All This Life by Joshua Mohr Page A

Hank in the arm.
    â€œAt least five.”
    Another punch.
    â€œHank!”
    â€œSo one’s pretty good,” he says. “Baby Sis, you’re ahead of the game as far as I’m concerned.”
    Hank holds his beer toward his sister and they let them clink. No one says anything corny like cheers. They let the bottles do the talking.
    â€œI’ve already been to jail four times,” he says, “so you’re doing better than me.”
    Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s the best that can be expected of them. In the grand scheme, maybe they’re not doing so badly.
    That lone gust of bravado dissipates quickly, though. Perhaps her brother can be unaffected by all of this, yet Sara doesn’t know if she’s up to the challenge. She wants to be a badass. She wants to be unflappable, poised for whatever comes her way. Problem is it’s coming back, these symptoms, the buzzing hands and heart and breathing. Quickly, she’s back to being a wretched twin.
    â€œI don’t know how to face everyone in town,” she says.
    â€œDon’t worry about those bozos.”
    â€œI mean it, Hank.”
    â€œSo do I.”
    â€œThey all think I’m a whore.”
    â€œYou’re a whore; I’m a caveman. Fuck ’em.”
    â€œIt’s that easy?”
    â€œFuck ’em, Baby Sis.”
    â€œI want to be a kid again.”
    â€œMe, too.”
    â€œI want to move.”
    â€œEverybody has sex, Sara. I know it feels like the end of the world today, but it will get easier living with it.”
    â€œWhat if I don’t want to live with it?”
    â€œPeople live with worse,” he says. He finishes his beer and goesfor more. “Hey, what do you want me to do to Nat when I kick his ass?”
    â€œI don’t want that.”
    â€œAny requests or shall I improvise?”
    â€œDon’t hurt him.”
    â€œNot even a little bit? A black eye?” says Hank, coming back with two more cold ones.
    â€œThat would make me feel bad for him and I don’t want to pity that asshole.”
    â€œWhat about a liver punch? Hurts like hell and no visual evidence.”
    Bernard barks and Hank scratches his head.
    â€œEven the dog thinks Nat needs an ass kicking,” says Hank.
    â€œPlease leave him alone.”
    â€œLet me know if you change your mind.”
    Sara doesn’t change her mind as they sit in the kitchen drinking beers, but she would like to hear how her brother would defend her. She’d like to listen while someone outlines exactly how he’d protect her. It doesn’t matter that their house is made of cinderblocks. It doesn’t matter all the broken down things scattered about, a linoleum floor lined with potholes.
    â€œWill you tell me about it?” she says.
    Hank smiles. “You want details?”
    Yes, she wants to hear about every punch, every kick. She has to hear every single way he will defend her. She has to know.
    A MOMENT PASSES and then Hank says, “Come with me,” getting up and opening the back door.
    â€œI don’t want to move.”
    â€œYou said you wanted to be a kid again. Come on.”
    Hank waves for her to follow, and he walks through the back door.Sara sighs, knows that it’s easier to do it by herself so he doesn’t come back and carry her over his shoulder.
    By the time she’s in the backyard, Hank is already standing in the pool. She can only see him from the chest up. She peeks around the whole dusty rectangle of yard. It’s all dirt and weeds and fire ants. Flat as a grave.
    â€œYou used to love swimming,” he says and pretends to do the breaststroke, walking in a circle. “The water is perfect, Baby Sis.”
    Sara can’t get in the pool fast enough, tearing toward it and leaping in. There are a couple inches or so of dust and sand at the bottom. The walls are cracked and puckered. But right now Sara doesn’t see any of that.