Free Footer Davis Probably Is Crazy by Susan Vaught

Dad get rid of his guns. I guess she was afraid you’d shoot me instead of a snake.”
    Mom stayed still in her chair. Her mouth dropped wide, but not like she was surprised. More like she was about to snore with her eyes open.
    â€œAre you awake?” I muttered.
    â€œI’m awake,” she said, slurring the words. “Guns. Sorry, my fault.”
    It was her fault, so I didn’t tell her it wasn’t.
    â€œShotguns and rifles are dangerous,” she added. “Maybe it’s for the best.” Then she mumbled for a while, not saying anything that made sense. The medicationsdid that to her sometimes. She told me that was one of the reasons she didn’t like taking them.
    I’d rather be crazy than stupid, Fontana.
    Not me.
    If somebody gave me pills to chase away crazy, I’d take every one of them, just like I was supposed to.
    â€œI think I’m losing my mind,” I whispered.
    Mom sat up a little straighter, and the wheels on her rolling recliner creaked. “You’re fine, honey.”
    â€œI’m not fine.” Flutters started in my belly, and I couldn’t look at her. The closest picture to me had roses and daisies mixed together, and it didn’t look normal, all that red in the white and yellow. “I keep seeing things.”
    â€œIf you were losing your mind, you’d hear things, not see things,” Mom said. “What are you seeing?”
    My eyes went from roses and daisies to the shadow of Dad outside the visiting-room door. “The fire. Cissy Abrams.”
    â€œSshhh. Hush now.” Mom’s face tightened and now she sat as straight as any normal person. “You slept through all of that, remember?”
    I picked at the cut knuckles on my right hand, making them bleed. “What if I didn’t?”
    Mom kept blinking, like she wanted to nod off but was too scared to do it.
    â€œWhen did you lose your barrette?” I asked her.
    She blinked faster. “We don’t need to waste timetalking about barrettes. That’s over and done.”
    My heart did a big plummet, right down in the fluttery flitters. It wasn’t over and done. Nothing felt over and done. “It’s not wasting time. Mom, if you were there during the fire, if I was there, we can’t just pretend it away.”
    Her hands twitched under her white blanket. “I want you to feed the mice, Footer. Can you do that for me? Feed the mice in the basement, so they don’t die like my squirrel.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? Mom—”
    â€œRifles and shotguns are too dangerous for little girls, even if we have a right to them.” Mom blinked and blinked and blinked. “Our country was founded on the Bill of Rights. Did you know that? This is a great country—”
    I stared at her, not hearing her anymore because a high whine had started in my ears.
    Rifles and shotguns are too dangerous for little girls .
    The whine got louder, until it buzzed.
    No. Not now. Not here.
    But I couldn’t help blinking like Mom did, too fast, over and over, because it was happening again. The world was changing. Hallucination. Flashback. Mice and dead squirrels. Help me.
    I dug my fingers into the chair arms and the room turned into fire, and—
    Cissy Abrams stands in front of me, covered in moonlight. . . .
    She holds out her arms. . . .
    A shotgun appears in her hands. . . .
    Dark flecks rain down. . . .
    Mom appears beside Cissy. . . .
    She puts her hands on the shotgun. . . .
    â€œHurry,” she says. . . .
    They look at me. . . .
    I start to fall. . . .
    â€œMy country, ’tis of theeeee,” a voice sang so loud, it broke the night around me. I threw out my arms to keep from hitting the ground, and my fingers brushed soft blanket.
    My eyes focused on Mom. Mom in her hospital rolling chair, without a shotgun or any fire burning