10 Years Later
I’m in the kitchen when I hear something break from the living room. I stop washing dishes and go see what happened.
Mom is standing in the middle of the room. Our glass table is in pieces. Mom is seething with rage. “Mom, I thought we talked about this, we can’t take out our anger using our abilities. And by ‘our’ I mean yours. Especially not on glass furniture.”
“Don’t parent me.”
“Stop breaking things and I’ll stop acting like a parent. Now, what happened?”
“Nothing, Kiane. Nothing happened.”
I give her a look that says, Really? She sighs. “If nothing happened, why is our table broken?” I ask.
“I had a moment of anger.”
“A moment? Well, this moment resulted in you using your lightning bolts to break the table. So it probably was a long moment of anger.” She looks directly at me. “Nothing happened. Clean it up,” she orders.
“That’s not fair, you blasted the thing. It’s probably still hot.”
“Stop arguing with me and do what I say.”
What’s up with her? She’s in a mood. I move around her to start cleaning the mess up. She walks out after seeing me start cleaning.
I ended up cutting my finger from a glass shard. Probably should’ve put on gloves. I’m rinsing the blood off my hands in the kitchen when my little sister, Kysa walks in. I was about five and a half when she was born. “What happened?” she inquires. I nod my head towards the living room. “Mom happened. She broke the glass table.”
“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me. She said, ‘I had a moment of anger.’ And I said, ‘Well, this moment resulted in you using your lightning bolts to break the table. So it probably was a long moment of anger.’ “ I mimic. Kysa bursts into little fits of laughter. I love her little laugh. I laugh right along with her.
Days later, I go to check the mail. I get the usual, bills, advertisements. I come across an unfamiliar envelope. I run my hand across the top. Unfamiliar writing, an unfamiliar sender. Actually, there is no sender. At least, they didn’t write down their name. It says to go to Mom. I close the mailbox and go inside to find Mom. “Mom?” I call. “Mail! Someone sent you a letter of some sort.” She pokes her head out of the room. “Who?”
“I don’t know, it doesn’t say.”
“Must be your grandmother then.” She takes all of the mail from my hands. She stalks back to her room and shuts the door. Our grandmother. The only person who can tell me about my father but won’t. Else Evans. Age sixty-four, memory still sharp, fast, intelligent, but knows how to keep her mouth shut. Unless she’s lecturing us on something. Every time I try to bring up my father, she pretends to be deaf until I give up. I do this every time she comes over, knowing every single time it’s the same response. It’ll always be the same. I’ll never know about my dad. Never. Instead of standing around, I decided to go to my friend Rivver’s house. I walk into my room to grab my coat. “Mom! Kysa! I’ll be at Rivver’s!” I announce.
“Don’t stay too late, Kiane!” Mom replies, her voice hoarse.
“Oooh! Tell Rivver I said hi!” Kysa trills. I laugh, then ask, “Mom, are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m okay. Go have fun at Rivver’s. Don’t stay too late, don’t do anything you ain’t got no business doing. Like shoplifting, stealing, sneaking away. Got it?” I chuckle.
“Yes, Mom.” I walk out the door, walking to Rivver’s house, my closest (and only) friend.