Cammy and I have no idea who our fathers are, but Chrissy’s hung around for a while—on and off and with conditions.
When he was alive, we had more income, which didn’t mean much to us since our mother took it and did what she wanted with it. Though, every now and then, when they’d fight, George would hand me a twenty and tell me to go get some food to hide in our room. It was great until Mom found it one day and beat the shit out of me for lying to her and hiding money. She told me I better not be selling drugs behind her back. I was nine.
Our “room” has enough space between bunks for two of us to stand and turn around. The girls use the right side bunks, Chrissy on the bottom since it’s safer because of the seizures. I also sleep on the bottom, because there’s more space on the top to store our stuff—which are piles of clothes since we don’thave belongings of any kind because they all get taken and sold or traded.
Both sets of bunks have drawers on the bottom, and there is a wall of drawers between the foot-end of the bunks—a basic trailer set up. It would be convenient for a toddler, but most of the drawers are too small to hold our clothes, so they’re only used for underwear and socks.
“Chrissy sleeping?” I ask.
“No,” she says, causing Cammy to laugh.
“So, where did you go?” Cammy asks, turning on her side to face me.
I pull my shirt off and my jeans, tossing them aside before climbing into bed. The sheets smell like sweat, and I should wash them, but there isn’t a laundromat in walking distance, and we don’t have a car. Plus, we don’t have any fucking money. If they get bad enough, I’ll wash them in the tub and dry them with the blow dryer—wait, never mind. No, I won’t because the fucking electricity isn’t working again. Cammy works at a laundromat, and they let her do one load a week, but we use that for our clothes since we don’t have enough to last us longer than that.
This all makes me feel worse about going out tonight and to the bar the other night.
But if I can figure this out, if this turns into something—
I can’t get ahead of myself. Getting my hopes up will only make me feel worse later, if this doesn’t pan out.
One day at a time. That’s all I can do. And if this doesn’t work, I’ll figure something else out. We still have a few days.
“To a party with Abe,” I say, hating how I’m lying for the second time tonight. I’m not a liar, but I’m sure doing a lot of lying lately. “Did you get the med stuff straightened out?” I ask.
“No,” Cammy says with a sigh. “They told me there is nothing they can do, and the only way we will get anything is if we pay for it out of pocket.”
Chrissy adds, “I even called the doctor’s office, and thought they would be sympathetic…”
“They can’t do anything,” I add, running my hand through my hair. “How much is it?”
“About seven hundred for a month’s supply.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. That’s a lot of money. More than our rent and we can hardly afford that. But if it comes to it, Chrissy’s meds come first.
“They said they can give it to us in smaller amounts,” Chrissy adds softly.
“Don’t do that, Chrissy. Please, don’t feel guilty over this. It’s not your fault,” I say.
“If my brain would—”
“No,” I say firmly. “Stop. We will figure this out. It’ll be fine.”
“I was thinking I could take half—”
“No,” Cammy and I say firmly at the same time.
I know Chrissy feels bad, like she’s a burden, but she’s our sister and it doesn’t matter what we have to do. We will make sureshe gets that medicine. Especially since our mother couldn’t give two flying fucks. All we have is each other. All Chrissy has is us.
“The only downside to getting them in smaller amounts is they cost more,” Chrissy adds. “Which is stupid, but I guess I understand.”
“Have you seen the witch?” I ask.
“Nope,” Cammy says. “Haven’t seen her in two days.”
“I haven’t seen her in three,” Chrissy adds.
“I think it’s been a week.”