Snake Eyes
She glides into the room to the beat of the music playing on her phone, singing into the broom handle as she sweeps. The years are starting to show in her face, in the shape of her body and the texture of her skin, but sometimes she is still just a girl. A giggle erupts as she fumbles across a verse she doesn’t know well. She turns around, her back to the kitchen sink, and slows her sway as she glances at the phone sitting up in the window because that’s the only place it will get any signal. A tiny smile appears in the corner of her mouth, the faintest blush spreads its rosy fingers up her chest. She turns around again, her smile growing wider as she does, and goes back to her sweeping dance.
I am ten.
I lean over the sink, my hands submerged in soapy water, making a face because, of course, I hate washing the dishes. To the left of me a door opens out onto what will one day become our party porch; the my right, the kitchen trails off into the weird patch of room that serves as landing to both the front door and the steps that lead down to my and my brothers’ basement. Behind me, a long kitchen island separates the kitchen from the…
