My father stood in the middle of the yard in front of me crushing the remainder of his cigarette into the snow. He reached for the red handkerchief in his back pocket and blew his nose. Birds still chirping, snow still falling. The pistol gleamed from his pants.
I felt their gaze blazing on my skin; bearing down on me; urging me to spend more time; asking me not to leave because leaving meant leaving them again to their silence; to the hushed voices that were haunting their minds and telling them what they already knew- This is not us.
Like other twelve-year olds, the emperor has a taste for the unusual. A flock of geese fly overhead. It's a common enough sight in this part of China, but these geese are harnessed to a kite the size of a rice field. Thirteen eunuchs hold up a canopy that covers the emperor's sedan chair to keep their master from being bombarded by the offal from the geese.
My brother was seeing a therapist, who apparently thought Timmy was a "baby name" and thus, impacted adversely on my brother's feelings about himself, and his ability to ever assertively confront my father.
He does this easy. Calm. He takes a minute to let the jitters pass. Crosses his arms. Stands up straight. Slow, deep breaths.
Roberta Allen (http://www.robertaallen.com) is the author of Dreaming Girl (Ellipsis, 2011), as well as the story collection Certain People (Coffee House Press, 1996), The Traveling Woman (Vehicle Editions, 1986), and a novella-in-stories, The Daughter (Autonomedia, 1992).
