Big Bad

by Chandler Baker

The men around the table take a long time getting to their feet. They’re old, some born that way, some having grown into it properly. Rachel imagines moths chewing up their crotches.

“Right. I understand.” This is not good news, and it somehow doesn’t help that it’s the news she’s been expecting.

The worst part about being an older sister is the sinking feeling that everything is always somehow her fault.

In the family room, Rachel and Odie kneel together on the rug, a wooden mancala board on the coffee table between them. “Your turn,” Rachel prompts. “Remember your strategy.” She points to a single shiny stone on Odie’s side, but Odie can’t resist the allure of the biggest pile at the end. She scoops the flat marbles up and doles them out one by one, landing nowhere useful. “That’s okay. You still cleared a place.”

When your body is in crisis, time slows. Sam remembers hearing once that this phenomenon actually occurs because the brain takes more snapshots during a crisis, clicking like a camera, gathering information, anything that might be useful, anything to save itself.