Allies

In those days I had two secret sisters, invisible to the world. I kept them in my jewellery box until we were alone. Then I’d pull them out, stretching them until they were bigger than me, big enough to shield me from spitballs or get me out of the locker I’d been shoved into. I named one Billie and the other Jo.

I also had an older brother, ever-present but welcome nowhere. He tracked me like an animal at school, and at home when our parents went out, telling him, “You’re in charge of your sister,” he’d groan, then twist out a lopsided smile for me.

By the time I heard the car back out of the driveway, I was already in Mother’s closet amid the swish of satin and the scream of zippers, listening to the plop and plod of my brother’s leather boots. I imagined myself grown up and gone from the house; disappointed that wishing did not make it so.

“I don’t know why you think you can hide from me,” he said when he found me. Now would be a good time for my invisible sisters to burst in and pull him away. When they didn’t, I knew I’d be on my own forever.

“Not hiding, Billie-Jo. Playing dead,” I said.

Cheryl Snell’s books include several poetry collections and the novels of her Bombay Trilogy. Her most recent writing has appeared in MacQueen's Quinterly, Book of Matches, Your Impossible Voice, and others. Her work has also appeared in several anthologies including a Best of the Net. She has been nominated for Pushcart, Best Small Fictions, and BOTN awards nine times. A classical pianist, she lives in Maryland.