~
Click
The moaning blizzard pelts the storm door window, crazing the glass with icy webs. Muscling it open, I hold the flashlight as my mother’s rat-dog looks distastefully at the spot on the backsteps cleared for him.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Claire,” Mom says. “You’re boring. Take me to Patsy’s.”
Glancing at her, I see she is dressed for the festivities in her fuzzy pink robe and sequin Minnie Mouse ears. Completing her couture is a bottle of vodka, and by the smell, a loaded diaper.
“Can’t, Mom,” I say. “There’s a blizzard. Plus, it’s February. The season of Peace and Goodwill is over.”
“Imma gonna Patsy’s,” Mom slurs firmly, listing to one side, dragged down by the bottle.
“Mom, I am Patsy. Remember? Also, you stink,” I say, bending down to help Rat-dog inside.
“PATSY’S!” Mom shrills, swinging the bottle underhanded.
Sparking stars strobe in my vision.
Palming blood from my eyes, from the floor I see a twitching sliver of pink robe caught in the closed storm door, as if captured by the fingertips of a saner angel. I kick the heavy inner door closed. Hearing the lock click, I cradle Rat-dog, and fall asleep to the wailing storm.
~
Miriam Logan lives on the eastern end of Long Island, NY., between the Amityville Horror and the Montauk Experiment. Her novella, LILITH (Adult, Fantasy) was awarded an Honorable Mention from the International Writers of the Future. When not researching ways to knock off her characters without arousing suspicion, she raises Monarch butterflies.