Little Priest

"Holy fuck, I need new friends," said Jennifer.

"Parents aren't supposed to play favorite," Mary said.

Sarah knew this.

She was having a late-night dinner with her Aunt Mary after she turned up by half-surprise at the bar she worked at. It was something everyone with a sibling knew, but usually never had the guts to ask if it was true. Sarah wondered how she'd rank next to her sister, Rachel. Rachel would call home every other day; she'd email; she'd send cards every holiday Hallmark offered. Sarah, on the other hand, only spoke with her parents when they'd call to question whether she was still amongst the living.

Sarah felt bad for Vic, her cousin. Victor was the oldest. He was the first to marry and have grandchildren, but was supporting his family as a janitor at a local high school (or, as a "maintenance engineer," as her aunt would say). Ryan, his younger brother -- and Sarah's favorite cousin -- was tall and handsome, and a popular aide to the junior state senator in DC.

Mary had come to Sarah to tell her about Ryan's big day -- the senator was running for president -- but she really couldn't listen. She knew she was her parents' favorite. She smugly smiled into her coffee mug.

Jennifer drew the water to fill the bathtub. She dropped an effervescent
bath bead, a stupid consolation Christmas gift from someone who didn’t
know Jennifer at all, into the rising water. Jennifer hated taking
baths. The bath bead was “Ginger Ale” scented, so at least the forgotten
gift giver had that right. Jennifer loved ginger ale.

Jennifer lowered herself into the tub, folding her limbs so she could
fit the length of the bath. Her knees broke the water’s surface, little
islands of memories; land marked by the scars of in-line skating
accidents and drunken walks home over Wisconsin ice.

Jennifer sank deeper into the tub, her head now below the ginger fizz.
It was quiet. She imagined herself drifting to the bottom of Jenny Lake,
sinking beyond lily pads and cutthroat trout, smooth stones and copper
wishes, trilobites and limestone, ancient continents and the plastic
rings from six packs.

Jennifer sank herself into the other side of the world, where she
emerged from a bathtub, her spirits not dampened, but waterlogged.