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When we get home, three men are eating leftovers in our kitchen. The guns in their hands look big as lumber. My mom glares at my dad. "I told you to set the alarm." He shrugs. One guy burps and then says, "Basement time, kids first." My sister and I trudge down. My mom follows on our heels, nearly tripping us, whispering "stay calm, stay calm." One of the men comes down with us. "Stand next to each other, near that wall." The other two come down a minute later, without my dad. My mom shakes her head. "You fuckers."
The smallest of the three men grins at my sister. "How old are you?" She looks at my mom and then says, "It's so cold down here." My mom sighs. "Your father never finished the basement, he was going to insulate." The tallest man nods at me. "How about you, cowboy?"
"How about me what?" I hear myself say.
The smallest man sticks his nose near mine. "How old are you, boy?"
"Sixteen," I say, adding four years. He looks like the sort who hates bigger guys, especially younger ones.
"Huh," he says, hitting me in the face with his gun. When I'm on the ground he stomps my head with his little right foot. The other two men say something to my mom and sister. As blood drips into my eyes I'm sad as hell to see my sister's freckled hands covering her bare chest.
END
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