A boy holds a pillow over his sister's face.
She fidgets for air beneath him, as hard as an eight-month-old can. The radio blares in the next room, a smashup of 70s hits and Barbara Armstrong is dancing, dancing, shaking her ass to the beat. He can feel her every time she jumps; the rock of her hips is seared into his muscle memory. He imagines her in her neon green spandex, menthol cigarette dangling from her spit-crusted lips and a 12-ounce bottle of vodka tight in her grasp. He knows she'll wind up spilling some in the commotion, and she'll drag him by the hair to lick it off the floor like a dog. Get him liquored up before bedtime. Brad hopes Lisa will be dead by then.
He smashes the pillow over her nose and mouth, leaning in with all his body weight. He won't know peace until she's gone, and it's by the grace of Barb looking over her shoulder that Lisa lives. She slams Brad's face into the wall and drags him into the bedroom they share, where she whips him bloody with one of Marty's belts. It ends with her wrapping it around his throat until his face turns blue—so he could feel what Lisa felt. Screams fall to silence fall to the floor beds creaking, but Lisa's asleep by then, the pillow she had to push away herself an instrument of comfort again.
That was how Lisa imagined it happened.
When her brain took to moving on its own, it was like she was frozen there in real time. Even though her brother tried to kill her then—and many times after that—it still ate her to know he was torn to ribbons just for doing the right thing. Barbara knew what she was. She should have let Brad be the hero he was supposed to be.
Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself.
On the day her life changed Lisa staggered through the dark streets of Olathe, holding on to the side of badland rock. She undid one of the ropes left to climb the mountains and began to refashion it into a noose.
Memories continued to flash in her mind. A picture of Marty Armstrong in his nicest suit, Barb running her crooked fingers over it and swooning over how sexy her man was. She insists Brad's growing up to look just like him, but Lisa doesn't agree. While Marty's eyes are perky and alert, Brad's are overcast by thick brows and dark circles. No one dead or alive can match her brother's heaviness.
Or: Brad begging Barbara to let him take karate lessons. It's the closest he ever gets to a tantrum, because why does she need him home right after school? She'll still have him all night, why can't he have this one thing? She slaps him around for his squawking, and orders Lisa to clean him up. He shoves her away when she gets too close.
Or: Lisa, feeling brave as an Armstrong, standing up to Christine Colombo and her gang when they take Ren, Kitty and Chie to task over the ball they stole. Lisa gets her head handed to her, but that's okay. Her girlfriends are worth it.
She stopped, tipping forward until her forehead touched the ground. What would her friends do without her? The four of them vowed to face the darkness together. Chie even called her their leader, once.
They don't know what you really are.
Lisa gritted her teeth, threading her fingers through the rope. Barbara heaves her sin in the back of Ms. Angonelli's truck, on all fours like a bitch in heat. The nasty freak slithers out her slit and falls on the old interior with a soft thud, slimy with cunt juice. Proof of a crime. A baby crying.
And crying. And crying. And crying. Lisa picked her head up.
The world changed when she was 17. In an instant, everything fell to darkness. The seasons froze at autumn, caught in the agony of dying without any hope of release. Their vegetation withered to rot. The sun never rose again. Barb used to joke that the world would be better without men, the perverted bastards; but The Fall caused every male—whether he was in utero or on his death bed—to disappear. No men meant no children. No children meant no future.
"Hey there, sonny," Lisa cooed, rocking the baby in her arms.
He was naked and shivering, the poor thing. She tucked him beneath her white poncho, bringing his head up to rest on her chest. His crying calmed to watery hiccups
She guessed he was a few weeks old. Practically a newborn, and already alone in the world. Hugging him close to her body, she sprinted in the direction of home, rope cast off behind her.
"Lisa… what is that?"
Ren's big blue eyes looked ready to pop out of her skull. She, Kitty and Chie were all seated around their dining room table, downing shots of moonshine to numb the hunger. Lisa didn't answer right away. She took hold of the bottle and chugged once, twice, three times until her throat couldn't handle any more. A couple of drops fell on the boy; he cooed softly. "Holy shit. Is that a baby?" Chie asked.
She cradled the back of his soft head. "Yeah…"
Kitty fell back in her seat, the wooden chair whining under her weight. "Woah… a baby?! Where did you find that?"
Lisa shrugged, holding the boy closer. "I found it lying on the ground."
"No mother?"
"Not that I could see."
"Well, you know what this means, don't you?" Chie poured herself another drink. "If someone gave birth, that means there must be a man out there! This means there's hope for humanity!"
Kitty shot up out of her seat. "Woah, this is incredible!"
Ren fiddled with her shot glass. "Do you think he's handsome?"
"Hell yeah! Bet he's hung like a horse, too." Kitty cackled, swinging her arm between her legs.
"C'mon, this is serious!" Ren turned to Lisa. "Is it a boy or a girl?"
Lisa suddenly didn't feel like talking anymore. Part of her regretted even coming home. She mumbled her response.
"Huh?"
"Boy. Boy. It's a goddamn boy."
All four women fell silent. Crows squawked in the distance. The boy drooled onto Lisa's chest.
"… we have to tell someone," Ren said. Her eyes lit up. "Oh! We could tell Reina! If we came to her with this, we'd be set for life! Everything we could ever want or need!"
Chie nodded. "That's not a bad idea. Reina's army would be better equipped for something like this."
"No."
"Wait, what do you mean 'no'?" Kitty sneered."Lisa?!"
She turned her back to the three of them. "No one can know I have him. He's a baby now, but he's going to grow up someday. The things he'll be forced to do… that isn't any sort of life for my boy."
Kitty groaned. "Jesus Christ, Lisa. It's been 5 years, but I know you haven't forgotten how men work. Getting to fuck all day long is like, every guy's wet dream."
Creaking floor boards ticking clock dance dance dance slick wet slime ugh mmmhm—
"Fuck you! We're not giving him to Reina, or anyone else!"
"So what, you want to keep him a secret your whole life? You have any idea what would happen if anyone found out?!"
"Let them try. This boy is going to stay right here with me."
"Lisa—" Ren began.
"I don't care if you want to help me or not; I'm not giving him up. This is my one chance to make things right." Lisa cradled the baby in her arms. He smiled back at her, wide and unrestricted. "Don't worry, sonny boy. I'll never let anyone hurt you."
Sonny. Yes, Sonny. It's the best I could come up with… well, it's simple. You're my son, and the one bright spot in my life. Lisa and Sonny. Sounds good to me.