I find my nineteen-year-old sister giving a pot of macaroni and cheese one final stir with her wooden spoon before dumping it on a plate with a large piece of chicken and fresh green beans.
Her dark hair falls on her shoulders. Weary lines stretch underneath her brown eyes. Dark blue paint peels off her short nails. Andie continues filling the green plastic cups with fruit punch and gathering the forks until she notices a cheese stain stretching across her white floral blouse.
"No!" she wails. Andie shoves the bottle of punch inside her fridge, smooths her black skirt, and gives her top another look. Aw, come on, I just washed this!"
Dropping my backpack on the floor, I study the bright yellow stain and snicker under my breath. Andie whips her head in my direction.
"Don't you dare start laughing!" she growls. "I have a date tonight, and the last thing I want to think about is this stain on my blouse!"
"I don't know, Andie," I tease. "That stain kind of looks better on you."
"Oh, screw you!"
"Yeah, yeah. Where are Matt and Dad, anyway?"
Andie gives the fork and knife to me and sighs, "Matt called and said that he and Dad are going to be home late. Mom is upstairs sleeping, so please don't play your trash music in your bedroom."
I set the utensils down and gave her a look. Andie loves me very much, and yet when it comes to music, we always fight over which song is better.
You see, Andie loves Queen Latifah, TLC, Monie Love, and Whitney Houston. But I love punk and grunge. I cherish Minor Threat, Bad Brains, Death, The Clash, Pure Hell, X-Ray Spex, and even Living Colour.
Andie and Mom think it's weird for a black girl to listen to alternative music, but it's a free country.
Music shouldn't be based on the color of a person's skin. It should be loved by people who understand what the artist is saying. I try telling Andie that, but she just shakes her head and calls it garbage.
Turning off the oven, Andie moves towards the fridge and opens the door. She peered through the frozen leftovers and takeout boxes until I went upstairs to take my shower. I ambled out of the bathroom with warm water oozing from my hair. An oversized, black Velvet Underground t-shirt covers my blue shorts.
Moonlight creeps through the grimy window pane.
It slithers on the Sex Pistols, Teen Idles, Bad Brains, Frank Zappa, The Stooges, and all of my favorite band posters hanging on the wall. Across from my bed is a stiff bookshelf full of horror comic books and novels about feminism, art, and African Literature. There are also a couple of books by Salinger, Bukowski, Shelby Jr., and Judy Blume, but I haven't got the time to finish all of them.
Crumpled cigarettes, two Burroughs books, a camera, colored pencils, and notebooks cover my desk.
Worn cassette tapes, from X-Rey Spex to Pure Hell, sit on top of my dresser drawer, while old childhood drawings cover my vanity mirror. Treading towards my bed, I collapse on top of my thick blankets when I hear something coming from outside.
I wipe the fog off my bedroom window and spot the large, white moving truck parking on the driveway right beside my apartment building. I can't make out the name or the logo of the company, but I suspect someone must have come a long way to arrive in Portland.
Opening my bedroom window, I pop my head out and watch the yellow headlights fade into the darkness.
Passing cars speed right through the leaves dispersed on the floor. Their taillights ooze neon scarlet, which brightens the truck's Chicago license plate.
The truck door swings open as a gawky neighbor plants his combat boots on the brick driveway. His dark gray hoodie conceals his face. Black fingerless gloves warm his palms as the guy grabs the keys from his Levi's jeans and uses them to unbolt the door. But just as I am about to see his belongings, my older sister Andie calls me downstairs for dinner.
My new neighbor must have heard Andie because when I look at him again, he stops unloading the cardboard boxes from his truck, removes his hoodie from his head, and stares right back at me.
God, he's as tall as a basketball player, but his arms are a bit too lanky. His skin is this sickly beige color. Dark rings circle his solemn brown eyes. His black, curly hair covers his ears.
Nervous, I waved at him, but the guy just went back to lifting his boxes and carrying them into the building.
"Kathy!" Andie shouts from downstairs. "Did you hear me or what?"
"Uh, yeah!"
"Well, get out of bed and come downstairs!"
"Okay! God, Andie!"
Christ, I have never heard her moan like that since she lost her Spelling Bee Championship.
Running downstairs, I see the panic surging on Andie's face.
She drapes the windows with thick, white curtains and switches off the living room television set. Her eyes looked as if she had seen a ghost.
"What's going on?" I ask her. "Is everything alright?"
Andie switches on the lights at the dining table and pushes me into a chair.
"Just eat your food, okay?" she asks anxiously. "I am going to change my shirt."
"What? Why?"
"Please eat it before we get cold."
I sit in front of a plate of macaroni and cheese, fried chicken, and green beans, but I do not eat my food.
Not when Andie is rushing upstairs like a deranged maniac. I wait until she is gone, then walk over to the red living room chair.
Picking up the remote between the couch cushions, I sit down on the floor and watch the news. As it turns out, Andie was watching the news. It's about an intense police investigation into the death of a 33-year-old woman whose body was found in a dumpster behind an IHOP restaurant.
The cops are shutting the pancake diner down to gather more evidence, but until then, everyone needs to lock their doors and windows.
By the time Andie comes downstairs, she sports a bulky, cream-colored Gucci sweater and a pair of mom jeans. She sees me watching the news and yanks the remote away from me.
"Hey!" I cry. "I was watching that!"
Andie haplessly tosses the remote on the couch and places her hands on her hips.
"You don't deserve to watch that, Kat," she tells me.
"Why?"
"You're sixteen. You should be thinking about going back to school tomorrow and doing all the homework you didn't do."
"Yeah, Andie," I say, bobbing my head. "That's what every sixteen-year-old cares about."
"Just eat your food."
Rolling my eyes, I walk over to the dining table and eat in silence.
Andie might be a goody-two-shoes, but her cooking skills are great. I manage to finish half of my mac and cheese without breaking for a sip of Fruit Punch, but when I stare at my dad's seat sitting across from mine, I wonder if he is still taking another long shift at the bank.
When I ask Andie about it, she sits down beside me and confirms my suspicions with a simple nod.
"Aw, man," I murmur. "I thought this year we were going to celebrate Halloween together."
Andie sighs. She drapes her left arm around my shoulder and reassures me that everything is going to be okay. As soon as their dad and older brother come home, the family will plan out tomorrow's festivities.
But until then, Andie and I need to stay in the house and lock all the doors and windows.
"I'm sorry," Andie says quietly. "Maybe some other time."
I pick up my fork and stab my macaroni with it.
"That's what you said three years ago."
"I know," Andie snaps back. "But not everyone has perfect timing, Kathy."
Tossing my macaroni around, I gather enough cheesy noodles with my fork and take a bite. Angie pulls her dinner away from the edge of the table. Cheese sauce and chicken grease smear her fork and steak knife as she carefully cuts the white meat off its bones with precise accuracy.
Swallowing my drink, I look at Andie and snort, "You know, you could just eat the chicken with your fingers."
"I don't want to get my clothes messy," Angie responds irritably.
"What about your date tonight? Don't you guys have dinner and a movie together?"
"I called and said we should get takeout. Anyway, try to eat all of your vegetables, or else they'll get cold."
"Oh my God, why do you say that every time we eat dinner?" I groan, lowering my cup.
"Because you hate vegetables, Kat."
"Yeah, but not potatoes." I chime. "They're God's Favorite Vegetable."
Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, Andie decides to talk about school. She wants to know if I am excited to go back there and see all of my classmates. I swallow the last piece of my chicken and stare at her as if she had grown two heads.
Andie looks at me again but with softness in her brown eyes.
"You could just give it a try, you know?" she suggests quietly. "Not all of those kids are assholes."
"They are, Andie," I respond stiffly. "Those shitheads let Joe and his cronies harass me for no reason. So, why the fuck should I kiss their asses?"
"Because you need to care about someone other than your family, Kath," Andie says softly. "I am going back to college soon; Matt is probably going to work in the mines forever; and Mom and Dad will be too old to look out for you."
Setting down my cup, I wrap my arms behind my head and stare at the glass chandelier hanging above the table.
"So you want me to shut up and make nice with the kids who have been bullying me since the third grade?" I say slowly. "And ignore the rumors about me trying to give Joe Mason a blowjob at Gwen's birthday party?"
Suddenly, I hear the door swing open. Andie and I turn to see Matt stepping inside the house.
He removes his dark gray beanie from his thick afro.
His tattoos stretched across his bulky arms. He wears a denim jacket, a gray hoodie, and torn black jeans. The second Matt sees the food on the table, he drops his backpack on the floor, plops on the chair, and wolfs down his dinner without stopping. Andie groans as green beans tumble out of his plate.
"You know, there's a thing called a napkin, Matt," she grunts. "Have you ever heard of one?"
Matt wipes the grease with the back of his hand and then shakes his head.
"No," he says. "I don't think I've heard of a napkin before, but I am sure these guys have."
Matt raises two middle fingers in Andie's face. I laugh while Andie swats his hands away, picks up Mom's plate, and grumbles about why she has "disgusting siblings".
"Hey, Princess!" Matt calls. "Your disgusting siblings have ears!"
"And feelings!" I add jokingly.
Andie doesn't say anything insulting. She just grabs the wooden stair rail on her left and goes up to my mother's bedroom.
After washing the dishes, I trudge upstairs and see Mom sleeping in the room. Her large dinner plate sits on top of a nightstand full of greasy chicken bones and utensils. Unpaid bills pile up near the bed, while Dad's bulky calculator sticks out from underneath the bed. Small notebooks scatter across the muted green quilt; their pages are filled with calculations I don't understand.
I walk past the trash can of empty wine bottles, pick up the bills, and stack them on top of Dad's desk. Next, I take Mom's plate from the nightstand. But just when I was about to leave, Mom immediately woke up. Her hazel eyes widen like a demonic puppet.
She wears a bright yellow T-shirt and blue gym shorts.
Tucking her frizzy black hair under the bandana, Mom watches me carry her plate outside and slowly gets up from her bed.
"God!" she yawned. "I am so sorry about the mess. I-"
"Don't worry about it. Mom," I reassure her. "I'll take care of it."
She reaches her hand out to me. I walk over to her bed to hold it, but she pulls me on top of the mattress and cuddles me as if I were her teddy bear. Her bony elbows poke my fat shoulders, while her dark gray curls peek out of her bandana.
Her cheekbones are so fragile that I am scared that if I touch them, they will turn into dust. Ever since the mining factories shut down, Mom hasn't been sleeping or eating very well. She spent every waking moment of her life trying to help Dad make a dent in the bills, but so far, it's not working.
"Sorry, Mom," I mumble, crawling under the covers. I place my head on Mom's yellow t-shirt and close my eyes.
"It's alright. So, how was your day today?"
If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me the same stupid question, I would be a millionaire.
My family will have no bills to pay, a working fridge stocked with food, and I will finally get rid of Andie's stupid hand-me-down bras. But I am much more realistic than that.
"My day went pretty well," I answer with a meaningful shrug. "I worked at the theater today, and my boss gave me sixty bucks."
"Well, that calls for a celebration," she laughs, adjusting her tie-dyed hairband. "Maybe after school, we can go to Hamburger Mary's to grab some milkshakes."
"Yeah," I answer, nodding. "That sounds pretty good. In the meantime, why don't you get some sleep? I'll take care of everything."
Mom's warm smile stretches from ear to ear.
"You get some rest too," she tells me. "After all, tomorrow is your first day back from suspension."
"I know."
"I know you know, so try to study hard and don't get into any more trouble."
"Relax, Mom," I reassure her. "Everything is going to be fine tomorrow. What's the worst that could happen?"