Eviction of sorts
◊ My parents kicked my sister Linda out today. My mom, still hopped up on adrenaline when she told me about it, lost it completely and started smashing things in my sister's kitchen. She threw mixing bowls, cups, plates, and spice bottles at the floor, breaking everything she could reach. My dad, for once, didn't try to stop her.
My mom told me about it as I walked to a caf� with her. We were staying away from the house while my dad helped my sister pack a few things. "The floor's tile, so it made a great sound," she said, with the first real smile I've seen from her in weeks. "I thought about opening the cabinets and breaking everything in them, but then I thought, no." She also tried to throw a bottle of olive oil at the floor, but it was plastic, so it bounced.
On the way back from the caf�, sipping from the coffee I'd bought her with my last $2, she started laughing. "I think I broke one of my own cups! I didn't realize!" She shrugged and smiled. "Woah, it was worth it."
The mess had been incredible; she took me to the Dumpster that held some of it. She spotted my sister's painting kit and a clock that she wanted to rescue, so I swung myself over the side of the container to get them out. There was more than just broken dishes; she had asked the handyman to clean up, and he hadn't known what was worth keeping and what was junk.
"Carlos came in and he saw the mess," she told me, "and he saw the broken dishes and he said�" She widened her eyes and pointed at an imaginary kitchen disaster. "'Linda?'"
She pointed at her chest with one finger.
"No," she said gravely. "Liliane."