretty well,” I said.
Dad was the strength in our family. He was a great example to the rest of us in relying on God. He was nearly a foot taller than me, and I fit right into his arm. He wore a suit to work every day, but somewhere between the front door and the kitchen he’d discarded his jacket and loosened his tie. His face was relaxed into its usual smile, but I saw the strain in his eyes.
“Why don’t you go get Emma, Jake,” Mom said. “She’s asleep in Erika’s room and she’s being obstinate.” I noticed Mom looked the better for Dad’s arriving.
“Mm,” Dad hadn’t let go of me yet, and he now put his finger under my chin and tilted my head up so I was looking at him. “Sharing your room’s gonna be tough, huh?”
I shrugged as much as I could with his arm around me.
“Don’t worry, sweet pea, we’ll figure something out.” He tapped my nose and released me, turning toward the stairs. Mom went to the back door to call the others.
And I stood alone in the middle of the kitchen, feeling lost. I had so many questions that I couldn’t ask—I thought marriage was supposed to be easy if you were both Christians and in love. I thought if you were raised in a good home, your home would turn out to be good too. I thought only people without any standards got divorced. I thought divorce was a sin.
I couldn’t ask them because I couldn’t talk to the only person who I’d ever really voiced my thoughts to. And I couldn’t ask my dad because even though normally he had the answer for every question, I was afraid he didn’t have the answer for these. I think that scared me more than anything.

A Lamp Unto My Feet: Chapter 2

“Erika!”
I looked up from the swing to see Mom standing in the back door, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She must have started dinner. How long had I been out here?
“I need some milk. Can you run to the store?”
“Yeah.” I unfolded myself out of the tire with practiced ease. “Can I change first?” I still wore the skirt and blouse required by my school’s dress code.
“Yes. Get money out of my purse while you’re upstairs.”
By the time I reached the door, she’d already gone back into the kitchen. Mom knew how each of her children coped. She’d be spending extra time with Emma, and she’d leave me alone for a while. Emma needed someone there to cry and talk things over with. I needed time to think. I did not like to talk about things.
Emma was asleep on my bed when I got to my room. She looked younger than twelve with her curls surrounding her head in a halo. I quietly changed into jeans and a t-shirt. I glanced at her once more and sighed. Sharing a room with Emma was going to be an experience. I wanted to protest it, but I felt guilty even thinking about it when Mom had such a weighty burden on her shoulders already.
Perhaps there was a solution I could come up with myself. It would give me something else to think about anyway.
I got five dollars out of Mom’s purse and was headed downstairs when I heard eight-month-old Gio start crying. That meant Cashel and Enid would be waking up too. I hurried my steps wanting to be far away when Enid surfaced. I didn’t think I could face her. Would she want to talk about it? I didn’t even know. I just knew I had no desire to discuss it with her.
I grabbed the keys off the table in the foyer and was out to the car before anyone could stop me.
I’d only had my license for a few months, but I’d proved to be a good driver—Dad said thank goodness one of his children took after him. I’d been scared to learn at first because Enid and Elton had told me stories of Dad freaking out and yelling at them that they were going to crash and they could not drive that way if they expected to live past their twentieth birthdays. I had driven a few times in driver’s ed at school before Dad took me out. I didn’t have time to be nervous—Dad was patient and sweet and encouraging. Elton and Enid insisted they hadn’t been lying, that I was just Dad’s favorite. Dad said it was because I drove right and didn’t need to be yelled at.
I put in my favorite Andrews Sisters CD, but I didn’t sing along like I usually did. I couldn’t seem to concentrate enough. My thoughts drifted to Smith but I quickly mentally retreated into another direction. I occupied myself trying to think of a solution to having to share a room with Emma.
The drive to Kroger was not a long affair—Mom said an important aspect in buying a house is knowing whether there’s a grocery store nearby—and before I’d thought of a solution, I had parked and headed into Kroger. It seemed like I visited this store every day. I’d become the family errand runner since I’d gotten my license.
A blast of cold air tossed my hair around my face as I walked through the automatic doors. I made a bee-line for the dairy section. I knew the fastest way there—take a left through produce and keep going until you hit the canned foods aisle, straight down there would take you directly to the milk.
This was my usual route and I was taking it. I got to the canned food aisle, turned, and stopped as fast as if there’d been a huge red light hanging right in front of my face.
But it wasn’t a red light right in front of me; it was Smith, the one person I hadn’t let myself think about yet.
He looked just as shocked and confused as I felt. He wore his usual after work attire of jeans and an un-tucked polo shirt. His black hair was messy as usual, and he looked just like the Smith I’d always adored, until I saw his face. His face—especially his eyes—held tremendous sadness.
The urge to run and the urge to stay battled inside me. We must have stood there staring at each other for thirty seconds.
“Hey, Rik,” he said, finally.
I threw my arms around him, catching him completely off guard. By the time he had recovered enough to return my hug, I was gone. I practically jogged toward the milk, not looking back once. I grabbed a gallon of two percent and took a different route to the cash register.
I made it back to the car without running into him again. I sat in the driver’s seat, shivering with adrenaline. Tears fought to come, but I wouldn’t let them. I started the car and pulled out of my parking space. When I got to the road, I turned the opposite way from home. I couldn’t face my family with all these emotions churning inside me. I needed to drive for a while.
I thought about the first time I’d met Smith. It hadn’t been as Enid’s boyfriend—it had been before they even started dating. I’d been a shy, third-grade girl. Everyone knew Enid, Elton, and Emma Young—even though Emma was only in K-4 at the time—but nobody believed that quiet little Erika could be related to them. They were so loud, so funny and friendly, and I was just—there. Smith had been a senior in high school and was a teacher’s assistant in my class during his free hours.
Mr. Wilcox, as we had to call him, was tall and good-looking and all the girls in the class fell in love with him at once—one thing we had in common with the high school girls. I hadn’t told anyone, but I’d fallen in love with him too. To my disappointment, I didn’t struggle in any of my subjects so I had no need of his help. But one day, after class, he stopped me.
“Are you Enid and Elton’s sister?” he asked.
I nodded, unable to look directly into his kind brown eyes.
“They talk about you a lot,” he said. “You look like Enid.”
I stared at him in unbelief—Enid was beautiful!
“They call you Riki, though, that’s why I didn’t realize at first,” he continued. “Can I call you Riki?”
“Uh—yeah,” I said. No one had ever asked me before. I actually preferred to be called Erika, but, hey, this fellow could call me Dumbhead if he really wanted to.
“Cool.” He leaned close to me conspiratorially. “You can call me Smith, okay?”
I stared at this gorgeous high school senior and was unable to reply. He just smiled and turned back to his work with a, “See ya’ tomorrow, Riki.”
The girls from class mobbed me before I could get to my bus. What had he wanted? What did he say? Why was he whispering to me, Erika Young, of all people? I told them he knew my brother and sister. I didn’t tell them I could call him Smith; that was my secret. Suddenly I had a lot more friends.
For the rest of the time Smith was in our class, he talked to me every day. He always took the time to congratulate me on a good grade or to ask me about something going on in my life.
“So I heard you lost a tooth,” he stopped by my desk one day to comment. I didn’t answer—I merely grinned, showing him the space where my new tooth would grow.
“Elton said you let him pull it with his remote control car,” he said.
I nodded. I went along with anything Elton wanted to do—unless Enid objected. But we’d all thought this idea was a cool one.
“Brave girl,” he chuckled. “Wish I had a sister like you.”
I’d beamed like never before. Smith Wilcox wished he had a sister like me. I couldn’t believe it.
Smith began to hang out with Elton and Enid more and more. He started coming to our house every once in awhile, and before we knew it, he was practically part of the family. He kept talking to me, and, after much perseverance on his part, I began to talk back. He was the only person who ever came to talk to me when I was on the tire swing. Everyone else knew I preferred to be alone, but I actually welcomed Smith’s company.
“What’s bugging you, kid?” he asked one day when I was eleven. He was now a junior in college, and he and Enid were getting ready to get married.
“Nuthin’ really,” I said. My standard answer.
“Don’t give me that,” he scolded. He grabbed the rope of the swing to hold me still and planted his face inches from mine. I had no choice but to look him in the eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re—you’re marrying Enid and—and we’re not gonna be friends anymore,” I stammered. I was never good at admitting what I was really thinking, and nobody else bothered to make me do it.
“What?” he cried incredulously. “We’re going to be better friends than we ever were. Ya’ know why?”
I shook my head.
“’Cause you’re gonna be my sister, that’s why. I’ve always wanted a sister just like you, Riki.”
I remembered that day so well. The swell of happiness that rose in my chest when he said that. Oh! Why had I let myself remember it?
I pulled into the next parking lot not even seeing what store it was, and leaned my forehead on the wheel. I could no longer keep the tears from coming. They poured down my cheeks as if they would never stop.

A Lamp Unto My Feet: Chapter 1

I stomped up the front steps of my house, ignoring my younger siblings. 12-year-old Emma and ten-year-old Egan had driven me crazy the entire way home with their endless, senseless, loud chatter. My thoughts were clouded darkly with ways to rid myself of them.
“Riki!” Emma called after me, skipping up the walk. “You’re not mad are you?” Four years younger than me, Emma had been my shadow for the longest time. She was finally growing out of it, but sometimes that made me kind of sad. She’d gotten to the age where she actually cared about how she looked. Her blond curls were pulled back from her face and clipped up, and she wore a jean skirt and a pink cardigan, but I knew as soon as we set foot in the door she would change into shorts and a t-shirt. She hadn’t grown up that much, but then, I hadn’t either.
“What’s she got to be mad about?” Egan cried indignantly. He clumped up the walk after Emma, his shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned and his sneakers untied. His metal Superman lunch box clanged against his knee, covered in dents from being thrown and not caught.
I chose not to answer them and opened the front door. I had barely stepped inside the threshold when my four-year-old nephew, Gus, collided with my knees.
“Aunt Riki!” He cried.
I could only look down at him surprised. I hadn’t seen my sister and brother-in-law’s car in the driveway. They didn’t live close enough to walk over. Maybe Enid had dropped Gus off.
“Hi Gus,” I ruffled his hair. “What are you doing here?”
Before he could answer, Mom appeared in the living room doorway.
“Erika, Emma, I need to talk to you,” she said. “Egan, take Gus out back and play.”
We were brought up to believe that “slow obedience is no obedience,” but there was something in Mom’s voice and eyes that made all three of us comply extra quickly. Egan didn’t even complain about being left out, he just set his backpack and lunch box down, grabbed Gus’s hand, and walked toward the kitchen. Emma and I tossed our bags by Egan’s and followed Mom into the living room.
Mom motioned us to sit on the couch. We sat down a little closer than we needed to—I felt like reaching for Emma’s hand, to reassure me as much as her. Mom sat on the love seat across from us. She didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I didn’t know why, but I was nervous. I studied her, trying to read what was lurking behind her eyes.
She wore her usual apparel—a knee-length skirt and blouse, no hose or socks, just sandals—her short blond hair was styled perfectly, as usual, and her make-up was flawless. I’d always known my mother was beautiful. I knew Emma looked exactly like her, and, to my sadness, I did not.
Wait, no. Her make-up wasn’t flawless right then—what was it? She wore no eye make-up. She’d been crying. My heart jumped into my throat and sat there like a painful lump. My own eye make-up would be washed off soon—I didn’t need any reason other than my mother’s pain. I knew Emma felt the same way.
Mom took a deep breath and looked at the floor, blinking repeatedly.
“Enid and the kids are staying with us for awhile,” she said finally. “Emma, you’ll have to move in with Erika, okay?”
“For how long?” Emma asked at the same time as I said, “Why?”
Mom met our eyes; hers were wet and distressed. For a second I thought she just couldn’t decide which question to answer first.
“I—I don’t know how long.” Her face and voice simultaneously melted into tears. Mom was most definitely a crier—I could never count how many times I’d seen her cry—yet I still couldn’t stand to see distress so openly displayed on the face of this woman that I loved more than life itself.
I covered my face with my hands, trying to keep my own sadness from escaping. I knew what the answer to my question was before Mom managed to get it out.
“Enid and Smith are—are separating.”

Emma had run upstairs to take refuge in my room—the room that we would be sharing—and Mom had followed her. I headed out back to join Egan and Gus. My head was filled with too many confusing thoughts for me to stay inside.
When I walked out the back door, Egan was helping Gus into our tree house. Egan saw me over Gus’s head.
“No girls allowed!” he yelled.
Gus struggled the last bit up the ladder and tumbled in the door. He turned around to look at me, copying Egan’s disdain.
“Yeah, Aunt Riki. No girls allowed.”
“I’m perfectly content to stay on the ground, thanks,” I said, not bothering to mention that it had been my tree house before either of them was born. My older brother Elton had rarely dared to declare the tree house out of bounds for girls because he knew Enid and I could just as easily kick him out. It was only when Elton’s friends were over and Enid wasn’t around that he had the guts to forbid my entrance.
I went to the very back of the yard to my favorite tree—a huge old oak—and climbed into the tire swing. I was getting too big for the swing, but it had always been my place to mull things over. I’d come to this swing both times Mom had told me I was getting a new sibling. I had been quite content with only Enid and Elton to bug me, and Emma did not impress me greatly so I was not thrilled with the arrival of Egan.
I’d come to this swing the day I’d realized that hell was a real place and I deserved to go there. I didn’t want to go there more than I’d ever not wanted to do anything. I was pretty sure I knew how not to go there from the many Sunday School lessons and sermons I’d heard over my five years, but I didn’t know if I’d be able to do it right. I cried and worried about it for a full hour before I finally went and told my mom. She’d gladly told me the way. I prayed and asked Jesus to forgive my sins and save me. Then Mom cried happy tears with me.
I’d come to this swing the day Enid got married. I’d even worn my maid of honor dress. Luckily it was after the wedding because I kinda got the pastel purple dress really dirty. Mom said we had to throw it away.
I’d come to this swing the day Elton left for college. I’d been hiding kind of. I hadn’t wanted to tell him good-bye because I knew I’d cry. He’d found me. His soft blue eyes assessed the situation immediately—or maybe he’d known before he even found me—and he’d simply said, “Hey. I’m headed out, kid. Didn’t wanna leave without telling you I love you.” He turned to go, and, gripped with fear that I wouldn’t get another chance, I scrambled out of the tire and threw my arms around him. He’d held me until I was ready to let go. He walked away without another word, and I climbed back into the swing and cried.
I stared down at the tread of the tire thinking about all the dried tears on it that I could no longer see. I ran my finger over the ridges to see if I could feel the tears—I could, but not on the tire, only inside me.
I heard Egan and Gus laughing in the tree house. All of us adored our nephews—even Egan who usually had no patience for younger children. I looked up at the window of Emma’s room. Enid, Cashel, and Gio were all taking a nap in there. That would be their room indefinitely. I thought of my nephews growing up in a broken home, and the thought tore at my heart.
Surely Smith and Enid would get back together, wouldn’t they? They had to. They wouldn’t get a divorce. The word was bitter in my mind. I’d always thought when I got married, divorce wouldn’t be an option, and I’d taken it for granted that my siblings felt the same way. Isn’t that what we’d been raised to think?
What had gone wrong?
I laid my head on the tire and concentrated only on the crick-crick sound the rope made as I swung.

My Independence Day

I awoke with a start as cold water splashed in my face. My younger brother stood there grinning at me.
“Mom told me to wake you up,” he said. “We’re leaving in half-an-hour.”
Had it not been my last day at home, I would have murdered him. Instead I fixed him with a seething glare and said, “Buzz off, Dmitri.”
“Get up, Katie.” He stuck his tongue out at me.
Dmitri was at the delicate age of thirteen where he loved to drive everyone nuts, but the least little thing you did to him crushed his fragile ego.
“Katinka! Dmitri! Natassia!” Dad yelled. “I’d better hear you guys getting ready to go.”
I hated my name. No one but my dad called me Katinka, and he made it sound even worse because he said it with a Russian accent. Most people just called me Katie. Matt and Michael, my cousins, called me Tink.
My friends always said that my dad sounded like Count Dracula, and I guessed he did. Although I didn’t know why—he hadn’t been to Russia since years before I was born. He should have lost his accent long ago. He came to America to go to college, met Mom, fell in love, and had no desire to return to his home country. That’s the story he always told us.
Mom was all-round American, but she loved the thought of her children being half-Russian. That is how we got saddled with such yucky names.
I literally kicked Dmitri out of my room and dressed in the only clothes I hadn’t packed—my swimming suit, shorts, and a t-shirt. My room, empty except for the furniture, looked different. A hint of sadness made my eyes wet; I had lived in this room all my life. I’d shared it with Dmitri when he was born, and then with Natassia. Matthew and Michael had camped in here many a time when they’d “run away from home.” I’d camped out in their rooms plenty too. I blinked back the would-be tears as I remembered Matt and Michael—the people I loved the most—were going with me.
As soon as the July Fourth festivities ended, my cousins and I would become independent adults. The three of us had recently acquired an apartment in Chicago, a five-hour drive from where our parents lived. We were moving there this summer in preparation for attending college in the fall. I’d radiated excitement ever since our plans had been settled.
My mom was a triplet, and she and her sisters always stayed close. They went to college together, had a triple wedding, and then built houses next door to each other. Matthew, Michael, and I, the oldest kids in the three of our families, were born days apart—we were said to be the next generation of triplets.
Every July Fourth our three families drove to this huge park where we spent all day playing every sport imaginable, eating tons and tons of food, swimming, and finally, at night, setting off fireworks.
“Can I ride with you, Katie?” Natassia asked as I headed out to my car.
Since Matt, Michael, and I planned to leave straight from the park, all three of us were taking our separate cars loaded down with all our junk.
“I suppose,” I sighed.
“I want to too!” Dmitri cried.
“Too bad you poured water over my head this morning or I might’ve let you,” I told him, rather cruelly I guess.
“Katie,” Mom said.
“Well, he did pour water over my head.”
“Fine,” Dmitri scowled. “I don’t wanna ride with girls anyway, I’ll ride with Matt.”
“Don’t think you’ll fit,” I pointed out. “Matt does have three brothers of his own, you know, plus his car is full of all his junk. And Michael has his brothers and sisters, so you’ve got no hope there. Yep, Dmitri, your best bet is Aunt Mickie.”
“Katinka,” Mom said more forcefully this time.
“Just get in the car, you little worm,” I said.
He grinned, thinking he’d won. Whatever. Let the little idiot be happy.
“I wish you didn’t have to leave.” Natassia took my hand as we walked outside together.
Natassia was little for a seven-year-old, and her soft voice held a hint of a Russian accent. I’d always gotten along with her, but then everyone always got along with her. If I missed anyone, I’d miss her.
“You can visit me,” I said. I climbed into my bursting-at-the-seams VW Jetta. Since my junk took up all of the backseat, Dmitri and Natassia squeezed in the front passenger seat together.
I spotted Michael pulling out of his driveway, his two brothers and two sisters smooshed into the front seat with him. I giggled, thankful once again that my family was the smallest of the three.
I beeped at him; and he beeped back, revving his engine, challenging me to a race.
“Michael! Don’t you dare drive crazy with my babies in that car!” Aunt Kathy yelled from the driveway.
I could almost see Michael rolling his eyes. I did see him yell at his siblings to shut up when they all shouted that they did, indeed, want him to drive crazy.
“I wish I was riding with Michael,” Dmitri said.
“Buddy,” I said. “I wish you were too.”

Three hours later I lay beside the lake, relishing the feel of the sun on my face, listening to my younger cousins and siblings splashing in the water.
“July Fourth is cool,” Matt said from where he lay on my left side.
“Word,” Michael agreed from his patch of sand on my right.
“My favorite holiday,” I said.
“So when are we blowing this Popsicle stand?” Michael questioned.
“After the fireworks, genius,” Matt said.
All of a sudden, sand skittered across me, going everywhere—including my eyes and mouth.
“Blech!” I spit sand out and rubbed my eyes.
I heard Dmitri laugh and run back into the water.
“That kid is an idiot!” I frowned. “I’ll be so glad to get away from him.”
“Maybe so,” Michael said. “But Adam told me to tell you not to be too hard on him. Dmitri told him he wishes you weren’t leaving.”
Michael’s younger brother was the same age as Dmitri, but amazingly he was a cool kid.
“I find that hard to believe,” I said. I sat up to watch Dmitri put Matt’s little brother in a headlock and dunk him.
“Dmitri!” Dad yelled. “Out of the water now!”
Dmitri plopped down in front of me, scowling. I resisted the urge to laugh. Maybe Adam was right. Dmitri had never annoyed me quite this much before.
I flicked sand on his back. “What’s up with you?”
“What do you care?” He didn’t turn around.
“I think it’s the Russian in him,” Matt said.
“Shut up, snothead,” Dmitri growled.
“Who you callin’ snothead?” Matt cried.
Quick as lightening Matt had Dmitri’s hands, Michael had his feet, and I tickled his bare tummy. We’d done this so many times; we did it faster than anyone.
“Stop! Stop!” Dmitri laughed uncontrollably.
“Then tell us what’s wrong,” I said, pausing in my tickling. But he didn’t get a chance because Aunt Mickie called us to dinner.
Although we’d all snacked all morning, we managed to find space for the delicious barbeque chicken, hot dogs, hamburgers, potato salad, rice salad, fruit salad, and various deserts that completely covered two picnic tables.
“You guys’d better hurry and eat so you can get on your way,” Aunt Kathy said to Matt as he piled food high on his plate.
“Huh?” He said. “I thought we wouldn’t leave until after the fireworks.”
“After the fireworks?” Mom cried. “It’ll be nearly ten before the fireworks are over, and you have a five hour drive. You can’t drive that late.”
I stopped pouring ketchup over my hot dog and stared at my mother. We couldn’t miss the fireworks!
“C’mon, Mom,” Michael said. “We don’t wanna miss the fireworks.”
“You’re the ones who wanted to leave today,” Aunt Kathy said. “And you aren’t gonna drive that late, like Mattie said.”
“There’ll be other July Fourths when you can see fireworks,” Dad said.
I looked from my father to my mother to my aunt as tears blurred my vision. Before I could start crying, a crash made me jump. I turned to see Dmitri’s full plate scattered over the ground. All eyes focused on him; and he stared back, his eyes wide. Then he turned and ran.
“Go, Katie,” Mom said softly.
I blinked back my tears and ran after my brother.
“Dmitri! Wait! Talk to me!”
He kept running. We both knew I could run faster than he, but he did have a head start.
“Go away!” He yelled, his voice breaking.
“No!” I pushed myself harder to catch up with him.
“Leave me alone!” His sobs slowed him down.
I managed to get close enough to tackle him—as gently as possible.
“Go away!” He struggled against my grasp, but I held on tightly.
“Not until you talk to me,” I said. Tucked so tightly in my arms, he realized he had no hope of escape. He went limp and cried, his face turned away from me.
My heart broke. My brother loved me. He looked up to me more than I’d ever imagined. Why was I only just noticing? I’d never treated him with anything other than disdain, anger, and—at best—tolerance.
Tears streamed down my own cheeks as I clung to my baby brother. Dmitri never cried, but he was crying over me. I cried not only because I was leaving, but also because I’d missed out on my brother—my brother who wanted my love.
“You don’t care.” His voice was so soft I could barely hear him despite our closeness.
“Yes, I do.”
”Then why are you leaving? You only care about Michael and Matt. You wish they were your brothers.”
I thought Dmitri wished Michael and Matt were his brothers. I thought he’d always felt like he’d been missing out because he’d gotten stuck with an older sister while our cousins got to have older brothers.
I let go of him and sat up. He didn’t run, but he continued to look away from me.
“No way,” I said. “They’re my cousins, but you’re my brother. And I’m glad you’re my brother. I’m sorry I haven’t acted like it.”
He finally turned to look at me. Tears had reddened his big, dark eyes; and red blotches decorated his fair complexion. I’d never seen that look on Dmitri’s face before—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him cry. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. I could tell he was trying to stop crying, but his lower lip still trembled.
“Katie, don’t go.”
And for the first time, I wished I didn’t have to.

Flying

Up until my twentieth year I spent my trips flying halfway around the world blindly following my parents. My sleepy eyes never had to seek out a gate number, and my watch hung uselessly on my wrist. It showed the wrong time until we reached our destination and the twelve hour time difference made it right again. I never cared; I had my dad to follow and my mom’s shoulder to sleep on.
The summer after my freshman year in college provided me with a rude awakening. I had to fly from Singapore to Pensacola all by myself. I was soon to discover that there was more to international travel than watching movies and sleeping, and I dreaded this educational experience.
Because of the recent tightening of security, I had to check in by myself on the day of my departure. The early morning sky through the airport windows was still dark, and my tired eyes sporadically steamed my glasses with the moisture of my unshed tears.
I felt like a scared little kid as I asked the lady, “Could I have a window seat the whole way, please?”
“I’ll check,” she answered with a smile.
She weighed my suitcases, placed the baggage checks on the handles, and went too quickly through my itinerary. I tried to read each boarding pass as she flipped through them pointing out my seat numbers, departure gates, and boarding times. Did I have a window seat? I didn’t even catch that much.
She handed me the stack and instructed me to take my suitcases to the security check. A young Malay security guard smiled at me, and I managed a tired smile in return. They took my suitcases and waved me through, as they always did with my family. I guess we didn’t look suspicious.
I rejoined my parents for the few moments before I had to go into the transit area. My mom’s tears had already started, and I couldn’t stop my own. I was relieved to bid them farewell and venture into transit on my own.
I had to find D-44. Where was it? I’d never bothered to look at the signs before. I realized with relief that the signs were easy to read. I found D-44 with no trouble.
My weary, tear-washed eyes were too blurry to watch the television or read, so I sat staring at the wall. When they called my row, I stepped into the semblance of a line and boarded the plane.
The stewardess directed me to my seat, and I was an old hand at this part. I stuffed my backpack under the seat in front of me, fastened my seat belt, and went to sleep. The eight-hour long trip went much faster if you were asleep—I’d learned this when I was nine.
As usual, I slept through all the movies and meals, and we were in Japan before I was ready. My boarding pass for the next flight gave the local time for take-off, what was the time difference? I stared at my watch trying to figure it out. An hour ahead or an hour behind? Or was it two hours?
I followed the crowd through the security check, then anxiously looked around for a sign telling me where my gate was. All the signs were in Japanese—how did my dad do it? Tears of helplessness sprang to my eyes. Rude Japanese! How thoughtless of them not to include other languages.
I spotted an English word—“Gates!” The word was followed by letters and numbers and arrows. I followed the arrow pointing towards my gate. I got there just in time to board.
Now came the long flight—twelve hours. It was crowded, as usual. I got settled in and slept. To my horror, a stewardess woke me about halfway and handed me a customs form. My dad had said nothing about this!
I read it over and filled it in to the best of my knowledge—I had to guess on some things, but I didn’t think they’d know. Then I went back to sleep.
My layover in Minneapolis was to be the most trying time of the trip. I had little over an hour, but I had to lug my huge suitcases off the conveyor belt (with a little help from a guy when I ended up almost getting dragged down the belt), go through customs, then return my suitcases to be checked in again.
I moved through this in a daze—it was now early morning by my clock again. Again I got to my gate just in time to board. One more stop in Memphis and I was home free.
The flights from Minneapolis to Memphis, and then from Memphis to Pensacola were barely flights at all. We merely took off and then landed.
I wasn’t excited to get to Pensacola, but I was excited for the trip to be over. My backpack had seemed to gain about twenty pounds during the trip, and I bent over under the weight as I walked into the airport.
There waited my brother and our friend Steve. I collapsed into my brother’s arms and felt like crying.
All that hard work only to get to America.

The Misplaced Softball

Growing up in Singapore, my three older siblings and I did not lead the common American childhood. Our missionary parents tried to provide us with a balanced part-Singaporean, part-American culture.
Our taste in games was much like everything else in our life. When I was too young to care, my brothers and sister played football (American football, that is, not soccer) all the time. By the time I was old enough to join in, we’d moved on to such local games as “stepping leg,” “zeropoint,” and “blow, wind, blow.” But when I was seven, our tastes swung back towards the American side with our discovery of America’s favorite pastime.
My nine-year-old brother Stephen, or Jody as we called him, and I began by playing with a stick and a little bouncy ball. We played in our small front yard—it provided us with about a 12’ by 8’ playing field. We enlisted fourteen-year-old Stephanie to play with us whenever she was willing, and our friends, Nirmala and Santhi whenever they were visiting. Before long a home run sent our only ball into the neighbor’s yard. We managed with a rock for awhile, until Mom caught us and exclaimed that someone would get hurt.
For Jody’s birthday soon after he got a softball, a glove, and a real bat. Mom insisted that our yard was too small for real equipment and we reluctantly agreed. The solution was actually readily available and Stephanie, Jody, and I tromped across the street to a vacant lot.
When we’d first moved to the neighborhood, there were three atap houses across the street from us. Atap houses had been the typical house of the natives of Singapore. They were built slightly above the ground with a concrete foundation. The rest of the house was wood. There was no glass in the windows, just wooden shutters. The houses got their name from their roofs—the roof was made of thatched grass, or atap.
The first atap house on our street was kept up relatively well and was inhabited by an old man and woman and their twenty-something-year-old son named Ah Hwee.
The second one was in perfect repair (except for a small hole in the wall from bomb shrapnel during World War II) and was owned by two old maid sisters—Nancy and Nellie. Their single niece, Coreen, also lived with them. Auntie Nellie, as our entire family called her, adored Jody and me. We both spent as much time at their house as we did at ours. Auntie Nancy couldn’t speak much English, however, and was rather gruff. We stayed away from her as much as possible. On the weekends, their brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and great-nieces and –nephews would all come to visit. The house would be overflowing. Jody and I spent nearly the entire weekend over there. They accepted us as part of the family.
The third atap house on our street did not last for too long after we moved there. At some point in time it had suffered a fire. Its charred, tumbling down remains looked dead and forbidding, glaring at us from directly across the street for the first few weeks we lived there. Then it finally got torn down leaving us with a vacant lot for all sorts of games. I’m not sure who actually owned it, but Auntie Nellie and Auntie Nancy took care of it. A few times a month we would see 50-year-old Auntie Nellie pushing a decrepit old lawnmower around the lot. I offered to do it for her once, but she said, “No! You will cut your leg off.”
The lot worked really well for our softball games, and pretty soon, our neighbor, Cedric wanted to join in. Cedric was thirteen and never really interested in playing with either my sister (who was a girl) or my brother (who was just a kid), but for some reason, he let me tag around with him. Stephanie begrudgingly let Cedric play. And then, surprise of all surprises, our oldest brother, 18-year-old James wanted to play. With Cedric's best friend Edgar included, we had a pretty good game going.
Although James had never been amazingly interested in sports (he spent his days building computers, his nights reading, and all the time singing), he displayed a particular talent for baseball.
One day, when Cedric was pitching, James hit the ball straight at him, beaning Cedric right in the thigh. Cedric fell to the ground howling and refused to play anymore that day.
“Cry baby,” Stephanie said disdainfully. “He’s such a sissy.”
Cedric sent her an angry glance as he hobbled home.
But pretty soon Cedric was back as pitcher. Although his skill was slightly impaired when he pitched to James—he would throw the ball and drop flat on the ground.
“Stop that!” James yelled. “You’re throwing the ball all over the place.”
“You hit me again, then how?” Cedric cried. “Balaku, I die. Then my father kill you. Then you know.” One of the first Malay words we’d learned had been “balaku.” It basically meant to hit someone in the head.
“Jus’ play, lah!” Edgar said.
Cedric pitched again, and again dropped to the ground. The ball followed suit and dropped to the ground a few feet in front of James.
I giggled. Edgar glanced my way and he began to laugh too. Pretty soon all of us were laughing loudly. Cedric lay on his back, his slightly round stomach shaking with laughter.
“Edgar, you pitch,” James commanded when we had all recovered.
Edgar was slightly older than Cedric, and as different from him as could be. Edgar was half-Chinese, half-Indian so his skin was a beautiful shade of brown and his features were a balance between the Chinese roundness and the Indian angles. While Cedric was short and slightly on the chubby side, Edgar was tall and thin. Edgar had a friendly disposition and was usually quick to apologize when Cedric was rude or mean.
Though not as fearful as Cedric, Edgar was rather wary of pitching to James.
“Don’t hit me, ah?” He grinned as he ambled to the “pitcher’s mound.” Cedric gladly jogged over to take his place at first base, tossing the ball to Edgar as he passed him. Jody, the only one with a glove, stood around where second base should have been, staring at the sky.
“We need a pitcher, not a crazy Critcher,” I chanted.
Steph rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t make sense here, Lizy.”
“Why?”
“’Cause Critcher was somebody’s name.”
“Oh. We need a pitcher, not a crazy Cedric!” I yelled.
Steph laughed, but Cedric menacingly told me to, “Shut up.”
“Ey!” Grouchy Cedric cried. “Jody! Can pay attention or not?”
Jody slowly drew his attention away from the sky and glanced at Cedric.
“I’m paying attention, what,” he said. “Nothing is happening.”
“Ey, Cedric, can shut up or not?” Steph taunted.
“Just play!” James said. “Pitch, Edgar, I won’t hit you.”
Edgar tossed the ball in the general direction of James, but somehow it managed to land at my feet where I stood behind and to the right of “home plate.” James sighed. I picked up the ball and lobbed it back to Edgar. He had to lean down to catch it, but it did make it all the way to him.
“Maybe we should let Elizabeth pitch,” Steph said.
“I’m not on their team!” I protested.
“I’m joking.”
“Oh.”
James impatiently swung the bat around in a circle before getting back into position. I tried to swing the bat around like that sometimes, but it always hit the ground.
Edgar stood on the pitcher’s mound, breathing deeply. He pulled his arm back and threw the ball as hard as he could. To everyone’s surprise it seemed to be headed straight towards where it was supposed to be. James stepped back a split second before he swung, putting all of his strength into the swing. The ball and bat connected with a loud crack, but even I knew something was wrong.
Wasn’t the ball supposed to go towards the other end of the field? Well, this one wasn’t doing that. James started to run, but stopped, looking over his shoulder. This ball was angling to the left and behind us—
“Foul!” Jody yelled.
—straight for Auntie Nellie’s house. It landed on the roof over the kitchen and disappeared. At that very moment we heard a surprised yell.
We all exchanged looks of horror. Cedric took off running towards his house, but the rest of us waited to face our doom. Our only hope was that Auntie Nellie had been the only one in the kitchen at the time. This was an unlikely thing though—the kitchen was the family’s gathering place.
Auntie Nancy appeared in the kitchen door holding the softball. Auntie Nancy was tall and thick—not overweight, just thick—with stern features that I don’t ever remember smiling. She kept her curly gray hair cut short giving her a manly appearance. Her voice was low and rough and hardly ever uttered a kind word. It would be years before I found out that she really loved my family.
Now she walked towards us, holding the softball tightly, and letting out a stream of Hokkien words. She pointed at the roof and at the kitchen and then at the ball, and, finally, at us. I stepped behind Steph.
“I’m sorry,” James said. He then said a few words in Chinese that I didn’t understand, but I guessed they meant the same thing. Auntie Nancy just shook her head and kept right on rattling.
Then our greatest fears were realized. Auntie Nancy’s nephew, Mr. Ee, stepped out the kitchen door. James straightened his shoulders, Steph grabbed my hand and held it tightly, Jody edged closer to us, and now, Edgar, too, managed to slip away.
“You ruin my auntie’s house!” He roared. “Who tell you you can play these games here? It’s dangerous, you know? You could have kill someone!”
“I’m sorry,” James said again.
“How can say like that? You are stupid to play like this.”
I felt Steph’s grip tightening on my hand and I knew she was getting angry. Uh-oh.
Auntie Nancy was still going on in Hokkien, apparently agreeing with her nephew.
“I tell your father,” Mr. Ee threatened.
“Go ahead,” Steph bit out.
“Stephanie,” James warned.
I wished I’d gone home. I wondered if we were going to get in lots of trouble.
“We didn’t do anything,” I whispered to Jody. “Right?”
“Mr. Ee’s just dumb,” he whispered back. “Auntie Nellie wouldn’t care.”
Auntie Nancy finally remembered some words she could say in English.
“Go home,” she said. “Go home. No more play.”
They finally stopped talking and just stood there glaring at us. James picked up the bat and walked towards our house. Stephanie gave both of them an angry look before following him, dragging me along with her. Jody ambled along behind us, scuffing his bare feet in the grass.
Auntie Nellie sat on the front porch of their house. She waved us over as we walked past. I pulled away from Steph, and Jody and I ran to the porch with James and Steph right behind us. Jody and I climbed up on the outside of the railing and leaned over it.
“Why?” She asked.
Jody and I told her what had happened, our sentences jumping on top of each other.
One of the few times in his life, James looked repentant.
“I’ll pay for it,” he offered.
Auntie Nellie just smiled and shook her head. “Nevermind. Nevermind.”