Dolores

I've got a little sister.

I remember when Dolores was born. Of course I do. The day that wretched soul entered

my life marked the end of my relationship with Mother. Mother's attention was always

solely focused on Dolores.

She even had to make our names sound the same. Wally now has no meaning anymore. It

was a term of endearment I got from my mother. It now makes me stone cold when it

comes out of her mouth. But now my mother calls Dolores Dolly.

I'd prefer it if she were to call me Wallace. Wally now makes me angry every time it is

said.

I could put up with coexisting with Dolores. But after six months, my self control was

diminishing. I walk into the dining room for breakfast. Mother was sitting in a chair facing

the tall chair Dolores sat in when she was being fed.

Mother was smiling and cooing at Dolores while she brought a small brightly colored spoon

to her mouth. "Mother, can I feed her? You haven't touched your food."

She turns around, a startled look on her face. My heart always sinks when she looks at me

with a look that expresses anything other than love and tender affection.

She does smile. "That would be wonderful, Wallace. I'm actually quite hungry." That hurt.

It felt like my heart was stabbed. As much disdain I feel towards my name Wally, being

called Wallace by my very own mother hurts. The hurt overrode the anger I feel when I

hear it.

The hurt quickly shifted to anger as I glanced towards my little sister. Mother shifted her

plate to another seat so I could sit in front of Dolores to feed her.

I had other intentions now.

I took a seat in the chair and looked up. I felt disappointment when I realized I'd have to

stand to feed the wretched creature.

I dip the spoon in the container of mashed carrots. I raise the spoon to her lips and gently

brush past them. I feel her suckle on the tip of the spoon. She gazes at me, letting me

know she's finished. I don't take the spoon out. Not yet.

I look over my shoulder at Mother. She's watching me. Intensely in fact. I give her a smile.

To reassure her. I suppose she was still weary because of the stunt with the turtles.

She returns my smile eventually. I decide I'll just continue feeding Dolores. I don't want

Mother to stop smiling.

I replenish the spoon and push it past her lips once more. I continue to feed her until I get

to the last bits in the bottle. I scoop it all up and this time, I'm not so gentle. I narrow my

eyes, locking eyes with Dolores again. I shove the spoon in her mouth and continue to push

it through.

Her eyes widen and she tries to make a noise. It came out as a gurgle. I know I made it to

her throat when strange noises vibrate against the spoon.

My eyebrows raise when the spoon is ejected from her mouth. I lose my grip on the handle

and it falls somewhere. My irritation at dropping the spoon is very quickly, I have to say

very quickly because I almost didn't see this coming when I turned around- very quickly

turned into surprise and then disgust as a spray of orange shoots at me.

Nothing hit my face, but it ruined the nice shirt Mother bought for me the other day.

Mother stood abruptly. I opened my mouth to speak but her focus wasn't on me.

"Dolly! Oh you poor dear!" She reaches for the piece of cloth wrapped around Dolores'

neck and uses it to wipe up her face and the flat surface of the chair.

"Wallace, go change your shirt. Make sure you put it in the wash bin." She doesn't look at

me as she says this.

I clench my hands into fists but jump down off the chair. I don't want to disappoint

Mother by not listening.

I ignored any urge to do something to hurt Dolores after that. But one day she got on my

last nerve. Which is funny because in one of my books, it is said that humans have trillions

of those. I can't count higher than one hundred at this point in time so I knew it must be a

huge number.

It was very cold in the house the day I snapped. I knew the fireplace would be lit. One of

Dolores' stuffed toys was on the ground near her crib. I grabbed it and went to the living

room. I gripped the stuffed toy tightly while I dipped the leg into the fireplace.

I ran back to her room and dropped it in the crib. Dolores immediately woke up and began

to cry.

The fire spread quickly. But my guilt for my mother came to me quicker. Mother would be

sad if Dolores died. She would be sad if our house burnt to the ground.

I grab Dolores from her crib and wake Mother from a nap.

"There's a fire!" I shout. I had closed the door to Dolores' room. I handed her to Mother

and called the police. Our house burnt down anyway. Nothing from Dolores' room was

salvageable.

We were able to save a few valuables, but not much.

We moved in with our grandmother and Mother was hardly home after that. Grandma told

me she was working when I asked where she was.

I remember when Dolores started growing hair on her head. She came out blond. Blond like

Mother. I had brown hair like my father. He was already gone before Dolores came.

Dolores already had two birthdays when her hair could fit in a ponytail that stuck out on

the top of her head.

Mother was out in the garden. Doing something with the flowers and dirt.

The memory I have of what I was doing then is unclear. But I remember Dolores was doing

something with her dolls. The actions her dolls were doing seemed like the stuff I saw

Father and Mother doing once before Dolores came.

I hate being reminded of Father. I clench my hands into fists.

Oh! I remember what I was doing before now. I was playing with a bright red bouncy ball.

Bouncing the ball on the floor and catching it when it came up.

It made me wonder if Dolores would bounce. She's too big and heavy for me to grab her

and bounce her like a ball.

"Dolores, do you want to help me with something?" I asked. She dropped her dolls and her

fat legs struggled to pull her off the ground.

She waddled and stumbled her way over to where I was standing. "I want to see if you'll

bounce like my ball." I say. She bends her knees and jumps. I shake my head.

"No, not like that." I say. I grab her by the shoulders and turn her around.

"Like this." I give her a firm push.

I'm angry to see she doesn't bounce. She tumbles down the stairs. When she reaches the

bottom she doesn't even cry. She laughs and claps her hands. I toss the red ball down to

her and storm into the kitchen.

I see the top of my grandmother's head peeking out from the top of her arm chair. I

panic. What if she tells Mother?!

I creep up behind her. I sigh when I hear her lightly snoring and breathing in a consistent

pattern. This old hag probably wouldn't have heard anything if she was awake regardless.

Living with my grandmother makes time here a bit easier. I don't have to deal with Dolores

quite as much. Setting fire to her crib was a good idea. Mother seems happier too. Happier

but tired.

I am the cause of Mother's happiness. This thought makes me puff out my chest in pride.

When I'm bigger and stronger I'll do anything to protect her and her happiness. I do mean

anything.