Losing Game

I mean, she’s still here, still living on Two Willow Lane, only one block away from me.

But she’s not there, not really. Not since her mother was nifteres when we were in eighth grade. I remember every detail of that day, where I was, what I was doing, where I was sitting.

Ma had just served meatballs and spaghetti for dinner, and Moishy was getting sauce everywhere, and I was not amused. I had just told him that he was a slob, and Ma had just told me not to call my brother a slob, and I had snapped at her, and she had snapped at me, and I was feeling that overwhelming sense of “Life is sooo unfair,” and then Kaila had called me. I hopped up to answer the phone, with Ma calling in the background that We eat as a family, and please tell whoever it is to call back.

“Miri? It’s Kaila. My mother was nifteres.”