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me.
    Except for Jayne.
    Mom is angry. This was her chance. The last chance she had at finding a father for all of us. The doctor did something so she can’t have babies anymore. Just like her mother.
    She’s holding me now, alone in the room crying. She resents me. The resentment strains any form of love or bond we’ll ever have.
    The door opens.
    A nurse walks in with Jayne and some other lady.
    Jayne squeals with delight like a normal five-year-old.
    The moment she looks at me it’s magic. We’re bonded. Every part of me knows this bond will never break. Not in life. Not in death. She’s my sister. Nothing can destroy that.
    “I love you, Jayne,” I whisper.
    In seconds I’m out of mom’s vision and into Jayne’s bedroom. She’s kneeling in the middle of her floor holding a Payless box in her hands. The black lid is resting on her bony knee and she's perched in the middle of a secret collection. She’s sobbing. I can’t believe the things she’s kept over the years. My first tooth. Sick. There’s Christmas. And Halloween. Even St. Patrick’s Day when she dyed her hands green, making me believe that a leprechaun had poisoned her. I cried for hours that day. And she felt awful for making me so upset.
    Jayne leans forward, crushing the box with her heavy sobs. Her tears drip onto the blue shag carpet.
    “It’s okay, Jayne, I’m right here,” I whisper in her ear. “I’m never going to leave you.”
    I look up to the ceiling. The outline of the tunnel is disappearing. I don’t even try to stop it.
    I’m sorry, Stephen. I think back, realizing how much this will hurt him.

Seven
    After last night, I’m exhausted. I need a break from the onslaught. The creaky, sagging front porch is empty and I escape to fresh air. When I was alive, my bedroom was a reprieve; I could get away from everything. But now, I’m stuck—stuck in everyone’s thoughts and feelings, and they won’t shut off.
    Jayne pulls mom up from the couch. Life is already going back to normal. I should probably feel insulted or something, but I don’t. I just feel like a bigger outcast than when I had no choice but to live in there with them.
    Wind whips against my face. It doesn’t make me cold, nor does it bother me, but it should. I should be freezing out here on the porch. I close my eyes and try to remember what bone-shattering cold feels like, but my skin is immune to the chill. I just feel normal. Death is normal.
    I wonder if I'm going crazy.
    Jayne walks out the front door pulling me from my inner sanatorium. She’s craving McDonald’s. It’s the only reason for leaving the warm house. The thought of her intense hunger makes me yearn for fast food and I chuckle a strange, disembodied laugh. It feels foreign in my throat, the tinkling sound getting lost in the wind.
    I follow her to the old Ford pickup she bought a few months ago. She scrapes crusted ice from the window, standing on her tiptoes to make a perfect, small circle. Just enough to see out the front. She hopes the defroster will clear what’s stuck on the back and sides. She’s cold and annoyed with winter.
    I jump into the passenger seat next to her and we creep over speed bumps as she cusses about not being able to see. I giggle and take in every bit of her. The strawberry shampoo. Vanilla lotion. Covergirl powder. Even the thin coat of mascara with no clumps on her lashes. She hasn’t cried today. This makes me happy. Like Jayne can bring normal to something that’s not.
    She hums a soft melody as she pulls onto the main road. As we pass the Sinclair, the old roadside sign with missing letters shows it has pizza sticks on sale for 89 cents. I brush my tongue against the roof of my mouth. No patience with a loaded pizza stick is never a good thing. Definitely scalds the mouth.
    Jayne pulls up to the drive-thru.
    “Welcome to McDonald’s. Would you like to try one of our Peppermint Mocha Lattes?”
    She doesn’t hesitate. “No, thanks. Can I get a number one