Molly teaches you to keep a secret. She says you do that for people you love. And because nobody likes a snitch.
So you don’t tell when Molly leans out the window of the bedroom you share, the lit end of an American Spirit bobbing in the dark like a lightening bug. Instead, you think about the fireflies you caught once, and how they escaped because the holes in the lid were too big.
You don’t tell when Molly goes one step further, out of the window and onto the porch roof. She presses a finger to her lips, the nail lacquered to match the lipstick lifted from Mom’s Avon case. You hope Mom doesn’t notice the doll-size sample is gone. If you get blamed again, you can’t defend yourself — unless you tell on Molly. Continue reading “Just Between Us | Georgene Smith Goodin”