I need to tell my mom.
She gave me medicine before bed, because she said I needed it, but it’s not helping.
The house tilts as I walk. It’s like the walls are coming at me. I keep hitting them with my shoulder. It reminds me of the time dad took me and Luci to the store and let us ride the small carousel as we were leaving. We kept wanting to go around and around, and he let us. When we got off, we were both dizzy and bumping shoulders. Luci even puked.
That was fun, though.
This isn’t fun. It won’t stop.
It’s kind of scary.
The house is dark, except for the TV’s light in mom and dad’s room. I follow it until I come to the door. It’s cracked. Mom is slipping a fancy dress over her head. It sparkles against the light. She’s watching an old black and white movie as she dresses. It’s a musical, and she’s singing along to it.
Her voice makes me feel warm, and so does the television. We don’t have one in our room. And she only lets us watch hers when she wants us to sit in front of it. We’re not allowed to get up until she tells us to, because it’s our TV time.
That’s what she calls it.
She rarely lets us watch cartoons, though. She says we have to watch movies that will teach us things about life.
I dunno know what that even means, but…we’re forced to watch only the movies she likes.
It’s okay most of the time, because she gets in bed with us and watches them with us. She likes to pause them, telling us about the scenes she likes the most.
Luci falls asleep a lot, unless there’s singing involved. I can’t sleep as easily as Luci can. There seems to be a monster inside of me that keeps me up. That’s what mom says, anyway.
Mom’s voice gets louder, and she’s dancing around, looking for something.
Her shoes. She slips them on, and they’re high.
“Mom?”
She stills, her back to me.
“Ava.” She says my name like she’s irritated with me. I know she’s pinching her nose without even seeing it. She does that a lot when I get on her nerves.
“I don’t feel so good.”
“You have to give the medicine time to work.”
“I fell asleep, but I woke up. I don’t feel good,” I repeat.
She kicks both shoes off, and after a second, she picks them up and throws them at the wall. I flinch. She hit a picture of her and dad and cracked the glass. It’s tilted now instead of hanging straight.
She turns around and I take a step back. She’s really mad. But she’s so beautiful, it’s hard to look away from her. She did her makeup really pretty, and she smells good.
“Get in your room!” She points.
“But I don’t feel good!” I whine. “My stomach hurts.” Everything seems to hurt but I don’t want to tell her that. She’ll only get more upset with me.
“You don’t feel good because you’re fighting your sleep.”
“I’m not fighting.”
“You are! You need to sleep!”
“I can’t!”
She grabs me by the shoulder and starts shoving me toward my room. “You’re such a brat. Such a brat! I do everything for you, everything around here, from washing your clothes to feeding you, and this is how you repay me? By fighting everything I tell you to do!”
