Sketches of Anna: #1

Anna bent over her swollen right knee, her grave young face hidden behind a dark curtain of hair. Her skinny legs and feet were bare, and when she shifted the damage was visible. I tried not to look at the hundreds of tiny indentations, some reddened with blood where the grains had broken the skin’s surface.
I moved from the doorway before she looked up to see me; I knew my pitying look would be unwelcome.

In our room I flopped on my unmade bed and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. The early winter light outside was fading, making the room cold and dark. I looked across the room at Anna’s bed, sheets pulled across tight and neat. It could have been me in her place. But it never was and it never would be. Anna, Danny, Momma, and me, we all knew it. Anna was no worse behaved than Danny or me, not even really any clumsier. But if a glass slipped out of her hands and smashed on the floor, all hell broke loose. And if it was me or Danny who’d done it, all hell broke loose again, but Anna would still have to pick up the mess and suffer the damage.

Momma was dozing in the armchair, half emptied whiskey glass keeping her company on the side table. Momma usually returned to the living room after punishing Anna, leaving the poor girl to sweep up the grains of rice she’d been made to kneel on. Today punishment lasted just over an hour. About average. I suppose Anna could count herself lucky – if Momma had been in a worse mood, Anna could have been made to kneel on the shards of glass covering the dirty kitchen floor. It wouldn’t be the first time.