The Wrong Side of the Coin

A searing pain shot through my neck and forehead.

Warm blood tracked down along my brow into my eyes, and everything in front of me turned a blinding red.

I was slumped against the solid wood door. I wanted to pound on it and call for help, but all my throat could push out was a broken rasp.

My awareness slid out of my body a little at a time.

I looked down at the bloodstain spreading across the rug, and the first thing that went through my mind, of all things, was that I had to clean it up.

That hand-knotted Persian rug was expensive.

If I stained it, Mom would be even angrier.

But when I reached out to wipe it, my palm passed straight through my own body, and then through the floor.

My body had gone light as a feather, and it drifted slowly toward the ceiling.

So that was it. I was already dead.

I was no stranger to death.

Before my sister Chloe was born, Grandma had left the same way, lying in a cold hospital bed.

Back then, Mom held my hand and cried as though her heart would break.

She pulled me tight against her and kissed my forehead over and over.

"Millie, from now on all I have is you.

"Mommy will love you forever. I'll give you the best of everything in the world."

Back then, I was all Mom could see.

She baked apple pie for me on weekends, read The Little Prince to me before bed, and held me in her lap and asked whether I'd had a good day.

Then my sister was born, and all of it changed.

Chloe had been born prematurely, tiny enough to fit in the crook of one arm.

She had asthma from birth too, and she spent months in an incubator.

Mom kept watch outside the intensive care unit day and night, and the strain left her anxious and constantly on edge.

By the time Chloe could finally come home, Mom was convinced I would be jealous and hurt her the moment no adult was looking.

To keep things "fair," or so she said, and to calm her own fears, Mom had a gold coin custom-made at a jeweler.

One side was engraved with a flower to represent Chloe.

The other was engraved with a number to represent me.

At first, that coin really was fair.

Every so often, it did land number side up for me.

When I won, Mom would cook my favorite ribeye steak, medium-well.

Chloe would push her teddy bear into my arms and say in her tiny voice, "Here, Millie. You can have it."

But later on, every time I won, my sister's mouth would twist and she would start to wail.

She would cry until she couldn't breathe, until her face went purple, and the bad times ended in the emergency room.

After that, the coin's balance somehow shifted.

It was as if the coin had been cursed against me. I never saw the number side again.

For ten whole years I ate the salads Chloe had picked over and wore the old coats she didn't like.

I would ask Mom through tears why it was never my turn.

All I ever got in return was a harsh scolding.

"Your sister is sick. You're the older one. Are you really going to fight her over the luck of a coin?

"You made the bet. Now take the loss. Do you understand?

"If your luck is bad, then accept it. I don't want to raise an ungrateful, selfish little snake!"

After that, I didn't dare cry again.

I practiced tossing a coin in secret every day, working on the angle, the force, the landing.

I thought that if I just worked hard enough, one day I would win.

Today, my acceptance letter from the elite prep school arrived, with my full name, Amelia Reed, printed across the top.

I had earned the highest entrance score and a full scholarship.

I thought Mom would be happy for me.

But she gave the letter one careless glance and asked me, "What reward do you want?"

I told her all I wanted was a steak she had cooked herself.

Mom paused for a second, then took the coin out of the drawer.

"Then we toss for it.

"If it lands number side up, I'll cook your steak. If it lands flower side up, I'll take Chloe out for seafood."

I looked at the coin that hadn't landed my side up in ten years, and for the first time, I considered cheating.

I quietly swapped in a coin with the number on both sides.

But Mom spotted the trick the moment the coin hit the floor.

She flew into a rage and kicked me.

"You cheated!

"How could I have given birth to a child this vicious!

"Get in there and think about what you did!"

With that, she turned and went downstairs.

She didn't see my forehead crack against the brass corner bracket of my desk.

My vision went black with pain.

I wanted to explain that I hadn't meant it, to tell her my head hurt, to beg her to take me to the hospital.

But my throat felt clamped shut by an invisible hand, and only a faint wheeze escaped.

The living room light beyond my door blurred and blurred in my vision.

I clenched my teeth and tried, with the last of what I had, to push myself up.

But my legs had already gone numb.

My whole body pitched straight forward.

The force of my fall caught the door, which swung shut with a heavy boom.

My chest and stomach pressed hard against the bottom of it, and my weight jammed that inward-opening door tight.

Mom's furious voice came from the hall at once.

"Grown a temper, have you? Slamming doors at me now?

"Then starve in there!"

She wrenched the handle a few times, and when the door didn't move at all, she gave a cold laugh.

"If you have that much nerve, stay in there forever."

Then her voice went soft.

"Don't be scared, Chloe. Mommy's taking you out for a big seafood dinner."

Her heels clicked away down the hall.

Warm blood ran down from my forehead, soaked across the rug, and seeped out under the door, a little at a time.

I finally realized I probably wouldn't live long enough for Mom to come back.

But even as my mind sank into darkness, one question kept circling: Would she suddenly remember me?

Would she come back to check on me?

Would she finally see that I wasn't really a bad person?