“Put the dishes in the sink.”

And wash them, dry them, and put them away, I thought to myself sardonically. I knew Mom would eventually ask for them as well, so I might as well do them continuously. No point in doing otherwise, was there?

And then, after dinner, which I wouldn’t eat, she would send me upstairs, unnoticing, to do homework. And when I completed it, I’d bring it down to have her check it, or, if she didn’t understand the subject matter, I’d bring it to my older sister Lydia.

We have one more older sister, but she’s been excluded from our little game. She doesn’t play “let’s-all-pretend-we’re-normal.” Because she’s dead.

Well, at least not alive.

She’s got a mental disorder. Our father, a world famous shrink, diagnosed her and has her living with him to keep a close eye on her. Neither of them are involved in our little game.

This game is one you have to memorize perfectly, and breaking the rules earns shock. Lydia comes home first, driving home halfway through the day because she has nothing but study halls after lunch. Then Mom comes home, having done the daily shopping. I don’t know what they say or do, but I’m sure it’s repetitive. Then I come home, and Mom‘s working on dinner already while Lydia does her homework. We exchange cordialities, the same ones day after day, I practice my dance moves, we eat dinner… you know the next two steps. Then it’s usually late, so I go to bed.

We built this routine to be efficient. We always know what to do when, and where each one of us will be at a given time.

But sometimes…

“Mom…”

“Yes?” she asks, turning around to look at me.

“… Nothing.”

I get so tired of this game. There’s no room to be open, and sometimes I just get so angry and I have nowhere to vent it. All I can do is dance as emphatically as I can, but that has a bad habit of knocking me over.

Sometimes, I feel like I have no control…