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Adrienne Yvonne stands in the bedroom doorway.

From down the hall, she can hear Vanessa, Cesar and Eddie scrambling about in the kitchen, setting the table for breakfast.

"Lemme pour the juice," Cesar pleads in his I'm-big-enough-to-do-it voice, and Adrienne supposes her siblings have let him because the youngest child squeals with delight.

Adrienne surveys the room, thinks about picking up the piles of clothes crumpled on the floor or placing the uncoupled shoes into the plastic boxes lining the closet's back wall. Last night had been quite a decision for her mother; what to wear when she went out.

Adrienne considers straightening the bottles of "Vanilla Fields" or "White Diamonds" on the mirrored dresser. Wrapping the cords neatly around the blow dryer, the curling iron and putting them away. Repacking the make-up bag, which lies overturned, its contents spilling: the eye liner in rainbow hues, the mascara in blue, brown and black, the rouge and lip pencils and sticks.

Adrienne moves toward the dresser to create order; then she changes her mind and instead flops down on the edge of the bed.

She stares at the rubber cord slashing across the nightstand wood until she can no longer evade the temptation and she picks it up, twirls it in the air.

The whisk, whisk cuts through the silence.

Letting the cord drop to the floor, Adrienne picks up the tarnished bent spoon and taps the saucer that holds the candle her mother used for prayer to the Virgin Mother and for getting high. She annoys herself with the clatter and then Adrienne flips the spoon in the air and lets it land with a clank on the floor.

Her brothers and sister have turned the television on and the house buzzes with the theme song of an animated program based on the latest Japanese imported toy.

Adrienne lies down, decides to let the expected sirens piercing
 through the morning upset the joyous expectation in the kitchen. Dutifully, she has called 911, though having found their mother dead Adrienne's first thought had been that she, Adrienne, was now free of having to complete that particular task.

Adrienne rises slightly, looks into her mother's face. The older woman continues to stare upward, her eyes no more vacant than when she was breathing.

Adrienne leans over, presses her lips to her mother's ear. "You promised you'd make them pancakes this morning," she hisses.

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