Portal House - Chapter 7
When We Should Be Sleeping
“Pomegranate, by far.”
“No, come on,” Rita argued, nearly choking on her beer. “Have you ever tasted the buttered popcorn? Worst flavor ever. You could never trick me with that one. I’d just avoid all the similar-looking ones.”
“Oh yeah? What about the caramel corn or the… uh… lemon drop?”
“Ew, and uh… gross.” I watched her nose wrinkle as she laughed. “Besides, they all have that weird grainy texture to some degree. I’d rather eat an actual pomegranate whole than play Tastebud Roulette with you again.”
I shoved her shoulder, flinching as she balled up a fist to punch me full-force in the upper arm. I wasted no time pulling the claw clip out of her Jet Set Black hair and tossing it across the room as we both cackled.
Three bangs on the bedroom door startled us both, followed by Pepper’s sleepy voice cursing us out.
“Oh, go get a C-PAP mask and shut up,” Rita shouted through the door.
Pepper opened the door, a messy blur of bright red hair popping out of their giant white blanket-hoodie. “You both work nights, just like me. Is it too much to ask to get a little sleep in the early morning hours, or does it need to come to blows?”
My older sister stood up and walked slowly to the door while I cringed underneath my hood, wishing for the power of invisibility. Or even a sinkhole.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear that last part,” Rita turned her head, “can you say it into my good ear?”
I wanted to claw my eyes out and melt into a puddle at the same time. “Rita,” I pleaded, but I knew it was pointless.
Pepper looked at me and then back to Rita. “Not like… literal blows… I just…”
“We’ll be quiet. I need to go to bed anyway,” I said, gathering dishes as I stood up from the bed.
“Okay, thank you,” Pepper said meekly toward me. They avoided Rita’s Blue-Eyed-Stare, but still had to get the last word in as they left the room. “Sleep apnea is a serious condition, you know.”
“Yup,” she responded, slamming her bedroom door behind them. “Bitch.”
I glared at my sister.
“What? Bitch is a perfectly neutral insult; we’ve been over this.”
“Why do you always have to do that?” I asked, rhetorically, shifting the load of dishes into one armful, so I could dig in my pocket. I fished out my portable charger connected to her earbuds case. “Here, I found this in the driveway when we started walking last night. Figured the case needed to charge awhile. You can keep the battery till it’s done.”
She frowned. “Thanks… I’ll talk to her, okay? To them, I mean.”
“What’s the point?” I wondered aloud beneath a sigh.
“Gary…”
I shook my head, looking down to see a brownish crust on the sleeve of my favorite hoodie. My eyes stung with the memory of Mom handing it to me after cutting all the hidden, itchy tags out of the seams.
“Just try to be nicer. You don’t have to be their friend, but you can be nice.”
I went to deposit the dishes into the murky, cold sink water from the night before. A small part of me wanted to just get all the dishes washed and out of the way. A much bigger part of me remembered that every time I stood in that spot, a dark, towering feeling came over me like it was breathing down my neck. It was a similar feeling to when my dad would watch me silently, arms folded, as I loaded the dishwasher incorrectly. This feeling was more menacing, though, and far less judgmental.
I gazed out the kitchen window. As soon as I saw the pink sunrise peeking between the trees in the yard, my body started slowing down for bedtime.
I laughed to myself, saying aloud to no one, “We’re all nocturnal.”
To Be Continued…