When I was five

When I was five, I found my little sister in a frothy heap on the floor. Her eyes had wiped themselves blank. Her lips were emitting a steady stream of small bubbles. Her face was slick with wetness. She looked like she was keeping a secret from me, which I did not like.

An ambulance came and scooped up my sister’s nonresponsive body and deposited her at the local hospital, where my parents stood watch over her bed, day and night, like a pair of frozen gargoyles.

After that night, my parents sent me to live with the neighbors for a month. I ate marshmallow cereal for dinner almost every night, which I liked very much. I also ate macaroni and cheese, which I did not like at all.