Vanni Thach Michael comes down the stairs in his basketball shorts. “What’s going on?” She turns to her older son. “You got someone to beat him up?” Michael gives his mother a faraway stare. “You picked me up from school for this?” He pops his gum, looks at his brother, and shrugs his shoulders. Michael’s shrug is the last thing the boy remembers. He scowls, hating the feeling of helplessness building behind his eyes. He pulls out the bag of peanuts and rips it open. Peanuts scatter all over the kitchen counter and floor. As shock rises to his mother’s face, his brother’s blurry shadow runs up the stairs. The boy’s heart is racing too fast for him to hear what his mother is screaming. He loses grip on the counter and slides to the floor. His breath is short; his eyes focus on the ceiling fan. He feels his arms shaking and shadows move in and out of view. He realizes then when his father left, he took with him bits and pieces of memories and forced those left behind to live in fragments, without the means to move on. As if a breakthrough, he gasps. He sees his father—face set in a deep frown—coming toward him with a green dagger. But this time, it’s too late.
Crab Orchard Review
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