It is quiet in Meagan’s room. She is kneeling on the floor, elbow-deep into a backpack.

“Hurry!” Lucy yells from somewhere far away. “Uncle is waiting!”

Meagan presses the clothes into the backpack, panting. Light jackets for the bus, and Lucy needs the pink blankie that she still takes to school with her, even though she’s seven.

“Wear shorts,” Mother yells from the kitchen. “I don’t need anybody getting heat sick.”

Water is running in the kitchen. It usually is.

Meagan packs water bottles. It’s a rather long way. Meagan can hear uncle’s footsteps in his room upstairs. Her heart beats with every stomp. Over and over, she finds herself standing by the uncle’s door. His voice calls her in. She can enter or she can run away — she’s always entered, too scared of his commanding voice. When she enters, he asks her to lay on the bed beside him.

Meagan zips up the backpack and sees herself in the mirror. Her shirt is loose, hardly showing her wide-spread new bumps that started growing right after her twelfth birthday. She’s self-conscious of them. Lucy’s drawing in a red marker is on the mirror — it’s a pair of large boobs with an arrow penetrating one. Lucy wears a tiny bra although she doesn’t need to, not now, not for a while.

“Come on, Meagan!” Lucy yells.

Uncle is taking them on an excursion to Toronto’s Centre Island. He says it’s their bonding day. He says there’s a carnival. It’s a one-hour bus ride and then a ferry ride. Meagan doesn’t want to go but she knows that Lucy really wants to ride the ferry. No one has ever taken them there before.

Meagan passes by the kitchen. Mother is not making sandwiches. She’s standing by the boiling water, smoking a cigarette. Her t-shirt says “DOG MOM” below the breasts.

“Get them hot dogs!” she yells at the ceiling.

“Mom,” Meagan whispers, not sure of what she’d like to say.

“What is it?” Mother barks at her. “You’re going. I don’t wanna hear another word!”

Uncle’s thumping reaches the stairs. He has taken them on these excursions every summer– after their father left and he moved into the spare room upstairs. This way, Mother could go to work, plus he helped with the rent. Meagan leaves the kitchen and meets him in the hallway, backpack on her back. He smiles at her. She turns her gaze to the antique clock on the console. In their home, it’s always two o’clock.

+

Now Meagan is on the bus beside Lucy, hugging the backpack. Now Uncle is helping them onto the ferry to Centre Island. He’s fixated on the seagulls riding with them for free.

“Lucky bastards,” he says. “Lucy, push them off!”

He laughs from a belly that wobbles, even though he’s young. Lucy bends over the ledge and there’s a whistle.

Now Uncle is carrying Lucy. They cut into a crowd. Meagan is tagging along. Sun lights sharply on their heads. Uncle wears a red baseball cap, so he can be spotted from anywhere he says, even from a plane. Meagan knows the red cap from his bedside table.

Music is loud where the crowd is going. Meagan sees feathers — green, blue, purple, white — swinging in the wind. G-strings, a thousand diamonds cupping breasts, glitter, crowns and wings, women like birds fluttering. She’s seen the Caribana in pictures before, but this is thrilling, like when Meagan goes to watch the horses in the field behind their house, their manes free in the air. She runs as fast as she can. Frogs jump under her steps.

Meagan swirls around the feathers. The women howl and shake. She moves closer to them. They smell of jasmine and beer. She can hide behind the feathers, almost disappear. Maybe she can disappear forever. She spots Uncle by the drums holding up a plastic cup, yelling to the sky, sweat dripping from his head. Lucy stands beside him. Her hair glows in the sun. Her ice cream is dripping on her blouse. They do not see Meagan.

Meagan clenches the backpack straps on her shoulders. There is a door open in front of her. She can go in or she can step back. There’s a radio in the corner playing music, a red cap on the nightstand. It’s two o’clock.

Meagan clenches the straps. She lets the drums play. The gap closes between her and Uncle and Lucy. She’s being shoved by the crowd. It’s like a merry-go-around sweeping her off her feet. She lets herself go, but before she knows it, Lucy is in front of her. She touches the golden fluffs coming out of Lucy’s braids. Lucy is all teeth and chocolate ice cream. She ascends to the sky. Uncle’s red cap is between Lucy’s legs now. She is floating above their heads.

The crowd is closing in on Meagan. She’s afraid of losing Lucy. Uncle mouths something, but the drums swallow it. Meagan is swimming out of the feathers, gasping for air. She reaches out for a hand. It’s Uncle’s arm, the black curly hair, stretched towards her.

The door is open in front of her. It scares her. The voice tells her to go in. There’s a quilt on the bed with mini flowers. The radio is playing in the corner. Dust particles are suspended in the afternoon sun. Uncle’s arm is stretched towards her. She can take it or not.

Meagan is losing her grip on the backpack. The crowd is tightening on her. Lucy’s hair is gold in the sky, flying away from her. She has no choice but to hold on to Uncle’s hand. She feels the pull. The hand is grossly familiar. It sweats in the heat. She holds her breath and lets her body be dragged out.

+

Now Lucy is on the grass away from the crowd, sucking Coke from a straw. Meagan is breathing hard beside her. Uncle massages her back, offers her water. Meagan shakes her head.

“You want fries?” Uncle asks Lucy, who screams, “Yes!”

“Come on,” he says. “I gotcha.”

“I’m not hungry,” Meagan says.

“Sure you are,” says Uncle. “They’ve got fat ones here. Better than any you’ve ever had.”

The three of them walk towards the food trucks. Meagan wipes the sweat off her hand on her shorts. She thinks of the horses in the field for the rest of the day. She watches how the waves wash the sides of the ferry on the way back. She covers Lucy with the pink blankie on the bus.

It’s still two o’clock in their house, according to the antique clock. Mother takes Lucy to the doctor. Uncle’s door is open. Meagan is told to go in. She’s told there will be other excursions. The radio is on in the corner. Meagan walks in. The arm reaches out to her. The red cap is on the nightstand. The quilt is soft. It has tiny flowers on it. Purple ones with six petals and brown ones with five petals. They appear random on the first sight, but if she looks closely for long periods of time, over and over, she can find the order in which they’ve been arranged in concentric circles.

+

By midsummer, Meagan is caring for horses in the ranch down the road from their house. She asked Mother if she could help the couple who live there with no children of their own.

“As long as they pay,” Mother said.

Lucy’s been getting sick a lot. Mother takes her to the clinic every week. Meagan does her best to be home by two o’clock. That’s when Mother leaves for work. She keeps track of the days Mother steps out earlier for groceries at the market, leaving Lucy alone.

Meagan chases after wild horses, who refuse to stay in place for grooming. The ranchers teach her. “Tie their lead ropes very tight. Don’t let them nip you. Use the curry comb. Don’t stand behind them.”

The horses are strong. Their bodies are hard. They kick and neigh. Meagan likes the blood rushing in her body, the hot breath that fills her lungs when she runs after them. Meagan likes that the horses run. That they disobey her.

The couple laugh when they see Meagan struggle to catch the fleeing horses. Meagan laughs too, choking on her saliva from all the running, hay stuck to the sweat on her forehead.

“You’re getting better at this,” they yell. They give her warm milk with honey.

They also give her a small pocket knife after the time her wrist gets entangled in a lead rope.

“Make sure you nick the rope immediately,” they tell her. “Or else they’ll drag your body for miles. You won’t have a chance!”

+

Meagan asks Mother what’s wrong with Lucy all the time.

“She has a fever,” Mother says. She’s washing the dishes in the sink, making a lot of noise. Her hair is curled up and orange. “You girls, you tire me out,” she says. “Each day there’s something new. You think I like taking her to the doctor every goddamn week? Why don’t you do that for a change, huh? Little miss horse lady?”

Meagan stares at the large bows on mother’s white sandals, her red toenails pushing forward more and more as she scrubs harder.

“But that time we went, they asked for our parents, remember?” Meagan says. Lucy had a fractured wrist from a bike accident and the two of them had gone to the clinic by bus.

“Well, you tell them your father was a bastard. Tell them he didn’t have a penny but still couldn’t keep his pants on.”

Water drips from mother’s elbows onto the floor. Meagan runs to get a paper towel. Mother yells at her for ripping off too much.

“Can you just get out of my way?” Mother says, pushing Meagan away with wet gloves. “I don’t need your help.”

Meagan stumbles towards the door. Her wet feet leave smudges on the kitchen floor, making Mother angrier.

“Will you look at that now?”

Meagan reaches for the sweeper leaning on the wall and wipes after herself. Mother curses, splashing more water around her. Meagan stands just outside the kitchen door.

“But Mom,” she waits a while for a pause to interrupt. “Why can’t you take Lucy to the market with you?”

“You’re still here?” Mother yells, throwing the scrub sponge at her. Meagan turns her face.

“If you just take her with you… just don’t leave her here. Like you left me here with Uncle…”

“Get out of my kitchen!” Mother screams, making Meagan cry. “I’m tired of your lies ruining my life.” And Meagan does something she’s never done before. She picks up the sponge and throws it back at her mother, yelling, “I hate you!” before rushing out of the house, with Mother chasing after her, leaving a trail of water from the sink to the front porch.

+

It’s a late summer afternoon. Meagan bikes back home on the dirt road. The maize brushes the sky under the sun. She cuts two from the stem with her knife and puts them in her backpack for Lucy. A dry breeze runs through her hair.

It’s two o’clock when she walks into their home. Water is not running in the kitchen. Lucy’s tiny sandals are paired together on one corner of the door mat. Meagan looks up towards the ceiling, not hearing footsteps. Maybe something came up and Mother had to leave earlier. Maybe she had to take Lucy to the clinic.

“Lucy?” She calls looking up the staircase. Her voice is so thin, it fades away in the air.

Before she knows it, Meagan is up the stairs. There’s a door closed in front of her. She hears the radio. It scares her and makes her want to pee. She can open it and go in, or she can run back to the horses. She presses her nails into her palms. She wants it to hurt. Or she can let the horses drag her body next time, dislocating her shoulder.

She hears shuffling on the other side of the door. She takes a step back. The door opens in front of her, the wide figure of Uncle blocking her view completely. He is just wearing shorts. His belly is jolly when he walks towards her.

“You’re home early,” he says.

Meagan takes another step back and feels the railing barely touching her waist.

His arm stretches towards her and clenches her wrist. She pulls back but the grip is so tight it hurts her tiny bones. Uncle looks down with questioning eyes, dragging her towards him.

“Where’s Lucy?” Meagan cries. “Lucy! Lucy!” She tries to peek inside. Uncle reaches back with the other hand and closes the door.

“Meagan, calm down, sweetie,” says Uncle. “What is the matter?”

“Please, can you please just let Lucy out? Please!”

“You know I love you girls. You know I’d never hurt you.”

Meagan struggles to get away but the fingers clench harder. Her wrist pulls. Her hand goes numb.

“Let me go!” she screams.

“You’re flushed. Are you feeling sick, sweetie?”

Heat runs through Meagan’s body. The radio plays in the background. Dust particles are suspended in the air. Uncle’s hand is sweating. The black curly hairs on the knuckles look dark against his pale skin. They resemble patches of dirt stuck to his hands and forearms.

Meagan reaches for the knife in her pocket with her free hand. Now she is slashing his wrist over and over, leaving straight lines that open up like mouths screaming. Blood gushes, runs through the dirt and the grip loosens.

Uncle is now on the floor, rolling over his arm, screaming. Meagan hears a squeaking cry from nearby. It’s Lucy standing in the Uncle’s doorframe.

“I’m gonna tell Mom!” moans Lucy, crying. She is wearing a summer dress.

Meagan folds her bloody knife, places it on the floor and shoots it closer to Lucy’s feet. She then turns around, rushing down the stairs, past the quiet kitchen, the antique clock, and out the door.

+

It’s not until later that night, curled up on the rancher’s attic bed, face burning against her dried-up tears on the pillow, that Meagan hears the clear whisper of the wind cut through the grassland and shut a loose door in the stable. She imagines the tired dancers of a carnival wrapping up somewhere in the distance, ankles aching in their shoes as they make the last stretch home. She wants to know how they go on.

The strings of carnival lights flutter miles away. The empty stage would be covered with colorful feathers, glittering bows and pearl necklaces, the type Lucy likes to wear. The music has died, but Meagan imagines the faint laughter of children coming to play. Squinting her eyes, she searches in the faraway darkness for the children, looking for her sister amongst them.

+++