I woke to clanking and an out of tune nocturne. When I opened my bedroom door it wasn't home anymore, but my parent's old house. It looked like we were barely moving out. Soot covered the white walls. It was empty apart from the couches downstairs beyond the handrails, then to my right my antique piano with hammers going wild. Jonathan was trying ( Read more... )

( Read more... )

Very abruptly, we have a house. It's a four-bedroom somewheres at Sunset and Boulder Highway. It's surrounded by factories and a scrap yard, and the houses are so close together that all you see out of the windows are the windows next door. (I'm still surprised that Joey and Brandon went for it, since they're so picky about location!) But I get my ( Read more... )

( Read more... )

( Read more... )

Arguing with Jonathan always puts me in a bad mood. It's that old feeling of helplessness, a cabin-fever, I'm so anxious to break free that I run in circles starting a million things but can't finish any. This particular argument happened while drying my hair in Joey's bathroom. Mama said Jonathan might call, as I want to buy a car from her friend ( Read more... )

I woke to the kids yelling, "Papa, papa!" and I cringed. I rolled around in my closet, tugging on my bra, finding my pick, dropping said pick back in my bra, then crawled out of the hole. Jonathan stood in the kitchen, his back turned to me, kissing my mom. She saw me. She stopped and looked frightened. I rolled my eyes and went upstairs to brush ( Read more... )