I grab the bread and the jelly and the peanut butter and stand on the footstool that lets me reach the top of the kitchen counter. I can only find one clean plate—well, it’s cleanafterI tip it over and send the roach scattering onto the linoleum floor—so I stack the sandwiches in there as I finish them.
One.
Thump—thump—thump?—
Two.
Thump—thump—thump—thump?—
Three.
Thump—thump?—
Four.
Thump—thump—thump—thump?—
I take the plate to the recliner, holding it with both hands and walking slowly so I don’t trip. Daddy’s busy with his special pipe, but his eyes are on me as I come into view with the food.
“You forgot to cut them again,” he says before putting his pipe in his mouth.
“Mommy says I mus’n touch th’ knife,” I whisper, watching fascinated as white smoke appears like magic inside the darkened bulb at the end of the pipe.
“Damn right. Prob’ly cut your fingers off.”
Thump—thump—thump?—
I wait, arms trembling from the heavy plate, as Daddy finishes his pipe and takes a sandwich. I’m trying to put the plate down on the coffee table, pushing stuff away with the edge, when he says, “Your legs stop working, you lazy cunt?”
I quickly shake my head, picking up the plate again, my arms encircling the rim as I turn back to Daddy. He widens his bloodshot eyes at me, chin darting forward so quickly I nearly drop the plate in fright. “Then watchya waitin’ for?”
Tears blur my vision as I turn and head for the end of the hall. There are two bedrooms, but this is the only one that has a door. I have to set the plate down on the floor to open it, then pick up the plate and walk inside.
Thump—
I try not to look. I keep my head down and my eyes on the sandwiches, and I nearly trip over someone’s pants they left lying on the floor, but I try not to look?—
“What’s the matter, little bitch? My big cock scare you?”
I keep my eyes on the ground as I shove the plate onto the nightstand and spin around, hurrying back to the door.
There’s a slap.
“Why you stopping, Lenny?” Mommy moans. “Leave ‘er alone and fuck me!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Thump—thump—thump?—
Daddy’s slumped in the recliner when I come back, mouth slack, a cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers. I watch it for a second before slowly going over and taking it out of his hand, then just as carefully positioning it on the overflowing ashtray on the recliner’s armrest.
His sandwich is there, untouched.
I take it because I know he won’t miss it after that pipe.
He never does.
Thump—thump—thump?—
