Off With Her Head

“We’ll have to cut it off.” I don’t think I’ll forget that moment, or those six words.

That night the air smelled of Irish whiskey and the party had gotten too loud, and somehow no one had noticed my sister putting her head through the bannister, again. No one except me. The quiet kid.

This time though, she was a little older, and her head was bigger. She was four now, and I was five. I had never put my head through the bannister. Never. I wouldn’t. But my sister, she liked to make me laugh. Maybe cuz mum said I was “so serious”.

But Winnie, she always made me laugh.

Sometimes it would be when the adults were smoking and drinking upstairs. She would build a tower of pillows and we would jump into them. No one ever noticed us staying up late or playing downstairs. It was far away from the roar of the kitchen party, far away from the cigarette smog, far away from the comments on how “serious” I was. In the basement I could just be a kid.

That night Winnie was feeling particularly silly. She was dancing around in our mother’s clothing from when my Ma was a kid. The sundresses seemed old timey, like in the movies my grandma let me watch when I was feeling “out of sorts”.

Winnie was trying to get me to put one on, and putting on make up from the old dresser they’d put downstairs when my grandmother had been moved into “the home”. Not our home, but a smelly place where no one seemed happy. My grandmother’s roommate told good stories though. Her name was Nellie and she was on a giant boat that sank when she was a little girl. The Tie Tantic. I loved those stories. Not the part where people didn’t get off the boat. That was scary. But the part where Nellie and her mom got on another boat before the Tie Tantic went under the water. I loved that story.

In those days I felt like my life was a Tie Tantic and we were slowly sinking, and the air smelled like Irish Whiskey more and more, and Winnie and I spent more time in the basement. I laughed less. Winnie had to try harder.

Tonight she was fully “gussied up” as my grandma would call it. Full lipstick (most of it on her cheeks) and a bright yellow sundress and “full of the chickens” or was it “dickens”…no “chickens” made more sense.

Well, Winnie was full of the chickens when she ran up the stairs and put her head through the bannister hoping to make me giggle…but this time, her head wouldn’t come out.

I stood there, laughing, but then Winnie’s face started to turn red, like when she was about to start bawling. And she did. She started yell-crying that she couldn’t get her head unstuck.

Now of course I tried to help, this wasn’t the first time she’d gotten stuck and I did try. I tried to push her head a little, and then I tried pulling her from behind, and nothing was helping and Winnie was still sobbing and I was finding it hard to breathe. I knew we were gonna get in trouble. And maybe we would be able to play in the basement no more, and maybe we’d spend the rest of our lives in our rooms. That’s what I was thinking. Normally I wouldn’t go get Ma or Pa, but from the way Winnie was struggling I knew there was no choice. Winnie’s face was the colour of beet borscht with sour cream and I was afraid. I was afraid for Winnie, but I was also afraid of what would happen when I told our parents.

“I’m going to get help, please stop crying, Winnie.” But she couldn’t. So I ran up the stairs as quick as a bunny.

Ma was sitting on my Pa’s lap laughing about something one of their friend’s said, and when I ran into the kitchen I yelled “Winnie’s stuck!” And they all turned to look at me like I was a monkey in a zoo, maybe because normally I don’t talk very much, and I certainly don’t yell.

Ma jumped off Pa’s lap, and Pa got up kind of surprised.

The whole kitchen party moved towards the stairs where I’d come from. I stayed at the top of the stairs, too scared to go down.

My Ma got to Winnie first and I could tell she was feeling guilty. I knew all about guilt because once I ate pudding from the fridge when I wasn’t supposed to and my grandma said “you look as guilty as all get out”, and I felt that word go into my brain. My mom looked like she’d eaten pudding she wasn’t supposed to have. I’m not sure I’d ever seen my Ma look that way.

I was at the top of the stairs looking down feeling guilty too, like I should have stopped Winnie. Like it was my fault.

Then my Pa said “I think we are going to have to cut it off.” Winnie started screaming, and I yelled down the stairs.

“YOU CAN’T CUT OFF HER HEAD! YOU JUST CAN’T!” I ran downstairs to save my sister because she’s the best friend I’ve ever had and she’s never let me get my head cut off. I know she wouldn’t.

So I stood in front of all those Irish Whiskey smelling people and I wouldn’t move. Everyone got real quiet. Even Winnie.

Then all of a sudden my Pa starts laughing, and my Ma, and all the rest of the party people.

”Wanda? Move. We ain’t gonna cut your sister’s head off. We’re gonna cut the wood.”

I was so relieved that I started laughing, and then Winnie realizing that we weren’t in trouble, and that she wasn’t going to lose her head, she started laughing too.

And about fifteen minutes later the fire department was at our house, and Winnie was out of the bannister, and my parents, they seemed different somehow and well after that night they never smelled like Irish Whiskey again, and Winnie she never put her head through the bannister again, but she still knows exactly how to make me laugh.