Cherries and Bitters

We squeeze together, laughing and afraid, just like we used to on carnival rides. Me, bracing myself, head tucked onto your heart.  You, arms up, head back, screaming with delight.

We’d come off the ride, you rubbing your neck, me, grateful not to have to tell my parents I died. We would giggle and kid each other about the overpriced photos we could never afford to buy. 

But sometimes, like when there was a knock at the door, it was you who would cower and me that would open to anything.

That's not your fault. You grew up thinking they were coming to take Mom to the padded room again.  You grew up thinking that there would be uniforms at the door, telling you, as the man of the house, that your little brother’s escapades went too far, and to this day, though he doesn’t know this, you still think you’ll be bailing him out or IDing his corpse.

I grew up believing that I would always be warm and safe and loved as long as I stayed in my lane; as long as I was a good girl.  As long as I lived as my parents had.  I wasn't even allowed to ride roller coasters. 

Thank you for making me a bad girl. 

You had become increasingly agitated lately — like a puppy, really — when there was any activity near the door — even when it’s just Amazon, or a watch part from eBay needing your signature.  So, I didn't think anything of it last night when I flung open the door with the fresh cocktail you had just made me in hand.  The glass shattered when the FBI agents told me why they were there.  They didn't give you time to gather anything, no time to clean up… I find it sweetly ironic that our threshold is still covered with bitters and cherries.  

They also told me not to come - forbade me, actually. Truth be told, I was shocked to hear those packages contained anything other than springs, bezels, or crystals.  

But we had promised each other “for better or worse.”  So, there was no choice, no question.  I told them I was a bad girl; part of the scheme.  We shared your drink as we tiptoed over the broken glass in the doorway, and, once again, we ended up in a car, squeezed together, laughing and afraid.