Chapter 1: Another Day, No More Dollars

I opened my eyes at the rap on my bedroom door. “Seven o’clock!” As always, bare feet dangled in my view, and my sister Lara dropped to the floor. Thump! She left quickly. The one thing you learn in our house, the speedy one gets the toilet. Everybody else, too bad. She always beat me there, damn her. Plus, she had pajamas on already for the hallway.

Me, I can’t stand those flannel things. Once she was gone, I slipped on my shorts and t-shirt, and tried to ignore the pressure to pee. I needed to wait about ten minutes for the boys. Only then would there be relief.

Four teens, two adults, one tiny bathroom. Insanity.

Lara was back, quickly de-flannelled, her bare ass pointed at my face. It’s a nice butt, I can admit, but on the other side of her there’s nothing dangling around for me to play with. Too bad.

Lara and I flash each other every day. Even with the bunk beds, there’s almost no floor space in here. The boys’ room is no better (for open space). I often fantasize about a peephole between our bedrooms.

Some days, I was crazy with pent-up frustration. I loved my sister, but I longed for some privacy. Any privacy. It didn’t do that much for relieving me, but a solo hour with my phone masturbating was (infrequently) all I had for a love life. Sometimes this way I had a quiet little come, but no biggie. Without any experiences—never been kissed!—porn didn’t take me very far. It was depressing how easily these actors were able to screw like bunnies at the drop of a hat, when I couldn’t even sit with a boy to eat lunch.

I tried not to be fixated on it, but my life just sucked. In many ways. I think I worried my dad, in those few moments (like me) he had for reflection in our never-quiet home. I did know that I was not only inhibited, but depressed, and my behavior showed this all too openly. Lara was concerned, too, although she seemed more outwardly content and self-assured than I could be.

Another knock on our door: I heard, “We’re done, E.” That’s me, short for Eve. Dan always lets me know, which I appreciate. I took teen toilet turn number four and sighed as the urine finally rushed away. Relief! The seat was down, and dry, another reason to be thanking Dan, Drew (his younger brother) invariably failed at these simple tasks, damn him. Drew had no excuse, he was on the Dean’s list for his straight A’s—just like Dan.

I took my warm and damp washcloth and wiped (in order) my face, armpits, puss, and ass; then I tossed it in the hamper. Daily showering in this overcrowded house was logistically impossible.

In our busy kitchen, I got my “buttered” toast and orange drink. We were almost out of food because our SNAP/EBT card was exhausted. No more government food money until the fourth of the month (two days away).

We moved around each other, choreographed like dancers in the restricted space. The boys’ mother, Dee, put away the bulk can of orange drink powder and rinsed the empty pitcher. Our dad, Tim, wrapped up the remaining bread. The four of us walked to the bus stop for high school, Dee and Tim took our old van to carpool to their jobs.

Aside from the involuntary dieting, this was one more regular day for our weird family. Mornings are so hectic and crowded, I don’t usually have time for introspection. That’s probably a good thing, otherwise I would be even more lonely and depressed.