J. Bradley

Daniel sits at the lunch table, the red and black varsity jacket clinging to his 12-gauge chest. The de Leon county manufactured burrito is closer to his mouth, his teeth, than I am.

Sarah, are you thinking about fucking that boy? The voice rumbles behind my ears. I grit my teeth, gently. Haven’t you had enough, Sarah? Don’t you understand I’m never going away? You are my meat puppet, little girl. The sooner you understand that, the better off you’ll be. I open my palms and slam them against the tabletop three times. The lunchroom chatter trickles, falls to my feet. Daniel stares, mid bite.

“What the fuck are all of you looking at?” Two men widening in red Polos with black borders at the end of their short sleeves walk over to me, walkie-talkies vomiting static and sentences of Clayton Hall and a boy in the bathroom passed out on the floor. One of them wears fake gold Unibomber frames. He glares at me over them.

“You better come with us.”

***

“Sarah, why do you keep doing this to me?” My dad grips the steering wheel like I know he wants to grip my throat. “This is the third time this week. When will this end?”

Yes, Sarah, when will this end. Don’t you see the consequences of your disobedience. Such a disappointment you are to your father. Honor thy father and mother, that’s what your god tells you, doesn’t he.

I elbow the passenger seat window hard.

“What the…” before he can say anything else, my right hand touches his right temple and forehead. I can feel his voice claw its way out of my mouth.

“All you’ll remember is what a bad girl Sarah is, how she made a scene at school again. You will not remember the elbow to the window. You will forget to suggest therapy. You will drive us home without another word.” My dad keeps driving, his eyes slightly rolling back. I feel my body jerk back into the passenger seat, the word “sleep” grumbling through my eyelids. (more…)