Unspeakable Things

by Jess Lourey

I knew him from one of my dad’s parties, knew him better than I wanted to.

She smiled but didn’t hug me. She’d never hugged Sephie or me, not that I could remember. But the thought of her saving cookies for me was as good as any embrace.

carried herself like she lived in the smallest corner of her body.

He wore his anger like knives, and you didn’t want them aimed at you.

There was nothing on the surface of his words, but a monster raged below.

“I was born ready for my birthday.”

We’d squash down our own feelings and experiences to create the maximum amount of space for his stories of how terrible his life was.

“You know,” Dad said, his voice too loud, “there are some cultures where all the women in a family become lovers to a single man.” He meant it as a joke, or at least we were all supposed to act like it was. When it came to the extra-creepy things he said, that was the agreement we’d had for as long as I could remember.

I felt older than her, or more whole than her, and that realization made me feel emptier than I ever had.

Dad would slurp me up whole and then spit out my bones so he could keep sucking on them, just like he was doing with Sephie.