My sister Susan

Author notes: this is based on the true-life story of Susan Atkins, one of the co-killers of Charles Manson. The events described in the story are true to life, as are the characters of her family; however, of course, my interpretation may differ from the reality.2

There had to be a mistake. It was the only explanation. It was the only way any of this could make sense. The only way that could be right. They were wrong. My sister hadn't done this. She couldn't. Not her. Not Susie.3

It had to have been somebody else.4

But it was her face on the TV screen. It was her, her with all that long scraggly hair she had cut herself from the looks of it. Or maybe she got one of the damn hippies she lived with to do it for her. It was her eyes, looking straight ahead with this crazy look about them. Like she was looking at someone, not just the camera. Challenging them. Like she was looking at me.5

It's been over two years since she last looked at me.6

And it's her name on the screen. It's her name that they keep flashing across the bottom, every time her picture shows again. "Susan Denise Atkins," it says. "Alleged murderer."7

Alleged murderer. My sister…my little sister, they're calling her an alleged murderer. 8

I don't notice the other names, the other people they show with my sister's face. They're like blank pieces of paper in my mind, as soon as their pictures are taken off the screen. They're nothing, all of them are nothing. All I can see is Susan. All I remember is Susan.9

Every time they say her name, it feels like a rock the size of my fist is wedging itself further down my throat. Every time I hear the word 'murder' and realize it's being paired with my sister's name, my stomach flips over like I'm going to be sick. You ever woke up after drinking to the point where you blacked out for hours? As shitty and sick as that feels, as sure as you are that you're going to die, nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to how it feels to see your sister's name on the news, and realize it's because she's been arrested for killing seven people. 10

Seven. They say she killed seven people. They say one of them was an actress. I remember seeing her in an ad for a move…Valley of the Dolls. 11

She was pretty.12

She was pregnant.13

It isn't true.14

When they show Susan's picture again, Susan with her unwashed hair and creepy stare, I feel my chest heave, and for a second I can't breathe. I think I'll choke, or puke, and my hand reaches out to slap the button to turn off the TV. I put my head down and hunch my shoulders forward, and I just breathe. Try to breathe. My heart's pounding like a freaking jackhammer, and my mouth is so dry I can't even form spit. I can't stop seeing Susan's stare. Can't stop hearing the way the reporter would say her name. The way he said the word murder with her name.15

She was hardly more than a kid, only 21 years old. She couldn't have done it. She wouldn't have. Susan could do a lot of things, but she couldn't kill. I knew that. The Susan I knew...the girl who is my sister…she could never hurt someone. At least not someone who wasn't hurting her first.16

It had to be wrong. The Susan I know…the Susan who's my sister…they were wrong. Just fucking WRONG.17

But I didn't know her anymore. I knew who Susan was. I knew who she had been. But it had been two years, and whatever I said to myself, I didn't know her anymore. I didn't know who Susan was now.18

What if that made all the difference? What if this Susan I didn't know could do the things the people on TV were saying she had…and what if she had done them? 19

What if what Susan had done, who she had become, was partly my fault? What if all this had happened because I couldn't stay? 20

"I can't sing," I muttered as I slouched, hands in my pockets, following several feet behind the others as they made their way around the outside of the building.22

I could see my sister in front of them, leading the way, and could tell from her face that she was counting the windows in her head. She was trying to see which was the right room. That would be about right, if we all showed up and did this under some old lady who had had a heart attack's room or something, and gave her a reason to have another one that finished her of once we broke out with the Glory Hallelujah chorus outside her window.23

"Susan said it don't matter," my 11-year-old brother piped up from just ahead of me, looking back over his shoulder. "Susan said that we had to anyway just because Mom will like it. She said we could just pretend to sing if we don't want to for real and everyone else can sing for real. Because Mom can't even see all of us out the window that good anyway."24

"Yeah, well, Susan just has all the answers, doesn't she," I muttered again, breathing out hard and shoving my hands even further into my pockets, deliberately slowing my pace. I wasn't really keeping up with Susan and the holy roller church as much anymore, but she was focused on the windows and didn't' seem to notice. 25

Steven did, of course. The kid was always sticking his nose into shit. You could spell out in neon signs that something was a hint, and he still wouldn't get it. He kept glancing back at me and up ahead at Susan leading the group, like he was caught between us or something. He probably was. He never seemed to know if he should be trying to get on my good side and make himself seem tougher than he was, for me, or if he should let Susan baby him, as his older sister. What with the way things are with Mom now, he usually picks Susan, but this time he slowed down and tried to keep pace with me.26

"Michael? You mad?"27

I shrugged, rolling my eyes like I thought that was about the stupidest question he could have asked. I didn't walk any faster either. 28

"No, Steve, this is just dumb. What makes her think that Mom is going to want the entire church choir singing under her window when she's in the damn hospital? She's probably sleeping or something, and Suze is gonna wake up the first three floors with this singing crap."29

"She says Mom will like it," Steven protested, and then he frowned, looking worried for the first time. "You think Mom won't like it? You think she really might be sleeping?"30

"She's in the hospital and she's sick, what do you think she does most of the day, stare at the wall?" I said, louder than I intended, and Steven looked away with a kicked puppy look that made me want to shake him and say I was sorry at the same time. Damn…why didn't he go up there with Susan if that was who he wanted to hear from?31

"You are mad," Steven said, and I gritted my teeth, staring straight ahead as Susan and the gang came to a stop.32

"No, Steven, this is just stupid is all." 33

I wasn't' mad, either. At least not at Steven, or even at Susan and all her big ideas. If I was mad at anyone, it was me.34

It wasn't that I was so against singing. Even though I was. It wasn't even that I was against singing to our mom, or that I was worried she'd be sleeping or we'd wake someone else up. Even though we probably would. I knew that Susan was probably right, and she'd probably like this a lot. She would think it was sweet. It was sweet. Susan and her big plans could be really thoughtful sometimes.35

It wasn't' what we were doing that really bothered me. It was seeing our mom at all, even if just through a window. I knew it sounded shitty of me. It felt shitty of me. But I couldn't stand to look at her anymore. I knew it made me a cowardly bastard. I mean, Susan and Steven were younger. Susan was fifteen, and Steven was only eleven, he was still in the fifth grade. And they saw her whenever they could. They wanted to see her.36

I didn't. I was almost eighteen. Almost a man. And I couldn't handle it like my kid brother and sister could. I couldn't look at my mom dying and tell her I was glad to see her. I couldn't make myself touch her. I couldn't even make myself smile. 37

If there's one world in the world I hated more than all the rest, it's cancer. Even more than the word that is our father's name.38

He hadnt' seen her since she went to the hospital for good. He said he couldn't. That he hated hospitals and it was too hard. More like he was too drunk off his ass to walk or drive and the hospital wouldn't' let him in. I hated myself for using the same excuses as him to skip out on seeing Mom sometimes with Susan or Steven. But for they were real. I just couldn't do it. I just couldn't make myself go like I should. If you saw the way my mom looked then, if you heard her voice and how hard she had to try just to talk loud enough so people would understand, you would get it.39

Our mother was dying. And that was something I didn't want to see. No matter what an asshole that made me. But when it came to Susan and her grand plans, there was no way to back out. She was persistent like that.40

As if the singing part wasn't bad enough, Susan roped the church choir into it too. So we were singing about God to a woman he just smote to die. Like God should even be mentioned around our mom, let alone sung to. How the hell were we supposed to tell him how great he was when he was making our mother die? You ask me, it was like slapping our mom in the face. Susan thought Mom would like it. That she wouldn't' see it like that. She was probably right. Didn't mean I liked it though.41

"Everyone be quiet," Susan was saying in a loud whisper as we all caught up to her, piling around the window she had stopped at. She was smiling, her eyes shining like she was excited. Even happy. I swear I don't understand my sister. How the hell could she be happy even if she was trying to make our mother happy? How could she or Steven go anywhere near her? Which of us was the one who wasn't normal, her or me? "Group up by the parts you sing. I'll see if she's awake before we start."42

She called out louder then, going to the window and tapping it as she stood on her toes to peek inside. "Mama? Mama, it's me, Susan…are you awake?"43

When our mother's voice called back faintly, my stomach squeezed, and I turned my face away from the window. But Susan was smiling, sounding sweet and normal like it wasn't killing her to hear our mother's voice sounding like that when she answered her back. Either my kid sister was a lot stronger than me and I was a weak coward bastard, or she was better at pretending than me.44

Either way though, I came off worse in comparison.45

Steven was watching her closely beside me, but when our mom answered back, he looked over at me, like he wanted to see what I was thinking, how I would react. He knew I'd only gone to see our mom twice since she went to the hospital. That was why Susan had pushed so hard for me to go with them now.46

"Mama, Steven and Michael are here too," Susan was calling up to her, gripping the sill of the window in her hands to balance. "We've got a surprise for you."47

I heard our mother repeat my name. I heard how surprised she sounded too when she said it, and my stomach squeezed harder. No doubt about it, I was a bastard. Because even though I couldn't really see her, I didn't want to be there at all. All I wanted was to leave. 48

This is pretty typical for us. The Atkins kids. When the shit goes down, Susan goes straight at it. Meets it head on. I run. Or want to run. And Steven, the kid can't decide which way to go. So he usually does nothing. Just stands there, like now, with that weird frozen look on his face. 49

Susan turned to us then, giving us these pointed almost angry looks, and hissed for me and Steven to say hello. So we did, but my voice still sounded like I was pissed off. I didn't mean for it to. That was just the way it came out. Our mother said hello back, asked us what we were doing out the window, and I couldn't think of anything to say. All the choir people had kept pretty quiet, waiting for Susan's word, and she took over like usual.50

"You just lay back and listen, Mom, close your eyes if you want…alright, let's go everyone!"51

Turning back around, Susan made a gesture at the rest of us, and everyone started off with singing "Amazing Grace," my mom's favorite hymn. Everyone except me. I could hear Steven singing behind me. He still sounded like a little girl since his voice hadn't changed yet. As much of a jackass as I could be, I never told him that though. I could hear Susan too, her voice high and sweet, loud. I saw her face, the side of it, and she looked really serious. Like she was really trying hard with this. I knew she was. 52

I didn't' sing. I couldn't. I wouldn't give God the satisfaction with what he was doing to our family. He'd already screwed us over enough, even before he decided to kill our mom. 53

I stood there, and I listened to them sign for my mom. I heard Susan above everyone else. And I couldn't help but think about what might happen when our mother finally died. 54

What happened, of course, was that everything was even more screwed up than before. If I thought our dad was a bastard before, he was doing what he could to be three bastards in one now. He couldn't keep a job since he couldn't go an hour without drinking. Nothing made him happy, and he made sure we all knew about it in more ways than one. What money he got he threw away the second it was in his hands, and if we wanted food or clothes or anything else Mom had always made sure we got before, we had to get creative. 56

I left the house whenever I could. Just tried to stay away from our dad altogether, pretty much. Susan wouldn't. That just isn't her. She was either too stupid, too stubborn, or too worried about what might happen to Steven if she didn't to even try. It was the worst for her. She always managed to get on our dad's bad side. 57

She was just a kid. Fifteen. I was her older brother. I was almost a man. But I wasn't there. I couldn't make myself be. And she got hurt. Probably more times than I ever knew.58

When I came home from the football game I could see that the light was turned on in the hallway bathroom. The door was open just a little bit, and I almost kept walking. I almost just went straight to my room. But the house was so quiet that it made me kind of nervous. I couldn't even hear sounds from the TV or radio, or our father, either screaming, clomping around the kitchen, or snoring. Which told me that obviously something had gone on while I was gone. Wasn't unusual, but it still freaked me out, every time I came home and just knew something had happened. You'd think it would make me want to stay home more, try to make sure I was around as the oldest kid to keep things from getting too out of hand. But like I've said, I'm a coward. All it makes me want to do is stay away more.60

I stopped outside the bathroom door, hearing water running for a few seconds, and then someone taking a long, deep breath, like they were trying to calm down. I could tell it was my sister, and with my stomach flipping around like some fish with a hook in its mouth trying to get free, I opened the door and stepped into the bathroom behind her. 61

Susan was standing in front of the spotty mirror above our sink, looking at herself. Her eyes are dark brown anyway, but the way she was staring at herself now, they looked almost black. Like any light or shine at their surface was gone entirely, and there was no life or expression left. Except anger. It wasn't really obvious, and anyone that didn't know her probably wouldn't see, but Susan has a way of tilting her chin up when she's really upset or pissed off. She was doing that then, when I looked at her. 62

She was holding a wet washrag up to her face, under her nose and against her lips, and when she took it way for a second I saw that her nose was bleeding and her lip was cut. Her eyes met mine in the mirror and she put the cloth back against her face. Her voice was muffled as she spoke, but I could hear the accusation in her tone anyway.63

"Took you long enough to come crawling back."64

I didn't have to ask her how she had hurt herself. We both knew that she hadn't. I didn't ask her where our father was either. AS long as he was quiet and calmed down now, hopefully passed out somewhere or something, it didn't matter and I didn't care.65

I wanted to ask her if she was okay, but what came out instead was, "Game ran late, how the hell was I supposed to know, Suze. You know, you don't have to stay home all the time. You can go to stuff too. It's not my fault if you decide to stick around and chance shit happening."66

She glared at me then, her hand tightening on the washcloth at her face, and I knew that was probably something like the look she'd given dad to set him off. Susan was never too good with hiding what she felt. At least, that's what I thought then. 67

"No, I can't," she ground out, "someone has to stay. Maybe you don't give a shit about your little brother, but someone has to, and I'd rather not have the fifth grader go to school inviting everyone's questions because his face has been made into mincemeat and he can't lie to save his life."68

She was looking at herself in the mirror again, avoiding my eyes, deliberately. I took a step closer to her, guilty. For her, because she was 15, and a girl, and my kid sister, and even though I hated looking at her face like that, I was still glad I hadn't been there. I was still glad it hadn't been me. And for Steven, because I hadn't even thought about him or where he was. I definitely hadn't thought or cared about him when I left the house today.69

"Where is Steven?" I asked lamely, and Susan shrugged, her eyes focused on the mirror.70

"In his room. Hiding. Like usual. Probably pretending to be asleep. I'll go see if he's okay in a minute. I would ask you to, but I know how /that/ would go."71

Another accusation, more reasons for guilt. She was right though, I couldn't do the big brother comfort thing. Especially when the big brother didn't even know what was going on because he'd left like the chicken shit he was before it could happen.72

I watched her for a few more seconds, not really knowing what to say. I didn't feel like I should just leave her standing there bleeding, even though I really wanted to just go to my room and act like I never saw it. But I couldn't, not without feeling like an even bigger ass, and I finally said, "What did you do, Suzie? You know…to make him do that…what did you say to him?"73

She turned her head then, and I swear, I've only seen her look that angry before when she was standing in front of our father. I hated to see her looking at me like that. Like I was like him. Like she resented me just as much as him. Like I hurt her just as much as him.74

"Does it matter, Michael?" she practically hissed in a voice so cold I could almost see her blowing her breath. Well, not really. Obviously. But it was pretty damn icy. "Is anything I do or could do enough to deserve what he does back?"75

Well, no, of course not. Susan never did anything horrible. She was better than a lot of kids her age actually. She was better than me. Sure, she toked and drank sometimes, I was pretty sure, but who didn't? It wasn't like she was out whoring in the streets. She was in school, she got decent grades, and she kept up the house and looked out for Steven the best she could. She wasn't a bad kid. She really wasn't. 76

But I didn't say any of that, like I should have. I never seem to be able to say the things I should, when I should. Instead I said, "Susie, you shouldn't smart off to him. It's when you fight back that gets him so pissed." 77

"What are you saying, Michael, that I should be like you and run every time Dad's around and awake? Am I supposed to cower and hide like Steven?" Susan snapped, lifting her chin again, and she balled the washcloth in her hand so her whole cut face was out there and I couldn't help but look at it and see it. "I don't' think so, Michael. I'd rather fight back, give him back some of the shit he dishes out. I'd rather risk him killing me quick instead of letting him kill me slow, like you guys want. Like Mom let him do."78

She said that fast and angry, her voice loud, both hands making fists, and I knew she hadn't thought about it. It had just come out. For a second we stared at each other, and I swear my heart sank down somewhere even with my stomach. What the hell could I say to that?79

"Suze," I started, and my voice sounded shaky even to me." Susie, it's not like that. I…she-"80

But she pushed past me in the doorway, throwing down the washcloth and practically running down the hall. The door that slammed was hers, so I guess she wasn't going to check on Steven after all. At least not then. I watched her go, and without knowing why, picked up the washcloth stained with my sister's blood, squeezing it tightly in my fist. 81

I didn't' know which of us was right, but I felt so damn wrong.82

That was almost six years ago. I was almost eighteen. Almost a man. Susan, she was still a kid. I could have done something. Could have tried harder to help. Tried harder to protect her. Tried harder to at least be around more, or maybe take her and Steve out more, so they wouldn't have to be around when Dad started up again. I could have been there. Could have stayed.84

But I wasn't. I didn't. I split. First chance I got, the day I turned eighteen, I signed up for the Navy. It was my best shot, my best way out. The best thing for me. I didn't think about anyone else. I didn't care about anyone else. Not really. Not then.85

I left. But Susan, she was left behind.86

"So this is it," Susan said tightly, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes narrowing as she stared at me with complete anger and disgust in her face. "You're just taking off. You're just leaving, just like that."88

"You know I have to, Susan," I tried to tell her, and I knew she could probably see the guilt in my face. Even I could hear it in my voice when I answered her. "I have to leave today, you know they said-"89

"You don't have to do shit, Michael, no one forced you to sign up for the damn Navy!" Susan hissed, her eyes getting even smaller, and she uncrossed her arms, gesturing at me angrily. "You don't have to go anywhere, you just want to run, all you ever do is run, you always bail out on everyone else to save your own ass! You just want to leave, you don't' have to, you want to!"90

We were standing outside, beside my car. Dad was gone, Steven was somewhere inside the house; Susan hadn't let him follow us outside. Now I understood why. Embarrassed as I was about what she was saying, because I knew it was true, I was also defensive. I might know that I was running, getting away when Susan and Steven couldn't. That didn't mean she needed to point it out like that, where I couldn't deny it.91

"Of course I want to leave!" I shot back, glancing around quickly. I wasn't cool with the possibility of other people watching us, overhearing what was going on and judging me too. "You want to leave too, who the hell wouldn't in our places?"92

"But I can't leave, Michael! And I won't, because there's Steven, because I wont' leave him alone, do you even care about that? Do you even care that you're leaving us alone, that I'm going to have to do everything alone?" she cried, her voice getting louder, and she shook her head hard before I could even answer. "No, of course you don't. You didn't care before, why should that change now. I already am alone anyway, I don't know why that should change just because you're an ADULT now."93

Her words dripped with bitter sarcasm. 94

"Happy fucking birthday, BRO."95

"Susie…you're not alone," I tried even as my face turned red and my guts churned. All I wanted was to get away from her, to get away from the guilt. "You can write me, call me. If it gets too bad you and Steven can go to Aunt Kim or Uncle Bill, or-"96

"Oh yeah, like they really want us. Like anyone does," she said flatly, and when she stood there sounding like that, looking me in the eye, it would have felt better to me if she had screamed. "Just go, Michael. Go."97

"Susie-" I tried again, reaching one hand out to her awkwardly, but she said it again, her voice so cold I stepped back.98


I got into my car. Shut the door. Put the key into the ignition. Turned it. When I looked at Susan she was still standing there, watching me. Looking at me like she almost hated me. Or at least like she wanted to hate me. But I thought that even with her eyes in slits like that, something about her face made me think she wanted to cry.100

She turned around fast then and walked back to the house without looking back at me. More like stomped. And she slammed the door so hard that if Dad had been home, he would have been tearing after her right away. For a second I watched the house, hoping for something. That maybe she would come back out. But she didn't. And I drove away.101

I didn't come. Not very often, anyway. Not enough to make a difference. Not enough to really matter. Over the next six years I saw Susan maybe four times, Steven maybe seven or eight. I didn't try very hard to see them. And Susan definitely didn't try very hard to see me. I felt guilty, but not enough to try harder. Not enough to come back more.103

I still tried to stay in touch a little. Just on the edge of things. Not really getting involved. Not really caring to. Not that I didn't care about them, about Susan and Steven. I did. I loved them, the best that I knew how. But I also didn't want to get back to where they were in life. I'd gotten out. I didn't' want to go back. I was afraid I would, if I wasn't careful. Even if I didn't want to.104

They would have their chance one day. That's what I told myself. I told myself that they would get out too. One day.105

I called when I could. And I wrote letters. I did that more than calling, really. Way more than visiting. It was just easier. I didn't have to see anyone's face, hear their voices. I didn't even have to get a reaction until they got around to writing and sending a reply at least a few days later.106

Steven didn't' really write back. He didn't talk much on the phone either. I think the kid just didn't know what to say. Susan, she didn't write or talk much either, but her reasons had more to do with being pissed at me. She was making a point.107

It was hard to get a sense if they were okay or not like that. They both said they were, but neither would have said different anyway. But I wanted to believe they were, so I told myself they were, and except for little things they said sometimes I could almost believe it.108

After a few months Susan told me in a phone call that Dad was the same, and he couldn't keep a straight job for more than a few weeks. She and Steven had been leaving home as much as they could, staying with friends and relatives, the same ones I had suggested she go to, but Susan hated that. She said she was dropping out of school, getting a job. Maybe two. She said she had to, for them to have any money.109

I got pissed off then. She knew I would. She had just turned sixteen, she was barely even old enough to drop out. I told her to go stay with one of our relatives whether she liked it or not, permanently. I told her it didn't matter what she wanted, that all that mattered was what she did. I told her she was screwing her life up. That she was giving up.110

"Why shouldn't I?" she shot back. "So did you. You gave up on US. I'm just giving up on me."111

She was right. I couldn't say much to that. 112

She started out working as a waitress in two different places. I didn't talk to her much, but from what I know she was okay. For almost two years they were hanging in, as far as I know. Dad was Dad, but he did work on and off, and Susan took what money she could get hold of from him before he could spend it.113

But then he got a different job, a permanent one. San Luis Construction. And Dad took off. This time he didn't come back.114

By then Steven was almost fourteen, starting high school. Susan was almost eighteen. Pretty much the minute she was eighteen she quit one of her waitressing jobs and started working as a stripper. Better pay, she implied. Better benefits- something I didn't' even want to think about.115

I didn't like it, of course. Even if I didn't' see or deal with her much, Susie was still my sister. But she was right when she said I had no right to comment on anything she did or said. So I didn't.116

We didn't contact each other much after that. I didn't' write or call as much. When I did, Susan wasn't usually home to answer. And eventually I noticed that Susan wasn't writing back.117

The next time I called it was an out of order number; when I visited, it turned out that Steven was living with relatives again. And Susan? Susan had become one of those hippies that were crawling up and down the streets everywhere you looked lately. Susan had left.118

I could have tracked her down. I could have found her. Tried to get to her.119

I didn't. I didn't see Susan at all for over two years.120

I see her now. And my sister, the first time I see her again, it's on TV. My sister Susan, my sister Susie, her name is Sadie now. My sister is in trouble. My sister is in prison. My sister has killed.121

My sister is a murderer.122

I stared at the TV screen. Everything all around it was blurring. I couldn't' see anything around me but the screen. And on the screen, I couldn't see anything but my sister's face. Even when it wasn't there anymore. I couldn't listen to what they were saying. I couldn't think. I could hardly breathe. 124

Not happening, not true. This was not happening, not true. Not my sister. Not Susan.125

I found myself turning around. Found myself walking straight out the door, straight outside. Just walking. Not knowing where I was going, what I was doing. Just walking. And every car that passed, every person out on their porch or in their yard or on the sidewalk, I knew they were looking at me. I knew they knew. That with their eyes they were asking me how. My sister, how could she, how could she be this, how could she do this. How. And me…how could I not have known? How could I not have stopped her?126

I don't blame them. I'm asking myself the same thing.127

"Do you think Mom's in heaven?"129

It was Steven asking. He was eleven years old, looking at me and Susan like we had all the answers. Looking at us like he would believe whatever we told him. Especially if it was what he wanted to hear.130

I didn't know what to say. I didn't believe in heaven or hell. I didn't believe in God. I thought our mother was dead, and that was all. I looked away, clearing my throat, and cracked my knuckles.131

It was Susan who turned to him, Susan who smiled, looking him in the eye, and squeezed his shoulder. 132

"No, I don't think it Steve. I know it."133

Steven eyed her, his expression serious. "How do you know?"134

Susan took a few moments, her eyes sliding away. When she looked back, her voice was confident and clear.135

"I can feel it, Steven. I feel that she's happy…I feel God's love for her and her love for us up there. I know she's in heaven. One day we'll be there with her. One day, we'll understand and all of this, all of the bad stuff about everything, it will all make sense."136

One day.137