Mom cut my bangs,
but never too short.
She trimmed
my little sister’s, too,
but never got them
quite straight
since Janie got scared
of the barber shears
and wouldn’t sit still.
Sometimes,
Mom used a
damp washcloth
to flatten the bangs
that stuck up or
went sideways.
She said our bangs
might not be perfect,
but they covered
the pock marks
on our foreheads,
that maybe someday
the scars wouldn’t be
so deep and pink
and we’d forget
how we blistered
and scratched and
scabbed and bled,
after I brought home
chicken pox
from kindergarten.
Janie was tiny
and had got sick
real fast.
She wouldn’t play
or eat or drink,
and when her skin
turned scarlet,
Mom sponged her down
with lukewarm water
from a mixing bowl,
then gave her aspirin
with small sips
of ginger ale.
“She’ll be fine,” Mom said.
She’ll cool off now.”
But Janie grew hotter
as we sat
and watched TV.
She whimpered
and threw up.
Her eyes rolled
and spit bubbled
on her blue lips.
When she stiffened
and collapsed,
Mom wrapped
her in a thin sheet
and shouted for Dad.
An ambulance came
and men in black pants
and white shirts
took Janie away.
Mom went with her
wearing slippers
and a frayed chenille robe,
a thin cloth coat
and her pocketbook
in the crook of her arm.
“They’ll be back,” Dad said.
“Don’t worry.”
That night,
I slept on the sofa,
Dad in his La-Z-Boy,
his arms crossed
over his chest.
I woke up once
when Dad tossed
and snored,
another when
he played soft music
on the stereo
and drank beer
in the veiled twilight.
Mom and Janie
came back
the next morning
just like Dad said.
I was better,
but Janie was quiet,
her eyes dim,
her body limp.
She smelled soapy
and her skin was caked
with pink lotion.
White bandages
wrapped the insides
of her elbows,
and a plastic bracelet
dangled on one wrist
with her name
and a row of numbers.
“You two can play
later,” Mom said.
“Let’s all rest now.”
She set Janie
next to me
and we nestled
with stuffed toys.
“Pretty girls,” she said,
“Everything’s better
now. You’ll see.”
Kneeling before us,
she stroked Janie’s hair
and smoothed her bangs,
Dad standing nearby,
his hands jostling
the change in his pockets,
Mom not answering
as he asked what
he should do.
