Pecking Order

The month I turned 14, there came the impossible twins, giving me sudden siblings. My parents named them after themselves—Bob and Bev. New heirs, dark-haired and diaper-loaded, it dropped my equivalence from Golden Boy to too early at a party when the hosts were hoping for any other guest.

The day I turned 15, there came the peppermint schnapps, giving me final inspiration. I torched little Bob, burned wee Bev, and twins’ embers climbed the curtains, crawled the ceilings, escaladed the walls. From the front yard, I rejoiced in smoke-choked Mom, and good riddance, Dad, you and your bullshit vasectomy.