Kayt Lackie
Click here to read my biography
Hori gave her a disapproving look. She knew better than that. “Thought you’d just slip that in, eh?”
Midgey, suddenly dolly-eyed, slid off the bed, mumbling, “sorry, Hoe-wi.”
He frowned at her as long as he could – about six nanoseconds – then grinned, ruffled her hair and got his fingers caught in the oily, crunchy nest. She whimpered as he untangled himself.
A second shoe hit the headboard. Hori turned off the alarm. Then he noticed the time.
“Shit shit shit shit . . .” He jumped out of bed. Ten minutes. He wasn’t that talented. Hori grabbed his housecoat, suddenly checked to make sure he wasn’t flashing his baby sister (boxers on, everything tucked, phew) and ran down the hall to the bathroom. Midgey followed him, the attentive mouthpiece, kindly chorusing “shits” Hori was too frazzled to sing.
Naya was in the bathroom straightening her hair, staring at herself in the mirror, humming some bad pop song like a Disney Princess reject. Hori grabbed a towel, tossed it over the edge of the frosted bathtub door, and then did the same with his robe.
“Midgey, go see Mama. Naya, close your eyes.” He shucked off his underwear and got in the shower.
“Hullo, get out of my mirror?! I’m so sick of seeing your big, fat, naked ass. Move out already, loser!”
Hori cranked the hot water and prayed to the water heater gods. No dice – luke warm. He did a little dance to get himself all wet, ran a bar of soap over his torso, nethers and feet, slathered his shaggy hair in Head’nShoulders 2in1, rinsed everything, and then shut off the water.
“Is that Hori in the shower? Does he know it’s eight-forty?” Patient, weary, nagging. Eldest of the sisters, Ileana.
“He does now,” grumbled Naya.
Sniff sniff. “Are you wearing my perfume?”
Sniff. “So what if I am?”
“Naya, Marcel gave that to me for my birthday!”
“Well, you’ll have to share it until I get myself a rich, white Rosedale boy.”
“He’s from Oakville, idiot.”
“It’s all vegetarian, poutine queen.”
“You mean vegetation? Oh, shit, Hori, keep your robe closed!”
Hori grabbed the front of his robe and pulled it tight around his hips. Too tight – there wasn’t enough give in the fabric to lift his foot high enough to clear the tub wall. He tripped over the tub, hit the towel rack and sat heavily on Midgey’s plastic stool, feet planted wide, robe flapping open. His sisters squawked indignantly, shielded their eyes, and fled.
“It’s amazing how ugly those things are. Don’t see what the big deal is,” muttered Naya.
“When they’re so little and limp it’s as if you can rip them off like a sales tag,” said Ileana, loftily. Hori winced, slammed the door and locked it.
Toothbrush. His blue OralB with the punked-out bristles was laying there on the edge of the sink. That sink was full of toothpaste blobs and broken, charred hair. He hated that burnt protein smell. God damn sisters.
He swept his right molars once and then remembered. Pulling the toothbrush out of his mouth, he wondered if the toilet had been full or flushed when Midgey dropped the toothbrush. A glance into the toilet bowl made the question irrelevant. He used a new toothbrush piled high with paste and brushed twice as long as usual.