The Trunk

“Watch yourself around that guy,” my sister said as we walked away from the bus.  “He is up to no good.” 

“Oh, Ryan.  He’s fine.  And harmless.  For sure.  Don’t you remember the flowers he brought to me last week?” I asked linking her arm in mine. 

“That’s because he gave you a black eye the night before.  Don’t you remember?”  Sarah pulled me closer as if she was growing colder the closer we got to our house.  We both knew our parents didn’t care one way or the other on whether or not I had a black eye.  They probably thought I deserved it. 

“I just wish you would date someone who treats you well.  Who kisses you instead of hits you.”  Sarah opened the front door to our father standing in the dark without a shirt on.  He hid something behind his back as we headed straight up the stairs and to our shared bedroom.  We had learned to not ask questions early on.  But I usually got nervous when he was home alone.   My mother usually kept the peace but had the tendency to disappear for days or weeks at a time.  We never knew where she was or when she’d be home.  Or how our father would react to anything. 

As I went to open the window to let in the cool night air, I froze.  In the dark, my father and Ryan were silently carrying a body out to the trunk of the car.  


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