Today, the wind feels like it'll blow me away. The sand sticks gritty in my brown hair, making it even thicker. I would love a warm shower to wash it all away. But I won't have time. Tonight, I have to get to work.   

The light flips green, and I pass a cross rooted in the ground. The wooden sticks mark the dead. Someone died in a car crash right here, between my house and my school. I know of at least one more bad crash here. I had been in that car, and I had been the one driving. I'm lucky no one died.   

The whoosh from another gust slows me down. Each step I take is forced, so I don't move very fast. I taste the crunch of sand in my mouth. Spit it out as I round the neighbor's mailbox. 

Then I remember something important.  The mail! My feet pick up, and my steps have purpose. I fight the breeze harder now. I focus on that envelope. My steps against the wind. My mind pictures that crisp white rectangle with my name on it, Jessie Begay. I imagine opening the tri-fold to the words that can get me out of my house.  

The wind swirls around me, and chills grow up my neck. Our broken fence leans onto the sidewalk. Piles of trash and dry weeds blow out of the yard. I collect some of it. There's a greasy hamburger bag and a beer can. I crush them in one hand while my other hand passes over the dent in our car.  

She had been drunk and I had said no. I was too scared and not old enough to drive, but still I took the wheel.     

The stucco is cracking around the door.  I pull. The screen door squeals slightly, but I am careful to be quiet. I turn it, but the door handle won't budge. I don’t have a key anymore. Mom took mine away.  

My hand releases the bag and beer can into the air. The trash blows right back into the yard. I rub the back of my neck. It is tight and it hurts. I walk around the rough wall of the house to avoid the wind and get to the front. The big window glides open, perfectly quiet. My best quiet yet.  

Easy. I slip in. Easy.  

I use both hands, just as silently as before. The window slides closed. My first step into the darkness, I am home. Like always, all the curtains are down and our lights are off.  Mom is sleeping. This is good if I want to take her car to get to work. 

I feel around with my left hand and turn on the light. Cockroaches run everywhere. Gross. One roach doesn't run. Instead it stands still on top of a cake.   

I had heard them making posole late last night. The pile of dishes needs to be washed before I can leave. It's my job.  I am careful not to make even one little "clink" with the plates. But....  

"Hi, sissy!" Peggy says.  

My sister, Peggy, has a key. She comes home. She is unafraid and the real kind of happy.  I love her chubby cheeks. They are peach and strawberry and frame all her joy. Her full cinnamon hair is twisting into knots. Her dark eyes are like almonds dipped in dark chocolate. Peggy had a happy day away from home.  

"Shhhhhh," I tell her. Peggy is little, and she doesn't get it. Not like I do. I get it. "Shhhh, we have to be quiet," I say.   

Peggy drops her books onto the floor. She clinks her dish and tells me about her day anyway. "Mrs. Garcia said I spell good," Peggy says loudly with a smile.    

"Shhhhh." I say. "I want to listen. But please be...."   

I hear a click. The door handle turns. That's it. Mom’s awake. 

“Messy brats. What do you do all day?” Mom says.  

Her hair is greasy and tangled, eyes all puffy and red. Mom shoves the big pitcher under the faucet and fills it with water.  Gulp, gulp, gulp. She drinks it down.  She is still drunk.   

“You girls think I’m your maid?" Her spit all mixed with talk flies from her big lips. "I already got a job." She spits and talks again. "I said to clean this mess up!”  

I feel it coming. I know the sound the wind makes from her hand flying at me.  Mom slaps the back of my head. I close my eyes and stare hard at one of the orange and brown paisley circles on the rug. I bite the tip of my tongue, reminding myself not to speak. Not for too long, though. I have to get back to "eyes on her" or else.  

My eyes race up to her. She points to a pile of clothes for me to wash.  I see her keys.  Mom sees me seeing her keys.  I know I can grab them and run.  I just want to go.  If I can only keep...my....mouth...shut.  But I can’t...   

“I work too,” I say quietly.  

Mom flips her head around.  I shouldn't have said it.  I know this sound too:  whhhhip, slap. She slaps me again. It stings terribly, right in the face this time. I knew this one was coming. Both of her palms jut into my chest, pushing me back.  Her big belly jumps up and down. Now she is giggling. It is funny to her. And now that it is funny, we must laugh too.  

Peggy giggles nervously. I try a laugh. Her stained shirt is short and doesn't cover her belly bottom. The stains jump up and down too. Hilarity. It's all so funny now. We are supposed to be laughing. Then, mom starts to cough.  

We stop laughing, and we don't smile either. This is how it is.  

“Stupid cough,” she says.  

Hacking, wheezing, bent over. Her lighter is beckoning her. Mom reaches the lighter and her pack of smokes.  Lighting one and inhaling, she finally breathes.  She sucks in the smoke. It magically stops her cough. So relieved, mom slumps into her chair and a speedy roach runs over her toes. She blows out another puff of smoke.  Now and more urgently, I want to go. I have to go.  

Peggy feels the danger has passed and gets a can of soda. Both of her chubby hands out.  She offers it to me. I shake my head, "No."  She gives it to mom. Mom pats her chubby bottom and pops the soda top. Mom sloppily pours one for Peggy and one for herself with a big pour of the whiskey.   

Next, Peggy takes the cake and delivers it to the table. Mom shakes her head, "No." Peggy sweetly cuts herself some cake, a big slice, and licks the knife. Peggy offers the cake to me. I shake my head. Peggy's peace-making is torture and seems to take hours.  

Mom reloads her glass of whiskey and soda. I have to get out of here. Sneakily, I slip the keys off of the counter, but before I can get out, Mom blows smoke into the air.  

“Your uncle is coming tonight,” she says. “Get this place cleaned up for him when you get home. You got it?" 

 Her eyes red, brown, and glaring at me.  My face fills with blood. My head is hot and my stomach loose and moving. I nod and stiffen out the front door to get to work. 

"Hey, awesome girl. You are late again," Anna says.  

Anna is my coworker. She helps two old ladies with pantyhose who look at me pathetically. Anna smiles. She's glad I'm late. We get paid by how much we sell. If I'm not there, she makes more money.  

The phone rings, and I rush to answer it. "Handbags and Pantyhose, may I help you?" I say.  

Using one of the pens with flowers on the end and a formal order form for paper, I write down the order.  I repeat each item back to the customer. "Two pair of black in size medium?" I nod and smile. "Oh, 20 black! Yes, ma'am, I'll have them ready," I say. "Thank you so much for your order. Bye."  

Anna is not smiling now. I see her customer walk away with only one pair.  

We work all evening like that, and it stays busy until late. I feel good. I made money tonight, money to save.  

When things slow down, Anna asks me, "Did you get your college letter yet?"  

The mail! I forgot to check it. That letter is probably sitting in the mailbox waiting for me.  Not the letter from the college. I already got that letter. The college said my grades are good enough, but I have to earn a high score on the college entrance test, the SAT. I took the test last month, and now I am waiting on my score.  

"Not yet," is all I say to Anna.  

Anna's chin smugly sticks out in front of her. Her stuffy face tells me she doesn't believe me. I don't care, not a bit. I know that most people don't expect me to go to college. I didn't expect me to go to college either. But now I do because I want to leave.  

"Can you stay and close for me?" I ask. "I have to go home and clean the house. My uncle is coming to town."   

"Sure," Anna says. I already know she wants to stay. The cute security guard is required to walk the last girl out. "Have fun cleaning for your uncle," Anna says.   

I take my bag and leave before she sees my red face. Protected in the car, I try breathing calmly. I look for a tissue in the back seat but only find my sandals, ratty old shoes that don't fit anymore. I tried to get rid of them, but Peggy wants to wear them. I was her age when I got them. Mom was buying shoes and they had buy one get one free. I got one free. I remember because it was the only time I have ever felt pretty. Not the kind of pretty where you want boys to notice you or girls to envy you. I was real, pure, happy-to-be-me pretty. I must have looked pretty too because...  

I don't want to look pretty like that anymore. I don't want to be seen. I want to be unseen, invisible. I'll never wear shoes like these again.