On Odd Days, I Was Her Dead Daughter

After my sister drowned that summer, my mom lost her mind.

She set a rule: on odd-numbered days, I was Maya. On even-numbered days, I was Lily.

When I was playing Lily, I had to wear a pair of red Mary Jane shoes, two sizes too small, and dance ballet in the living room, even if my toes bled.

When I was playing myself, I could only eat stale, hard bread, because Maya was a sinner who didn't deserve meat.

I endured it for three years, until she smashed the art supplies I'd secretly saved up for, declaring that Lily wasn't grown up yet, so no one was allowed to draw.