Dying Inside

She was sitting up, wearing a frilly white bathrobe over dark-blue pajamas. Yawning, stretching. Her face, usually so taut, was puffy from too much sleep. Out of force of habit I went into her mind, and saw something new and surprising there. My sister’s erotic inauguration. The night before. The whole thing: the scurry in the parked car, the rise of excitement, the sudden realization that this was going to be more than an interlude of petting, the panties coming down, the awkward shiftings of position, the fumble with the condom, the moment of ultimate hesitation giving way to total willingness, the hasty inexpert fingers coaxing lubrication out of the virgin crevice, the cautious clumsy poking, the thrust, the surprise of discovering that penetration was accomplished without pain, the pistoning of body against body, the boy’s quick explosion, the messy aftermath, the guilt and confusion and disappointment as it ended with Judith still unsatisfied. The drive home, silent, shamefaced. Into the house, tiptoe, hoarsely greeting the vigilant, unsleeping parents. The late-night shower. Inspection and cleansing of the deflowered and slightly swollen vulva. Uneasy sleep, frequently punctured. A long stretch of wakefulness, in which the night’s event is considered: she is pleased and relieved to have entered womanhood, but also frightened. Unwillingness to rise and face the world the next day, especially to face Paul and Martha. Judith, your secret is no secret to me.

“How are you?” I asked.

Stagily casual, she drawled, “Sleepy. I was out very late. How come you’re here?”

“I drop in to see the family now and then.”

“Nice to have seen you.”

“That isn’t friendly, Jude. Am I that loathsome to you?”

“Why are you bothering me, Duv?”

“I told you, I’m trying to be sociable. You’re my only sister, the only one I’ll ever have. I thought I’d stick my head in the door and say hello.”

“You’ve done that. So?”

“You might tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself since the last time I saw you.”

“Do you care?”

“If I didn’t care, would I ask?”

“Sure,” she said. “You don’t give a crap about what I’ve been doing. You don’t give a crap about anybody but David Selig, and why pretend otherwise? You don’t need to ask me polite questions. It isn’t natural coming from you.”

“Hey, hold on!” Let’s not be dueling so fast, sister. “What gives you the idea that—”

“Do you think of me from one week to the next? I’m just furniture to you. The drippy little sister. The brat. The inconvenience. Have you ever talked to me? About anything? Do you even know the name of the school I go to? I’m a total stranger to you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“What the hell do you know about me?”

“Plenty.”

“For example.”

“Quit it, Jude.”

“One example. Just one. One thing about me. For example—”

“For example. All right. For example, I know that you got laid last night.”

We were both amazed by that. I stood in shocked silence, not believing that I had allowed those words to pass my lips; and Judith jerked as though electrified, her body stiffening and rearing, her eyes blazing with astonishment. I don’t know how long we remained frozen, unable to speak.

“What?” she said finally. “What did you say, Duv?”

“You heard it.”

“I heard it but I think I must have dreamed it. Say it again.”

“No.”

“‘Why not?”

“Leave me alone, Jude.”

“Who told you?”

“Please, Jude—”

“Who told you?”

“Nobody,” I muttered.

Her smile was terrifyingly triumphant. “You know something? I believe you. I honestly believe you. Nobody told you. You pulled it right out of my mind, didn’t you, Duv?”

“I wish I had never come in here.”

“Admit it. Why won’t you admit it? You see into people’s minds, don’t you, Duvid? You’re some kind of circus freak. I’ve suspected that a long time. All those little hunches you have, and they always turn out to be right, and the embarrassed phony way you cover up for yourself when you’re right. Talking about your ‘luck’ at guessing things. Sure! Sure, luck! I knew the real scoop. I said to myself, This fucker is reading my mind. But I told myself it was crazy, there aren’t any such people, it has to be impossible. Only it’s true, isn’t it? You don’t guess. You look. We’re wide open to you and you read us like books. Spying on us. Isn’t that so?”

I heard a sound behind me. I jumped, frightened. But it was only Martha, poking her head into Judith’s bedroom. A vague, dreamy grin. “Good morning, Judith. Or good afternoon, I should say. Having a nice chat, children? I’m so glad. Don’t forget to have breakfast, Judith.” And she drifted on her way.

Judith said sharply, “Why didn’t you tell her? Describe the whole thing. Who I was with last night, what I did with him, how it felt—”

“Stop it, Jude.”

“You didn’t answer my other question. You’ve got this weird power, don’t you? Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been secretly spying on people all your life.”

“Yes. Yes.”