Ginny Moon

by Benjamin Ludwig

“The kids at Special Olympics are special like me,” I say. “And Room Five.”

  “That’s right!” says Maura. “It will be a lot like Special Olympics. Everyone will be special.”

  I look at Brian. He is sitting across from me at the table. Not talking. Maura stays downstairs now with Baby Wendy during the day and Brian stays home too. He is taking it easy until he gets 100 percent better, Maura said on Sunday when he got home.

  Brian drinks some wine. He drinks red wine every night at supper now. And doesn’t eat things with lots of salt. He isn’t going back to work this year. “I’m looking forward to the basketball tournament, Ginny,” he says. “It will be nice to see the team again.”

  “Rick said in his email that we should take pictures,” I say.

  “Oh, I’ll take lots of pictures,” says Brian. “And I promise I’ll send some to good old Rick.”

  I wonder if Rick will come up to Canada with me and Gloria. I don’t think he will but I really want to thank him. Because he gave me Return of the Jedi and Gloria’s phone number. I wanted to call Gloria last night but I know people can hear me when I talk in my room. So I need to find a quiet place when no one is around. I need to find a place that’s private. There aren’t any private places at school. There aren’t any private places here at the Blue House. There’s always someone here.

  “Ginny?”

  “What?”

  It is Brian. “What’s on your mind tonight? You seem awfully distracted.”

  “Is everything all right at school?” says Maura.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “It’s the trip to Saint Genevieve’s, isn’t it,” says Brian. His voice didn’t go up so he didn’t ask a question. Then he says, “How do you feel about going there?”

  “We are going there on Monday, January 24th,” I say.

  “Yes, but how do you feel about maybe going to live there?”

  I don’t want to answer so I wait. Because sometimes if you don’t answer then someone will answer for you or someone will say something else to help you know what to say.

  “It’s going to be hard for us, too,” says Maura. “Like I said the other day, we’ve had some good times together. But I’m glad that you’ll be in a place where people can give you what you need. You’re going to be very happy.”

  “What was the question?” I say because now I don’t remember.

  “I asked how you feel about going to live at Saint Genevieve’s,” says Brian.

  “I feel like I would like to go to my room now,” I say.

  He nods his head. “All right,” he says. “You can go to your room. I understand.”

  I get up from the table.

  “I’m really looking forward to the tournament,” he says. “Aren’t you? It will be like one last good time.” His eyes are wet.

  “Yes,” I say. “It will be the last good time.”

  EXACTLY 5:28,

  TUESDAY, JANUARY 18TH

  There are woods behind the Blue House.

  I can’t see them because it’s dark outside. I can see only myself. My reflection is looking back at me from the dark, dark window. I see a skinny, skinny girl with long hair and glasses. She is wearing her hat and coat and boots. She is wearing her gloves and scarf. She is a big girl, not the little girl she used to be. Not the little girl she’s supposed to be. She isn’t nine years old anymore. She is (-Ginny) and she has a lot of work to do. She has to be really, really smart and not be a cave girl at all.

  I open the window as quietly as I can. The screen is already up because I got it ready before I put on my gloves. I put my backpack out the window and drop it in the snow. It falls only thirty-two inches to the ground. I know because I measured the distance two years ago when I first came to the Blue House.

  Next I put my leg out the window and let it hang there. I think.

  Because there isn’t a ladder.

  When I read the poem by Robert Frost about apple-picking there was a ladder and Mrs. Carter said the ladder meant heaven. Then when I drew the picture of me climbing out my bedroom window there was a ladder. Because when I escape and find my Baby Doll it will be like everything is good and okay and safe.

  But thirty-two inches is easy to jump, no problem. I don’t need a ladder at all. So if I don’t need a ladder and a ladder means heaven then maybe it won’t be like heaven when I call Gloria and tell her to come pick me up. Or maybe no ladder means someone will stop me. Maybe someone will grab my arm right now and say, No, Ginny! Don’t climb out that window! Don’t try to call Gloria!

  I look back fast at my door. It is shut and everything is quiet. Then I look outside. It is dark and there are no more reflections. No more (-Ginny) looking at me while I get ready. Instead I see the dark woodpile and the darker trees behind it. The open space of the yard under my feet. Empty and white. With or without a ladder I need to do this.

  I need to go.

  The snow is clean and waiting. I hop down and pick up my backpack and walk across the snow.

  EXACTLY 5:36,

  TUESDAY, JANUARY 18TH

  Kayla Zadambidge’s phone tells the time when I push a small button at the bottom of it. It also shows the exact date. It is all charged up now. Sometimes I wonder if I love dates and numbers because when I’m deep in my brain they help me remember where I really am. They are like handles I can use to pull myself back up.

  The time right now is exactly 5:37 and I am on a path behind the woodpile.

  I put the phone back in my coat pocket and keep going. The path is easy to see even though the sky is dark. Because the snow is bright. I walk for exactly nine seconds and then take the phone out and press the button and slide to the main screen. I touch the words Address Book.

  I don’t know the names of the people listed there. One of them says “Mom” but I know that that isn’t Maura. One says “Dad” but I know that that isn’t Brian. One says “Grandma” but I know that that isn’t Grammy. I don’t see “Gloria” or “Rick” anywhere.

  I put the phone away again. I have to go deep into the woods to call Gloria quickly because I don’t want them to see me. Brian and Maura won’t go in my bedroom right away but I think they might if they call me and I’m not there to answer. So I keep walking. The path turns. When I look behind me I don’t see the Blue House anymore. I don’t see the woodpile or anything.

  In my backpack I have my videos. I have my DVD player too but nothing else. It’s all charged up just in case someone finds me. It is part of my secret plan. When I call Gloria I will have my movie playing. That way if someone finds me and says, “What are you doing in the woods, Ginny?” I can say, “I am watching a movie.”

  That way I will be telling the truth. That way I will still be a good girl.

  The snow comes up past my ankles. The air is so cold that the inside of my nose hurts and my eyes are watery. I walk over old tree trunks. I walk between rocks. I walk for nine seconds.

  I put my backpack down in the snow and take my DVD player out. I put it on top of the backpack and take out The Sound of Music which is about a lady with short hair named Frogline Maria. I put the DVD in the DVD player and press the power button. The screen lights up. I see words on the screen but I’m so distracted and anxious that I can’t read them.

  The moon is high up in the sky above me. It is as bright as the screen. I take out the cell phone. The time is exactly 5:39 now. I look inside my eyes and see Gloria’s number: 555-730-9952. I press the numbers and then I press the green button but I don’t hear a ringing sound. I press the red button and try again but I still don’t hear anything. Then I see that the phone says No Signal.

  So I say, “Well dang!”

  And slam the DVD player shut. I grab it and throw everything in my backpack. I pick my backpack up and put it on and start walking. Back the w
ay I came.

  But not to the Blue House.

  Because I know that sometimes people walk on the road past the Blue House talking on their cell phones. I saw them do it when the weather was warmer. In the spring and summer and fall. I’m guessing they had a signal.

  The time is 5:42.

  I follow the path until I see the woodpile and the lights from the Blue House behind it. I walk around the house and up the driveway. When I get to the road I go left.

  There are no streetlights because we live out in the woods. I see the sky and the moon above the road. I walk fast for another nine seconds and turn around.

  The Blue House is still too close.

  I walk fast for nine seconds more. The road turns. I go around the corner and look back. I don’t see anything. I take out the cell phone and call.

  This time the phone is ringing. It rings four times and then Gloria picks up. “Hello?” she says.

  “Hello, this is Ginny. I’m your daughter. Remember?”

  “Ginny?” Gloria says. Her voice sounds just like it did five years ago when the police came to take me away and she said, “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, Ginny!” but she is not screaming and I am not screaming either. I want to yell or grab my socks because I’m so excited but I can’t because I am walking on the icy road and I can’t see the edges. Plus I am worried that a car will come the other way. I am so excited and anxious that my name sounds like it’s not mine when Gloria says it.

  “Ginny? Ginny?” says Gloria.

  “Yes, I am here,” I say.

  “Holy shit, Ginny, this is great! But how the hell did you get my number? This is a track phone. I only use it for business.”

  I don’t know what a track phone is but I know that her business is selling Maine coons. “It was in Return of the Jedi,” I say.

  “Return of the Jedi? You mean the movie?”

  I nod my head yes.

  “Ginny?”

  “What?” I say.

  “Who gave you my number? Holy shit!”

  “Rick.”

  “Rick? But that doesn’t make any sense. Oh, wait, yes, it does! He got my address from the police and came to talk with me a few weeks ago. We exchanged phone numbers.”

  That was not a question so I don’t say anything. I am still remembering the way Gloria’s voice sounds when her face is squashed.

  She takes a deep breath. “All right, let’s focus. It’s great that Rick gave you my phone number, but I need to ask some questions. I need to figure out what’s going on. First, does anyone know where you are?”

  “No.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m walking down the road.”

  “You mean Cedar Lane?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re out by yourself and no one knows it. Whose cell phone are you using?”

  “Kayla Zadambidge’s,” I say.

  “She’s someone from school?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right,” says Gloria. “Wait. Does that mean you ran away?”

  “No,” I say.

  “You just took your friend’s phone home and then sneaked outside to call me?”

  “Right,” I say.

  Gloria laughs. “Leave it to my kid to know how to get the job done,” she says. “Okay. So you probably don’t have a lot of time to talk before someone finds out you’re missing. We have to figure out what to do. But first, I want to tell you what I didn’t get to tell you online before those assholes shut me down.”

  She takes another breath.

  “I want you to know that I’ve been looking for you nonstop ever since you left. For four whole years. No one would tell me where you were. Not even the social worker or the therapist. You know what therapist spells if you divide the word up, right? Anyway, I’ve been looking and looking for you, and then you found me on Facebook. It was the best day I had since Donald got arrested. And—”

  “Wait,” I say. “Donald got arrested?”

  “Yep,” says Gloria. “And then Crystal got involved without me even knowing it. If she’d just told me what she was up to, I could have helped. Man, I have a lot to say to her. She’ll be allowed to send emails when the trial is over, but I haven’t been in touch with her yet. But you belong with us, Gin. With me and your sister, I mean. You know that, right? And did you get the Christmas present I sent? What about the pizza?”

  But that is three questions at once and my brain is thinking Donald got arrested, Donald got arrested so I don’t say anything even though the answers are yes, yes and yes.

  “Ginny?”

  “What?”

  “Remember, I said we need to focus. Now, tell me what you want. Because I know what my plan is, and I want to make sure yours and mine are the same thing. I need to hear you say the words.”

  “I want to go up to Canada to live with you,” I say. “We can disappear in Quebec and I can take care of my Baby Doll again. But you can’t come kidnap me or you’ll get arrested. So I’ll need a ride.”

  I want to also say I need to make sure you’re feeding my Baby Doll and that you don’t hit it but I don’t.

  Gloria waits a few seconds before talking and when she talks again her voice is shaky. “That’s great to hear, Ginny. Shit, that’s great. That’s exactly what I want, too. And you’re right that if I try to come get you at home or school I’ll get arrested.”

  “Who will come pick me up?” I say.

  “That’s the tricky part. I’m not supposed to see you. The people you live with got really pissy when I came to your house and school. Venomous, you might say.”

  “Why might I say that?”

  “What, venomous? It’s just an expression. You really haven’t changed at all, have you?”

  “I still have the same head,” I say. “Plus my eyes are still green.”

  Then Gloria says, “All right. Let’s think this through. Just because it sounds impossible for me to come pick you up doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. I mean, where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?”

  She is talking really fast now. So fast I almost don’t understand her. It is like we have the same head. Only I’m not so good at sharing.

  “But I really don’t want to end up in jail. That wouldn’t be good at all. So we’re going to have to make some adjustments, Gin. Some big adjustments.”

  I’m guessing that adjustments are like modifications at school which means someone makes my homework a lot easier. I keep listening and walking down the cold sandy road. The back of my pant legs are getting wet and stiff and I am shivering but I don’t care. Because I am talking with Gloria and Donald is in jail. My secret plan is going to work.

  “Let’s see, let’s see,” says Gloria. “Who can I get to pick you up? I obviously can’t do it. Not at the house. The cops would be onto us in two seconds flat.”

  So I say, “My Old Dad Rick can give me a ride.”

  “Rick? No. We can’t trust him. I know he gave you my phone number, but he also got my sister thrown in jail. Besides, I don’t think he’d do it.”

  I am shocked. Rick was going to bring me to Canada. He is my Birth Dad and I know he loves me so that means Gloria is wrong. But I don’t want to contradict her because if I do I’ll make her angry. And I can’t, can’t, can’t make Gloria angry.

  So I say, “Who else can bring me? I’m not allowed to drive. Plus I don’t have a car.”

  “I know you can’t drive, honey. Just give me a minute to think.”

  I wait for her to finish thinking but Gloria thinks out loud which is not how I think at all and it hurts my head. She keeps talking and talking.

  “If you didn’t live so far away from town, you could just run away again, and I could pick you up at a meeting place,” she says. “Yo
u know, a little rendezvous. That’s what my old Frenchy mom used to say. You’re going to love her! Now, what would be a good meeting place?”

  “People sometimes meet at the mall,” I say.

  “Right, but you’d have to get someone to bring you there, and it would be hard for us to find each other with so many people around. Where else do people meet?”

  “We met Rick at the park,” I say. We are thinking our thoughts together with our mouths instead of in our brains. I have never done this before and it is just too fast. It makes me anxious but I don’t tell her that because she’ll get angry and making Gloria angry can be scary. I pick hard at my fingers.

  “I’m afraid that won’t work, either,” says Gloria. “Remember, you’d have to get a ride there, too. We have to think of a place that you can get to without anyone driving you. Okay? What about a grocery store? Or a church or something?”

  “I could ask Maura to bring me.”

  “Who’s Maura?”

  “She was my Forever Mom but I don’t call her that anymore.”

  Gloria stops talking for a second. Then she says, “Your what?”

  “My Forever Mom,” I say.

  “You mean the woman you live with? Is that what they make you call her?”

  I don’t know what to say. I called Maura my Forever Mom because all the social workers said I was going to stay with her forever. That was what they called her too.

  “And I suppose her husband is your Forever Dad,” says Gloria.

  I nod my head yes.

  “Ginny?”

  “What?”

  “I asked if they make you call them that.”

  I want to say no but I know Gloria wants me to say yes. So I don’t say anything. I don’t want her to get mad and she’s going to get mad either way. I really hope she doesn’t ask about my new name.

  “Ginny, I am your Forever Mom. Got that? You know that, don’t you?”

  I think. “I thought you were my Birth Mom,” I say.

  “I am. But I’m your Birth Mom forever, right? Don’t you see that?”

  That was two questions so I don’t say anything.