PATRICIA DUCEY writes fiction, essays, and screenplays and is a regular contributor at Solpix of WebdelSol.Com. Her flash fiction and essays can be found at the-phone-book, VestalReview and Mississippi Review. She earned an MA in Critical Studies (film) from Chapman University, wrote her thesis on Irish film after happily researching the subject in Galway, Dublin and London.
                                                                    dad's home

Dad's home, Dad's home.

The car pulls up. It's 3:30.

My sister looks at me.

"Go tell Bubba," I say.

I'm the oldest.

We call him Bubba because our baby sister can't say "brother."

Bubba is 'number one son', but he doesn't like sports. He does like movies, but Dad says movies are for girls. "You're a damn girl," he yells after his booze.



My sister and Bubba come back, on tippy-toes.

It's only 3:30.

Why is he home?

My sister and Bubba are sitting near the door waiting to hear him.

Then my mother yells upstairs, "Whose turn to set the table?"

My sister looks scared.

My mother's face has marks of tears on it.

My sister doesn't want to go. She didn't do anything, did she?

I wipe off a mark on my leg where my fingernails dug in.

It's her turn to go, so I send her downstairs.

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© 2004 Patricia Ducey