yard, lonely and forgotten about. I might only be eight, but I knew the feeling well. I want to howl at the moon myself, but it wouldn’t change anything.
A snap of a twig behind me captures my attention, and even though I know it’s not safe out in the park alone this late at night, I don’t panic.
I know it’s my brother Drake, he always seems to know where to find me.
The swing beside mine creaks as he sits down next to me, his long legs crossed at the ankle. He didn’t come here to swing; he came here to talk. But I don’t want to hear what he has to say, I already know. I heard Mama crying softly in the kitchen earlier when they were talking.
“It won’t be so bad, Chicken Little. We can write to each other and I’ll be back for a visit before you know it,” he whispers, nudging my foot with his.
I bite my lip hard to stop myself from crying. I’m a big girl now; crying is for babies.
“But it won’t be the same. Can’t I go with you? I’ll be good, I swear.” I turn to look at him, but it’s too dark to see his face.
“You need to stay and look after Mama,” he answers, standing up and making the swing creak again. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
He tugs me off the swing and picks me up, and even though I’m mad, I wrap my arms and legs tightly around him. Burying my head into his neck, I take a deep breath, smelling the shower gel he always uses and the faint hint of cigarettes he smokes when he thinks I’m not around.
Maybe if I hold on tight enough, he’ll stay with me. He’s the only one who makes pancakes the way I like them and catches the cockroaches when they scurry across my bedroom floor. Who will do that when he’s gone?
He carries me all the way back to our trailer, the voices of Mr. and Mrs. Beckett yelling, getting louder as we pass their place. The sound of something hitting the wall and glass breaking makes me jump, but my brother just holds me tighter.
My mom opens the door as soon as we get there and Drake carries me inside, popping me onto the kitchen counter.
“Vida Roberts! What have I told you about running off like that? Especially when it’s dark outside. It’s not safe out there,” she scolds, but I only have eyes for my brother who stands in front of me with a hand on either side of me, bracketing me in.
“It’s okay, Ma,” he answers her, but she shakes her head; her red hair that’s the same as mine bounces around her shoulders when she throws her hands up in the air.
“It is not okay, Drake. When you’re gone, there won’t be anyone around to chase after her, because lord knows I won’t be. She needs to learn this now before she gets hurt,” she snaps.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” I tell her before she spends the next ten minutes shouting and crying.
“I just worry about you, Vida, that’s all. You’re my baby, and with your brother joining the army, you’re all I have left.” She moves from angry to sad quickly, like always.
“Jesus, Ma, I’m not dying. I’ll be back when I can, and I’ll send money to help. Especially with Chicken Little here growing like a weed,” he teases me, tugging on a lock of my hair.
I huff and cross my arms. “I am not a weed. You’re just jealous because you know I’ll be taller than you one day.”
“Sure, Vida, whatever you say,” he laughs, his dark eyes twinkling.
I growl at him, which makes him laugh harder. Brothers are pains in the butt.
“You’ll see, Drakey Lakey, one day I’ll be so tall I’ll be able to touch the ceiling,” I inform him as he ruffles my hair and moves over to the fridge that hums too loud and keeps me awake at night. Sometimes I dream it’s a robot monster that comes awake when everyone else is asleep and wants to kill me, so I hide in my bed where it’s safe. Everyone knows monsters can’t hurt you if you hide underneath the covers.
“How about I make us some pancakes, then I’ll read to you for a little while, okay?” he offers, smiling.
I pout. “Fine, but I’m still mad. You’d better write to me every day.”