The A Girls Archive

A journey is not epic unless the travelers are heroes.

Alice, the eldest, has not yet decided which college she will honor with her unmarred grade point and painfully groomed, terribly proper presence. Her one true love is a young man named Bill, and one day they will marry and produce children. Alice knows their names already though Bill will not propose for several months as planned. Currently, she is insanely far out of her expected element and in a denial so deep that she may unbutton her shirt one button too many.

Alma, the middle child, should still be in high school and has made sure that the attendance records do reflect that even though she has been sitting in courses on topics of her choosing elsewhere. The range of these topics have seen her in the company of gas station sages, college professors, barmaids, a small militia made up of veterans, and her boyfriend Mark’s posse of self proclaimed geeks who call themselves The Kings of 3 AM to name a few.  She’s usually well planned and subtle but has been overcome by the lust for new gadgetry.

April is the baby and she pronounces that “babay” when she’s brazenly flirting with whichever guy wins and keeps her affection. So far the longest a man has kept her full attention has been two weeks and she cannot remember his name. She was married once in a fit of hormonal rebellion but insists that marriage takes work and practice. Practice that she is usually ready to perform and does so very well. The reputation that precedes her withers in comparison to the reputation she leaves behind.  On a normal day she’s proud of herself. On a chaotic day, she’s blissful. Right now though, she is so appalled at the language being used by someone who is not herself that she has been struck dumb.

Agatha is the mother of three daughters. Though having sons was still the more favorable mode of family planning when they were born, her husband, the father, joyously named his daughters in honor of his wife by choosing their A names. Agatha survived a decade of sock hops and another of hippie shakes and still another of disco dancing and not without a few hidden stories and talents of her own. She has a tattoo that reads “Wild Child” on her lower back that only the father has ever seen as he is the one who put it there. At the moment her attempts at bonding with her nearly grown daughters has lead her to naming, the abdication of the mother role and not a little bit of peril.

And now, back to A Girls’ Escape: Part Three.

“Get in the damn car.” Neither the Mother’s use of profanity nor the fact that the wagon’s front end had come to a rapid stop in the middle of the sidewalk peaked Alma’s curiosity about the proffered ride. Far from the case. However, just as she was mid pivot toward the back alley – back yard route, she saw April in the back seat painting her toenails.

“Where are we going? And if you get that stuff on me I will light you on fire, April.” Alma asked and threatened while opening the front passenger door.

“Shut the door. Shut your mouth. And count my money.” The mother tossed her purse in Alma’s lap taking some amusement in the slackness of her sweet smart alec’s jaw.

“I want to hear numbers! Big numbers!” April shouted as the wagon sped off toward their home. Ignoring April, Alma stayed quiet and dug through the mother’s wallet looking behind every picture for hidden twenty dollar bills. She’d found four by the time they pulled in the driveway.

“Get in the damn car, Alice.” The mother’s second use of the phrase had less of a trying-to-scare- the-pee-out-of-you tone to it, and Alma chuckled a little to see Alice’s terrified expression.

“Now! You tighter than tight, stingy piece of perfect princess prickly ass b…”

“Do not make me take off my shoe.” The mother stopped April’s tirade with the only threat she was ever known to make good on: The back seat shoe stinger. The mother’s near perfect aim and the unreasonable amount of speed she could get on a shoe toss at close range was legendary. April became silent and went back to painting her toes.

Alice quietly got into the back seat sitting as far away from her sisters as possible. “Doesn’t this wagon have a trundle seat thingy in the back? Can’t April sit back there? She has wet nail polish out!” Alice whined through the sound of the car kicking up gravel.

“Okay, we’re at two hundred bucks in hidden twenties.” Alma finally broke the monotony of the road noise on the westbound highway. “Look in the zipper pocket inside the purse and then look in the gold lipstick tubes that I know each of you has on you right now. And then check behind the dog’s picture.”

“Seriously, Max gets a c-note and we all get twenties. So bs.” Alma noted finding a hundred dollar bill behind the picture of their deceased family pet, and all three girls shifted around in their seats to find their lipstick funds. Alice passed her tube to Alma politely but April threw hers at the back of Alma’s head. “Fire. I will light you on fire, April.” Alma growled gathering the tubes in her lap.

“Do not test her further, infidel.” Alice chimed in and there came so pregnant a silence in response to Alice’s being the unlikely first to find a sense of humor that when April laughed, snot flew from her nose onto a drying toenail.

“We are going to the beach. We’re going to have a great time and when we get home you are going to tell the father how great the beach was and how much we all love each other. In detail.” The mother said this as she took the off ramp that did not lead to any beach access roads. The laughing became louder.

“I can completely understand why you only have ten dollars in your fund, April. Those whiles and all, but what I cannot understand is why you, Alice, would only have a fiver! You know better than that.” Alma shouted back to her sisters over the sound of the engine.

“And yours?” The mother asked.

“Oh she got seventy six in there. It’s tighter’n she is.  There’s a few i.o.u’s too. And one’s from .” April stopped mid sentence realizing she’d given herself away.

“I HAD a full hundred in here, skank thief.” Alma sighed.

“Why would she steal a skank?” Alice asked.

“So she wouldn’t be lonely.” The mother added the punchline and April was too pleased at the mother’s change in demeanor to be upset that the low blow, strictly reserved for the inner circle, had been delivered by one she considered far too old to be cool.

“We have a little under four fifty in total. Now where are we going and should I remind you that I have memorized not only the police, fire and news tip lines for the two county area, but that I am also on a first name basis with the main secretary at children’s services?” Alma in a sudden fit of calm said to the wind shield, refusing to be intimidated by the new changed and revved-up mother.

“Frieda! I love Frieda! We were having a smoke at the foot ball game last week and … shit. Hey, can we call some kind of stand still on punishments on this beach trip cause if not, I can’t tell you like three quarters of the shit. Shit. Can we swear too? I need some negotiating room here.”

“I got six traffic laws and one giant lie to the father in my pocket. What about you Alice?” Alma began the negotiations with a full on three daughter press. “I have two empty bottles of Riunite Lambrusco shoved in the outside trash at 3 AM last weekend,” Alice sang forward into her mother’s ear.

“Yes, Alice, and the effects of that wine have not worn off, nor are they likely to in the event that this beach trip is outed.” The mother countered.

“What? Are you still drunk?!” Alice screamed and April punched her. “No. She’s saying that the father got his good’n plenty going due to her being all buzzy like a bee back then. Or is it a bird? Are girls the birds and guys the bees? Is that why I heard an England guy saying “bird” to a woman on the channel that shows boobs?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Who the hell is this Frieda?” The mother asked all of her daughters.

Road noise being the only reply, mother made out her accord carefully. “Fine. You will all be given immunity from prosecution for the duration of this trip except in instances where life or limb could be at stake.”

“Aw shit then. I still can’t talk and I know for a fact Alma can’t.” April said.

“That is most certainly true. Alma is classified as a potential event crises by police in town.” Alice added.

“And your Bill’s violent protection has not escaped their interest either, Alice. He can get  pretty raw if someone messes with you.” Alma noted.

“Yeah, we’re all pretty set on the trigger, so you’re going to have to come up with better than some life and or limb bullshit.” April concluded displaying both palms punctuate their collective bottom line.

“So I am to assume that the only way we will be able to have a discussion is to wholly abdicate my role as your mother?” The mother asked.

Alice, primly, Alma gruffly and April full on head waggy nodded the affirmative.

“Hot damn. Buckle in bitches. We’re going to Disneyland!” The mother hollered as she pressed the accelerator.

April leaned over to ask Alice, “Isn’t Disneyland like a gabillion miles away?” Alice rolled up her window and patted her hair into place, “I’m going to go with metaphor on this one.” Both girls looked to Alma who, though there was no possibility she could have heard the conversation over the revving engine, shouted, “Yep! Metaphor!”

“You need to talk to someone.” Alice gave her recommendation to April with a thunk to the back of April’s bobbing head.

“I can’t hear your nonsense!” April hollered to the world and pointed at the head phones partially askew on her ears.

Alice stopped in her tracks ready to head the two steps back to April to exhibit very unladylike behavior. Alma, slyly peering up from a comic book, noted how Alice’s hands were clenched into fists. “Alice, if you hit her with a fist like that you will break your thumb. Your thumb goes on the outside of the fingers, not against the palm of your hand.”

“Of course you would know, Alma. Isn’t that a wonderful thing to know? How to punch someone. How to be violent.” Alice, like herself but amplified, stared a hole into Alma’s forehead.

“Well, Alice, to be honest it has come in handy and not a few times in your defense. So knock it off. What’s your problem?” Alma shut her comic book making it clear that the last question was an offer as well as a rebuke.

“She needs help. She’s out of control.” Alice raised her voice answering Alma but directing her volume at the back of April’s head.

“Do you have a specific reason why or is it the usual? Really Alice, I need details if I am going to help in any way.”

At that Alice stomped from the room yelling after her, “Who asked you for your help?! You’d just make things worse!”

Alma eased out of her chair and sat down on the floor next to a head bobbing April. “I see you have borrowed her shoes. I assume without asking, but that’s not enough to question your mental state is it? I mean they are pretty ugly but come on.”

April ignored the invitation to commiserate and began to hum and move her shoulders to a beat.

“What is up with you two? Wait. Why do I care?” Alma pressed her hands against the floor ready to give up and then she noticed the floor. More precisely she noticed the lack of anything on the floor.

“April, those headphones aren’t connected to anything?” Alma asked and was ignored. April kept on humming. As Alma stood trying to suss out what was going on and trying to figure out why she was even interested, the mother yelled down from the top of the stairs, “April! Get you butt up here this minute!”

April ignored the demand and began to sway to what seemed like it may have been a jazz or blues tune.

“She is not listening to anything!” Alma answered for April with unintended rebellion.

A furious thumping grew more imperative as it came closer. The mother appeared over the banister to the living room where two of her daughters were bobbing their heads. ‘What the… April! Where is all of my make up? What have you done? Answer me!”

April, without looking over to the mother threw the headphones to the ground and made a run for the door. Alma instinctively put a foot out.

“Sorry Ape. Habit.” She held a hand out to her sister who had fallen and lay splayed face down on the carpet. “Screw you, Alma!” April cried and real tears started to come from her. Alma could tell they were real because April’s face had turned berry red.

“Okay. I have no idea what is going on here, but I am out of this. It’s an every day disaster with you people.” Alma slapped her hands to her thighs and walked outside to sit on the front steps and look at ants.

Alice, who’d taken up residence for toe examination on the far east end of the porch sighed loudly.

“I’m not going to ask, so you can stop your sighing.” Alma said.

“She’s crazy. She almost got me fired. There are four girls coming over to beat her up and she has two bottles of vodka in her closet. And a funnel.” Alice continued her toe examination and began to push the cuticles back from the nails.

Alma turning to see Alice noted, “So is it just me or is toe picking in public just about the grossest thing a person can do?”

“She stole three pounds of fudge and smeared it all over my boss’ son’s car. She threw a jumbo cherry slush at the witches who always push that stroller around town. And she broke stuff. Stuff she can’t hope to repay. I don’t know if my boss called the police or not. He just asked me to leave for the day and take care of her.” Alice stopped picking at her toes and began to cry, “Why are all of my sisters so embarrassing? What did I do to deserve this?”

“You know his name?” Alma began ticking off a list of the usual suspects in her head.

“No boy this time. She’s just nuts.” Alice whined and threw her hands down to her sides.

Alma pushed herself up and brushed off her back side making ready to investigate but the mother stood in the doorway. Then she turned silently back to the living room and shut the door. “I suppose I am to assume there will be no closure.” Alma said.

“Who cares about your closure. I don’t. You can stop talking to me now.” Alice replied.

“I was talking to myself. Better company.” Alma shot back and made her way down the front steps from the porch.

“I’m glad you like it. Knowing you, it’s all you’ll have for a very long time.” Alice said it just loud enough to make Alma quicken her pace to the sidewalk.

In four separate places a single thought merged in the wind, “I have got to get out of this place.”

“That guy. The one over there in the red shirt. He’s been in here every day this week.” Alma noted and deliberately looked away from the man.

“What are you? A spy? Point to him, Ugly, or I will ignore you.” April said through an lemon pound cake binge.

“Over there,” Alma tilted her head. “But he could be a grape for all that matters. The point is that he’s shown up here all week. Taken up residence at the best table for prospective cute guys to gather within easy eyeshot.”

“The freak.” Alice said this loud enough for the man in the red shirt to hear and waited for him to look up at her rudeness. “No reaction. If he’s not even fun to play with, then I see no advantage to his continued presence.”

“You are so easy. And I do not mean that in a sexual way. Well, not only in a sexual way. Tramp.” Alma slid a notepad over for April to read, but before she could focus, Alice appeared table side and, like a good chaperone, took the note pad.

Nodding, Alice finished reading the plan and returned it to April’s hand in a dual purpose gesture to conclude April’s display of her middle finger as well as to get her up to speed with the plan itself.  “It’ll work. Still, Alma, resorting to something as simple as fart spray is a little disappointing coming from you.”

“It is beautiful in its simplicity. There’s a can in the emergency kit at home. How long will it take you to get there and back?” Alma asked April who had just finished reading the plan.  April responded coyly, “Don’t know. If I get stopped by the mother or the father, it’ll be hard to explain why I am heading back to a coffee shop I just left. See, they know I’m broke and questions, questions…”

“It would take less time if you just put your hand out to take the money.” Alma said.

“I’ll chip in five bucks. Bill and I are experiencing a cooling phase and I need to make him jealous.” Alice seldom admitted her machinations and even more seldom addressed anything so dirty as money. This uncharacteristic coupling made Alma’s plan seem an immediate priority. April took the five dollars and stood to leave.

“Two spritzes when you come back in and pass him. I’ll do a couple on my way to the bathroom after.” Alma instructed before April walked to the door.

Alice sat down in the vacant seat and tilted her head with curiosity. “Why didn’t she wait to get money from you too?”

“Alice, everyone knows you and Bill are fighting. Guys are going to be lined up for you to use at that table.” Alma explained.

“I see. April certainly is confident in her ability to usurp the spotlight isn’t she?” Alice said.

“You say ‘usurp’ like it’s a bad thing. And anyway, the accurate word is ‘exploit’. Want to bet on the length of her skirt when she returns? My money is on micro mini.” Alma resumed reading her magazine but stopped briefly to look at the man in the red shirt. “You know, if there was some cool graphic on that shirt or if he had some weird tick or even a grubby side kick, he’d be worth keeping.”

“Says you, Scary. Cute guys trump social oddity every time.” Alice asserted.

“I have been called Ugly and Scary in less than twenty minutes and my chosen role as a social oddity has been disparaged. If you are not immediately more careful, I may have to go over there and make a friend. Do not make me talk to the red shirted man, Alice.” Alma raised an eyebrow that seemed to lift Alice’s side of the table.

“Oh Alma, the last thing I want is for you to make that man your personal cause du jour. By the way, how are we going to make this stick? He’s been sitting there every day this week.”

“You have noticed how the guys around here behave when April decides to look at them, right? Now say ‘oh’ again. It’ll make me happy.” Alma instructed.

Alice envisioned several eager young men after drinking espresso, “Oh.”

“I’d say we’ll have at least a week before there’ll be any need to repeat the odor strategy.” Alma guessed.

“If you’re right about the micro mini, I’d say that estimate is on the conservative side.” Alice corrected. “Let’s not share that with April. She already thinks it.”

“There you go with that imprecise word choice again. Switch out ‘thinks’ for ‘knows’ and you’d be accurate and ironic.” Alma added.

“How long has she been gone?” Alice asked.

Alma, consulting a stop watch in her purse, replied, “If she takes longer than fifteen more minutes, you’ll get your five back.”

“Remind me never to wager with you when I do not know all of the circumstances.” Alice grumbled.

“No. I will not reiterate information that you should have acquired thirteen years ago.” Alma smiled waving at April as she entered the coffee shop in a red micro mini skirt and then stretched her hand out and over to Alice for her winnings.

The light wafting of fart followed April as she arrived back at the table, “Like the color? It’s an homage.”

“The school called. Where have you been?” The mother was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her second daughter to return.

“Really? What did the school want? I was at the park. Met a new kid in town. His family just moved here. He’s adorable.” Alma tossed her body into a chair across from her mother and reluctantly their eyes finally met and unglazed.

“You know good and well what they wanted. You know I loathe that man. Why do you have to get in trouble when your principal is the biggest jackass in town? Do you get some pleasure out of making me have to see that man? What did I ever do to you that was so horrible?” The mother had risen from her chair to retrieve a plate of food from the oven. She sat the plate in front of her daughter and waited for a response.

Alma, looking at the plate decided not to go for the obvious bad cooking joke this time, “I spoke the truth only. Mr. McMutron is mildly retarded in his leadership capabilities. An observation of his decision making and performance bears that out.”

The mother unconsciously nodded as her youngest daughter, April, entered the kitchen. “I heard that. Murty Murt is totally without clues in this world. I feel bad for him and his really bald head.”

“Well, Alma. You must come with me to the principal’s office tomorrow at noon. There you will explain yourself and take whatever punishment is reasonable.” The mother clapped her hands toghether and left the room to resume her reading.

“He’s going to ask you if you want to be paddled or if you want a detention. I heard that is what all the kids get when their parents have to come too. Total perv.” April took a seat next to her sister curious to see if any sign of nervousness would dawn upon the wily one.

“Did you meet Presto? I saw him at the park.” Alma toyed with her food cautiously.

April bobbed her head and drank orange soda, “No. But I heard of him. His family just got here. He’s got a sister too. Your age I hear. Shoud see her in school tomorrow.”

“I know. I asked Presto to tell her to meet me at the office tomorrow so I could introduce her around and show her the ropes.” Alma took one tentative bite.

Alice, the oldest and an inveterate eavesdropper, stood behind her sisters. “Take the paddle. I will be so embarrassed if you are seen sitting in detention. Unseemly especially with a new student in town.”

April was young but had caught on very quickly and orange bubbles of soda came out of her nose as she laughed, “What did you pay Presto to get her to meet you at noon?! And how did you know?!”

Alma had stopped rolling her eyes in the second grade due to migraines so she stared blanky at the table, “I checked with his secretary before I left today. And I need a pair of your underwear.”

It was Alice’s turn to guffaw, “That could be difficult. From all accounts I hear April is running short on those.” She paused and tilted her head, “What could a little boy want with April’s legendary knickers?”

“Some magicians pull a rabbit out of a hat, but that isn’t going to fill the benches at a quarter a pop. Presto knows a good draw when he hears one. I like that kid. He is going to fit right in.”  Alma finally smiled as she made her proclamation to add another conspirator to their ongoing cabal.

April wiped her nose, “He’s in then. Okay, I will get him the red striped ones. That ought to bring a lucrative second showing. Are we in for a cut of this?”

Alice hushed her with a hand, “Shh, April. You never know when a magician could come in handy. Alma, is Presto available for parties?”

“I suspect he will be if April’s drawers can pull in a tenner.” Alma guessed.

“You must be joking. I will pay you a tenner if he doesn’t make twenty after the second show.” April challenged.

“It’s on.” Alma and Alice answered her at once.

April stretched her arms and looked quite satisfied, “Oh ye of little action.”

“Girls!? Where are all the spoons? And the cheese grater!? Girls?” The mother making her way to the open back door had her confusion doubled when she got there. “What is going on?! Who died? WHAT died?!”

From their positions in front of ten small dirt mounds in the back yard grass, one tall head and three tiny ones turned to her at once. “Do you mind? This is a solemn occasion” Snubbed Alice through her makeshift black veil. “Yeah! Show some respect!” April chimed in and gruffly turned back to face the mounds. Her sisters and most remarkably, the father, all turned their heads back as well. The services continued as the mother quietly stood, arms folded, and waited on the back porch.

Alma spoke to the mounds in the mourners united voice: “We are gathered here . . . and one over there on the porch too, but she doesn’t know it and is being rude, to honor and commemorate the passing of these kitchen utensils. May they rest in peace. Or peaces. It could be plural and then it would be like a funny pun too. Pieces and peaces. You get it? Okay. Amen.”

The foursome turned to the house and began to walk heavily toward it. “You didn’t deliver that joke very well. No solid punchline.” Alice criticized and April agreed, “When you try to be funny I get sleepy.” The Father put a hand out and stopped his daughters with one motion, “Girls. Have you forgotten why we came here? This is a funeral.” The three black clad bowling pins stood still, heads lowered as the father went inside followed quickly by the mother.

“I thought I had it all figured out until I saw you had joined them. Why did you get out of bed and into your good suit to mourn over what are apparently all of my cooking tools? And if you think I want to hear a joke about my cooking, you have another think coming.” The mother plopped down on the bed while the father returned to his night clothes.

“What did you make for old Ed’s funeral reception?” Questioned the father.

“Potato salad. Why?” The mother looked at him intently waiting for the joke.

“And you make something for every funeral reception. That’s nice but it’s been a busy year. How many potato salads have you had to make?”

“Five. Oh. I see. Five. They think . . . nope. I still don’t understand.”

The father sighed and explained, “They really liked old Ed. The other funerals we’ve gone to were for people the girls did not know. Ed used to give them pennies to throw into the wishing pond at the church park. He did that for all the kids but I guess we adults never caught wind of it. So without our knowing, our girls have experience death for the first time. But true to form they did not shed a tear but went searching for the killer. Alma wasn’t buying the heart attack story she read in the obituary. They came to the conclusion that right after each time you make potato salad, we have to go to a funeral like Ed’s. Apparently generosity won the day and they decided that you were innocent but that your utensils needed to learn a lesson about being dead. I made sure they kept them all wrapped and they can dig them up later. No harm done.”

“Oh. Okay then. What did they say when they woke you?” The mother asked clearing up one last question mark.

“April pulled up my eye lids and Alma said that you were a murderer. Alice nodded behind her so I thought I better check things out. After a bit of talking, they concluded that I would never marry a death dealer.” The father trying very hard not to smile got under covers and asked the mother, “Could you turn the light out on your way down?”

The mother headed back downstairs where the girls were still mumbling in the lawn.

“Her shoes were much shinier. And she had a matching purse and a bracelet.” April noted gravely examining Alma’s shoes. “No. You will not do like this. We may have to have a do over. Your socks are inside out and your hair is a mess.” Alma’s brows creased with anger, and just in time Alice jumped in, “Shhh you two. The mother is watching.” All three girls resumed staring at their feet and walked past their mother into the house. April being the smallest took the longest to climb the stairs. She stopped to face the mother. Looking up to make eye contact, April confided, “You know the only problem with the fashion at funerals is the lack of color. They’ve got the accessories down well.”

The mother raised a single eyebrow, “I thought you were all sad about Ed’s dying?”

April put a finger to the air as if to add something and turned running up to her bedroom. Pausing briefly at the head of the stairs she called one last observation down to the mother, “Now if jeans and t-shirts were good for funerals we would not have to change right now! You see my point?!”

“When are we going to take action? I need a game plan. Alice? You have any ideas?” Alma yanked at the hem of her skirt and examined her fingernails while Alice looked at clouds.

“Why do we have to do anything? She got herself into this mess. Let her get herself out.”

Alma pounded the grass next to Alice’s head, “We cannot let our sister endure such a blemish on her character. It is unseemly and it will not go unaddressed.”

“Listen, all he did was call her a slut. And he’s kind of got a point. She kissed all those boys. You saw her. I saw her. What can you say about a girl who does that when a perfect gentleman who is smitten with her is watching?” Alice did not move during her comments except to brush a string of golden hair from her brow.

“I realize that. But if he were a perfect gentleman he would have waited to rebuke her until they were alone. Am I going to have to do this myself?”

Alice sighed and finally sat up. The milky sun blended down into their presence as if it were a garnish and accessory on their day. “Fine. We’ll go to his house and demand a retraction. He’s a moron anyway.” She looked to Alma who smiled at her knowingly.

“Take rocks,” chimed in April who had not moved and lay spread eagle face down in the thick grass.
“Of course, what are we? Amateurs?” Alma hoisted herself and offered a hand to Alice who beat leaves of grass from her behind. “See you in twenty.”

April’s muffled shout followed her two sisters as they began their march, “I want to hear crashes! Plate glass crashes!”

“Where are my keys! You girls are always moving my things!” The mother frantically roamed the tossing up paper and coloring books.

“I didn’t move them,” Alice offered but did not get up from watching cartoons to help.

“What about you Alma? Have you seen my keys?” The mother snapped sharply at the most likely girl. “Uhm, no. I don’t drive. I am not allowed remember. Only eight over here.”

April came in the back door covered in mud. Trying to be helpful and avoid a smart alec backhand Alma asked her, “Have you seen the mother’s keys?”

April said, “I don’t know where the bloody keys went.” A tiny pause of assimilation fell into the room and all looked to the tv as if to credit it for April’s European cursing.

The mother went out of the room and Alma, not convinced that Sesame Street had taught April a darned thing much less how to curse like a Britain, probed further, “Where are her keys, April?”

Still tiny but already filling a void, April said, “I threw them at Joe Joe and when they hit his face his nose got ‘em all bloody and they fell down the sewer. I don’t know where they went after that.”

“Oh. That makes more sense.” Alma nodded satisfied at her predictive accuracy and moved over on the couch so that April could watch cartoons too. “Probably should keep that to yourself from here on out okay?”

April looked at Alma and then at Alice to be sure. Alice did not remove her eyes from the cartoons as she lifted a finger to her lips and shushed in agreement.

“I will not sit next to you Alma. You told them you kissed a girl.” Alice’s intolerance would have been shocking were she not excruciatingly complicated so Alma took a sip of her Pepsi before asking, “What have you got against gay girls?”

“Nothing. You aren’t gay. You are a liar. I have qualms with your lying.” Alice’s back was stiff and the waitress asked if she needed more tea even though her glass was full.

“I had to lie. Those people were being homophobic buttwipes. I had to put them in their place.” Alma took another sip of her Pepsi and noticed that April’s head was bouncing a little on her forearms. “What is up with you now?”

April raised her face from the other side of the booth and slurred out her words between sloppy giggles, “I just realized that the most interesting thing about your life is that lie you told. Why couldn’t you be a lebanese? You would be so much cooler that way.”

“Kiss my ass April.” Was out of Alma’s mouth before either of them realized that Alice was pert near at her breaking point.

“I have had just about enough out of both of you. Why do you two always have to get vulgar?” Alice’s hands now matched her back and the stiffness was tempting to spread across the booth to April.

“Vagina.” April said it fast but pronounced it plainly as a verbal shield against propriety.

“What did you say?”Alma took on Alice’s tone.

“I said, vah jie nah.” April and Alice looked each other and it seemed quite like high noon in the diner.

The waitress brought their food and reluctantly the sparring partners looked to their fries. Peacemaking Alma contributed her culinary expertise, “These fries are the best aren’t they?”

Both Alice and April rolled their eyes at her. Alma stuffed a fry into her mouth and spoke while chewing, “Sssssssalty.” She smiled wide and both her sisters threw food at the common foe.

The mother hung up the phone and screamed her normal line up cry, “Girls! Get down here!” She waited and then screamed, “Right this minute!” After thirty more seconds passed without noise she added, “I will ground your butts!”

The girls lined up ready for any number of things. The mother, exasperated and confused, slumped into a desk chair and plead, “Why did you three pee on Mr. Hoagard’s porch rug? What could you have been thinking?”

Alma immediately asked in response, “Why should he get special treatment?”

April chuckled at that and added, “Cause he a fucked up bastard that’s why. He was askin for it! Do it again in a heartbeat muthas!” And she raised both arms to the ceiling as if she were at a rock concert.

A quiet came across the room as Alice began to shake and cry. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to do it. I don’t know what’s wrong!”

The mother looked at Alice and was as disconcerted as the sisters at this stoic girl’s collapse. Alma shifted her feet and admitted, “It’s that medicine you gave her. Since she’s been taking it she has to pee more.”

Alice snapped her head to stare a hole into Alma, “What the hell? You keep track of when I pee? Sicko!”

The mother grabbed the prescription and read the bottle. “Yeah. I guess that is a diuretic. Wow. Sorry Alice. I didn’t realize. Your little body just gave out on you! Oh poor girl! That had to be embarrassing.”

April had been looking at Alma since the term “sicko” had been stapled to her, “You notice all that shit don’t you?”

Alma sighed heavily, “Yeah. It sucks.”

“How long were you gonna let her pee like that?” April asked starting to laugh and Alice began to ball a fist hearing the question.

“I didn’t know it was that bad. Do you think I’d sympathy piss on a rug for kicks?”

April shrugged, “I did.”

The mother stood and walked across the room to look out of a window and think. “You are so ready to fight each other but when something hurts one, you pull together like magnets. You are weird children but you are right, he is a real ass. I cannot believe I am saying this but girls please do not pee on people’s rugs anymore.”

The mother went out of the room and April, building a case for squatters’ rights with profanity, whispered to Alma, “I totally got an F-word for free outta this. You catch that? Keep track of that for me will ya?”