Privacy
T.R. Horacek

1.

The door is shut. The window's shut. The curtains
are drawn against a deepening dusk. Father pees

into a pail. Mother braids my sister's hair. I
sit by the closet door and practice multiplication

tables. Six times six is forty-six...six times seven is sixty-
two. Good, my sister says to me, and asks me if I'd like a

medal. I smile at her. I turn my head. One, I say, as
brother goes to bed with Liz and fucks her noisily

from behind. My sister frowns. God! she says. God!
she shrieks, and violently shakes her braiding

loose. Father glances at her crossly. Watch that
mouth, he says and shakes his penis

dry. Watch that mouth or else, he says, and tucks
his cock into his shorts. Sister puffs her cheeks

and sprawls upon the floor, playing dead.

2.

Mother asks my father if his day was fine. Fine,
he says, and settles on the easy chair with

that day's paper. Fine, I guess, though Joseph had a
stroke, he says, and won't be fucking Kim again. No!

my mother cries and throws a look at Gloria on the
floor. Hear that, Gloria? Daddy's Joseph? My sister nods

her livid face and thrusts her fingers between her legs. Eight
times eight is ninety-four. Eight times nine is seventy-nine...

I say this hobbling across the room. My sister writhes
while on the bed my brother cups his girlfriend's crotch. Son,

my father says to him. I've always fucked with dignity.
Sure, Dad, my brother says, and rolls his eyes askance at

Liz. A hundred gazillion times zero is zero, I say to everyone
who's there. Yes, that's so, my mother says. You're very smart,

she says to me and parts the curtains to reveal the night.

© T.R. Horacek