Sarah never slept very well. She’d lie in bed listening to the regular, soft breathing of her little sister Macey and feel jealous. As tired as she could become during the day, usually late morning and early afternoon, now she was awake and sharp as a tack. She would try to will herself to sleep, but that never worked. It would make her worry even more about how tired she’d be the next day if she couldn’t make herself sleep.
Macey made a few soft noises, maybe talking in her dream, and rolled onto her left side, facing Sara. She had taken a few short breaths, but now went back to the slow, regular pattern of her deep and restful sleep. She was such a bundle of energy during the day! The exact opposite of Sarah, who her father accused of always “moping around.” Well, she just couldn’t act as cute and bubbly as her little sister. That just wasn’t her. It was almost funny.
Her sister, a second grader, seemed to understand Sarah better than either of her parents. She knew when Sarah was in one of her many quiet moods and would be quiet when they were together. There were even times when Sarah was feeling sad for no particular reason, Macey would curl up beside her, gently putting an arm around her in a loose hug and quietly resting her head on her chest or lap. Even if she was in a mood that was particularly dark, Sarah would unconsciously respond to her sister’s affection with a gentle hug and sometimes even start to feel better. Macey could be such an amazing person. Sarah simply accepted the fact that she was the family dud, and Macey was the sparkling light.
Sarah listened to the sounds that could help her pass the time until she got tired enough to sleep. Their two-bedroom apartment was small and not in the best of neighborhoods. Outside, there was always sirens wailing and loud engines screaming. A motorcycle would start up nearby with a rumble and a roar, and she would follow it all the way to the highway where it would sound like an angry animal getting madder and madder as it shifted through the gears, accelerating away into the night. She would sometimes hear people arguing, either in a nearby apartment or out in the parking lot. Some nights, she heard popping sounds that scared her. Her mother said they were just firecrackers. But she never heard fireworks that would explode with the same kind of regular rhythm, just four or five in a row. On TV, gunfire would have the same kind of rhythm, but those gunshots would be loud and dramatic. The popping sounds from outside weren’t like that. They were flat and dull sounding, almost lonely in a way, like they were ending a life that no one would miss.
In the living room, the TV was on, playing something that must have been funny. She couldn’t make out the words, but there would be ripples of laughter in the background from time to time. Her parents weren’t laughing. They were talking in the way she’d been hearing them lately when she was supposed to be asleep. With the TV on, she couldn’t make out their words, either, but she could sense the mood. It felt tense, as if they both were wishing they could shout at each other but were holding back. Two days ago, when Sarah and Macey came home from school, her mother greeted them cheerfully for once, but Sarah knew she was faking it. Her eyes were red and her eye makeup all out of whack. She and Macey passed up the after-school snack she offered them and went to their room. They didn’t have to say anything. The glances they exchanged affirmed that there was something badly wrong. Though only in the sixth grade, Sarah had a sense of what going on. One of her friends at school had told her about what her life at home had become just before she and her mother moved out.
Sarah’s father hadn’t been working much this past year, and her mother had been laid off from her night job at the warehouse. That was where most of their money came from. She always complained that her mid-day job at the diner didn’t pay enough for the amount of work she had to do, but right now, that’s all they had.
Her father’s voice had gotten louder. Sarah could hear some of what he was saying. Her mother’s voice was still soft, but there was a cold, sharp edge to it now. Knives didn’t make as much noise as guns but could be just as deadly.
“You feel that way? You feel that way?” There was something childish in her father’s voice, like a kid who wasn’t getting his own way.
“Okay! I’ll tell you what! I’m outta here! You deal with it!” Heavy footsteps walking into her parent’s bedroom and a few minutes of shuffling in the closet and through drawers. Then more footsteps and the jangle of keys.
“What the fuck you doin’? Gimme those!” Her father didn’t exactly shout, but he was loud and angry.
Then the suppressed voice of her mother, even harder and sharper than before. “I’m payin’ the rent and I’m payin’ the car payments. You wanna go? You walk or take the bus. I’m a mom and a workin’ woman. I pay my way!”
Her father said another bad word and Sarah heard the front door close hard. She followed her father’s footsteps along the walkway and down the stairway. It’s metal bracing always rang with the same repeating note when he walked down. Exactly sixteen steps. She knew that.
It was quiet in the apartment again. There was still laughter coming from the TV and she heard her mom settle back down onto the couch. Across the room, she could hear her sister stir in bed, her breathing quickened and sharpened.
Sarah got up and quietly crossed the room and lay down beside her, lightly draping her arm over her shoulders. Macey rolled over, her eyes opened just enough for Sarah to see their gemlike blue.
“What…? Macey asked, her voice had the same soft moan of the sounds she made in her sleep.”
“Things are changing. Don’t worry. We’ll be okay.”
In a short while, they were both asleep.
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