PROLOGUE
GIRL ONE
Age Unknown
The screams have me cupping my ears as I rock back and forth on my raggedy mat. I can’t stand them, they make my heart hurt and my eyes burn. I pull my bony legs up and bury my head between my knees. So many women have shared my caged space and then they disappear. Here one minute and gone the next. Father is yelling, telling the woman whose belly is big to push. I don’t know why he wants her to do that—it’s not normal and her scream is different this time compared to the others.
I turn up the volume on my show, not able to listen to her cry anymore, tears fall down my face and I’m unable to stop them. “Ten. Let’s count to ten,” Count Von Count summons from the other side of the square box.
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten,” I count off, proud of myself for remembering the right order instead of messing up like I did last time. This show is my teacher, it’s how I’ve learned my ABCs and One, Two, Threes. My television only gets three channels, and this one is my favorite.
I’m learning how to read, tell the difference between shapes, understand my colors, and discover how to sing songs. I don’t get to go to school like my friends Laura and Mary who live in the little house on the prairie. I don’t have a dog to play with like the little boy whose best friend is Lassie. Other than Father and his women friends he brings home, I don’t see anybody—I’m all alone. I’m okay with that because I’d rather be by myself than see my father.
He’s not a nice man. He hurts people, including me.
As one program ends, another begins. I solve mysteries with Scooby and Shaggy, I giggle at Alvin, Simon, and Theodore as they get into trouble. When Father’s new friend stops screaming, a new cry echoes in my ears. I tilt my head to the side trying to hear what’s going on in that room. I wish I had super powers and could see through the walls. It happens again so I turn my entire body, keeping my eye on the door.
When the door swings open and Father angrily stomps my way, I begin to tremble. He looks so mad. Did I do something wrong? I think about what I did during the day and can’t find anything that I’ve done that’d have him making his angry face at me.
“Girl,” he growls, sounding like a bear. “I need you to take care of this.” He unlatches the door which has me scuttling backward. I want to defend myself, put my arms over my head so that when he smacks me, it doesn’t make my head ache, but curiosity gets the better of me and I want to see what’s wrapped in that blanket that is making those sounds. “Did you hear me!”
“Y-yes, Father,” I answer, as swiftly as possible because he has on his belt and that thing stings when he uses it on me. It even made me bleed a couple of times. “What is it?”
“Another girl,” he says, his lips turning upside down. “I want a son to carry on my legacy, but these bitches keep breeding other bitches. You and this one are the only two to survive, take care of her or you’ll see the other side of my belt. Understand?”
“I-I don’t know how,” I admit, my lips wobbling.
“Figure it out. I’ll bring you down some milk and a bottle. Wash it between feedings and she’ll survive.”
“Who is she?” I ask as he roughly shoves the tiny baby into my arms.
“She’s your sister. Keep her alive and I’ll give you two meals a day instead of one.”
“Thank you, Father.” Two meals! She must be somebody special for him to make sure I eat twice in one day.
I mimic what I see on the television when it comes to taking care of my sister. She needs me for everything. I don’t sleep much because when I do, she cries. She drinks a lot and the milk jug drains quickly, which makes Father even madder. But if I don’t, she screams and doesn’t stop. He told me he could hear it upstairs and that if I didn’t make it stop, he would. That threat scared me more than the whippings I get.
“I don’t remember you eating that much,” Father grunts. “I fed you three times a day and you survived. Make it stretch or she’ll do without.” He slams the jug on the mini fridge and stomps out of the room, locking the steel door behind him.
“I don’t know what to do, Two,” I say to my sister. “How do I make it stretch and keep you full?”
Knowing if I don’t put the milk away, it’ll spoil, I lay my sister on the mat we share to sleep on and walk over to the mini fridge and place it inside. Scanning the room, my eyes land on the sink. Maybe if I fill it half with water and the rest with milk, I can make it stretch far enough that Father won’t be so angry about having to buy as much as he has been.
“We’ll try that,” I say out loud. “It’s the only thing I can think to do.”
My sister is getting bigger, and she has a lot of accidents that I have to clean up. Babies are stinky. I give her baths seven to eight times a day. Father lets me use the washing machine once a week so I’ve learned how to scrub things in the sink with dish soap, which I’m only supposed to use for her bottles so I hide that I use it for our blankets, so we can use them until I can wash the smell away. It only took one time of him showing me how it works and how to measure the detergent before I got it. He says one day, I’ll be in charge of all the household laundry which means I might earn an extra meal.
Three a day would be a blessing.
From what my shows have told me, it’s important that I eat that many times per day so I can grow. And if I get stronger and prove I can take care of us, maybe I can leave and take my sister with me.
Father always tells me that we’re expensive and one day, when we’re older, he’ll recoup his money—whatever that means. From the moms and dads I’ve watched on my programs, money is earned by working at a job—I could do that and pay him back forwhat he’s had to spend. I don’t mind, especially if it means we can sleep on a real bed instead of a cushion on the floor.
If that happens, maybe my bones won’t hurt so bad from the chill seeping into them from the floor. I’m always so cold and my back always aches.
When girl two cries, I rush over to her and pick her up. “Shh,” I whisper. “Don’t make Father mad, sister. Are you hungry already? He says we have to conserve your milk, so I’m gonna add water to it. I know it’s not going to taste right, but you have to drink it anyway so your belly gets full. Okay?” She balls up her fists and her face pinches before she pees and poops on me. “Oh, Two. We’re low on soap, you have to stop doing that.”
I know it’s not fair of me to get onto her for going potty, but it’s too soon for me to ask for another bottle of dish soap. I’ll be in big trouble if we run out before his next shopping trip.
