The Newspaper

“This today’s paper?” She asked. She prodded the front page with a finger as short as mine. But she was getting to be blind as a bat, she could barely read the headline from there, much less the date. My sister nodded and made some affirmative noise as she poured herself another bowl of cereal. “You brought it in?”

“No. Miranda.” Melissa replied, distanced and bored. Mother looked my way. She was still in her bathrobe, had crawled down the stairs in a vain attempt at seeing her daughters off on their first day, but found herself unable to go through with it. She surveyed my head briefly, almost in appreciation. Almost.

“Well, I’m going back to bed.” She said. That was the end of that. She turned to leave.

“Your welcome” I said, hardly audibly.

“You expect me to say thank you?” She turned with a snarl in her voice. “You’re not getting it. You expect too damn much.”

“A thank you for fetching the paper is hardly demanding.” I was getting angry now.

“Well, look how its all over the table and messed up! I didn’t even want you to get it.” She turned and left, well aware that she’d lose the argument if she stayed. The anger was directionless. It hovered a moment in midair and then faded. Hurt replaced it.

“That Bitch.” I said, using hard words to try to stay mad. Mad was better than breaking down crying; it was my first day after all. Melissa might have been silent. She might have grunted. She never looked up from her cereal. I looked away from her. Mom never picked on her. Not like this. Probably got sick enough of badgering her over her room, her laundry, her clothes without adding this new imaginary crap to the mix.