Untitled - ScholarWorks Home - California State University, Northridge

to attend.
"I'm right here."
"I've finished!"
I bite. "Finished what?"
'"What it Means to be a Christian Wife,' by Mrs. Charity Tucker." She
flails one arm up in the air. It looks like a long flat gooey balloon.
"Great. Does she get laid?"
She snorts and rolls onto her belly. She props herself up onto her
elbows. I think this display is not for comfort, for how can it be comfortable,
but more to show me that she can do it. "An angel named Tucker comes to
town and rejuvenates her spirits, and marries her." She lets her eyes roll round
a couple of times and then closes them tight like she's reliving some Danielle
Steele moment. She licks her lips and sighs, girly and long.
pukey."
"And he doesn't see or speak to her for six months," I say. "Sounds
"You're in it and so is mom! You're the younger asshole brother who
tries to thwart all that is good in the world."
I join her on the bed. There's ample room for me even though her
weight is creeping back up. I try not to think about what that might mean.
She's cloaked in layers of loose skin but wears tighter clothes, I presume, to
keep from drowning in her own flesh.
"I think mom's drunk," I say as I plump at one of her old pillows and
jam it under the small of my back.
"No way," she hisses. "She's got a cold. It's Nyquil," she says, rocking
on her elbows. "You're such a pessimist."
"At least she's awake," I say, with what I think sounds like optimism.
That night I try to sleep but can't. My stupid fat sister is breathing bet­
ter. The Mississippi holds are not so long. I can hear her long wet snores
through our wall. I flip on the television. It's 4:00AM. Back to back vignettes
of my sister's wedding are being shown on Tucker's infomercial. Her hair is
slicked back and a braided crown alights the top of her head. She's swathed
head to toe in canary yellow. She turns her face toward the camera and smiles.
Oxygen tubes connected to nothing poke out of her nose. A dramatic, meaning­
less display. I snort. Tucker, naked above the waist except for a white bow tie,
jogs down the aisle toward his beaming bride high-fiving the phony guests as
he goes. He kisses my sister 's swollen cheek and then turns toward the camera
and shouts, "How bad do you want it?" I don't laugh at Tucker as I normally
would. I'm caught off guard by a glimpse of my mother. She's standing next to
45