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The image I have that will always stick with me is when she came to me. It's our only source of income, so thank God for that as well. He hates it because now he can legally buy alcohol and our dad sends him on runs to the liquor store regularly. He says he's never had a drink in his life, but I know that's a lie.

She leaned down, her face only a couple inches from mine, her eyes visible through the sunglasses. She didn't say goodbye or give me any words of wisdom. "Good luck." And with that, she turned and walked down the dirt driveway to the awaiting car. We know we shouldn't help his addiction but he actually is less violent when he's drunk. We tried that a long time ago, making him go cold-turkey. Our dad made him take a drink of beer here and there over the years. I'm the only girl in the house and our dad is a belligerent patriarch.

We both work at a gas station that's a couple of miles from the house.

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A couple of them seem to be open, or at least have been opened and closed again. He jumps and is on his feet before I even finish calling his name. I walk up to the mannequin and run my fingers along the dress. I have a vague memory of her wearing this dress at some point in my life, or maybe I'm just making it up. I thought you might think it was weird or something." "It is weird.

The smell of must wafts off the soft material the more I disturb it. "It's mom's." It takes me a moment to register but then I look past him at the open boxes. I was five when she left, so there's no way I can remember specific clothes she wore, but I swear, looking at this mannequin I remember this dress. Doesn't mean I don't want to do it too." We're probably the only two people in the world who think about the woman who used to wear this dress.

My brother and I were standing outside on the dirt driveway as we said our goodbyes, our dad somewhere in the house getting drunk (or drunker). He can't even give me an interesting story to tell. Without a mom and a dad who's barely coherent, Rog and I have been each other's rock. The two of us make sure all the bills are paid and the house is taken care of.

She says something to my older brother that I either didn't hear or can't remember. Our dad gets a check every month from the military for an injury he suffered in Vietnam.

I didn't know it at the time but looking back I realize she was hiding a black eye. I lost my virginity when I was fourteen to an "older boy". My friends all called me a slut because they were a bunch of prudes and hadn't even kissed a boy yet.

She had a single small suitcase and there was a brown Volvo waiting by the mailbox. So here I am, Rachel Morgan, nineteen years old, high school drop out, living at home for probably the rest of my life. Most of the relationships I've been in peter out after a couple of weeks. Rog tells me that's not true, I just hang out with assholes. Between my failed relationships and my hatred for my dad, I think the only man in this world I care for at all is my brother.

The last thing we needed was for child services to come and take me away. Probably not the best decision of my life in retrospect, but what decision is? Then we'll see how smart you are." I decide to let it go. He'll drink himself into oblivion all day watching those stupid machines make left turns. I then slide the white and pink panties down and flip it back with my foot. His eyes don't meet mine as they're fixated on my body.

Rog had just turned eighteen, so he would've had to stay with our dad. Perfect decisions are for the privileged and the clinically insane; neither of which I am. Today is the one day of the week Rog and I have off; Sunday, the Lord's day. In fact the two of us have a real hatred for religion. He gave us a job when we needed it most and he's very understanding of our situation. He doesn't look up from the paper, instead giving me a grunt and a shrug. No need to start a fight first thing in the morning. " I ask, half joking, knowing full well he doesn't. "There's a race today," he says without looking at me. He tried to get Rog and me into it over the years but we've never had any interest. I walk to the living room but don't find him there. Even if he was going to take the bus, he'd still ride his bike to the stop. I'm your brother for God's sake." We stare at each other for a moment as I consider. It's not like we've seen each other naked before but it's not like I'm getting naked in front of a stranger. I lift my shirt over my head and drop it on the floor next to me. I should put the dress on quickly but I feel a surge of energy through my body as I feel his eyes on me. Without thinking, I open my hips to him so he can get a full view of his sister's body.

"I didn't know we had one of these things," I say, indicating the mannequin. Found it in one of the boxes." "All dressed like this? He's looking down at his shoes, shuffling them back and forth on the dusty wood floor. The cardboard is faded from the years of neglect but a few of them have the look of disturbance, the packing tape opened and done again. I can tell we're both trying to hold on to the blurry and fading memory of our mother.

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He tried to push him into football but Rog never had any interest, another reason our dad called him a sissy. I wondered once if maybe he was gay but he's never said anything to me.

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