Ginny Moon

by Benjamin Ludwig

  I put my hands on my ears so I can’t hear their questions. I don’t want to think about Saint Genevieve’s Home for Girls Who Aren’t Safe. I want to think about the little rendezvous with Gloria and my Baby Doll. About the Other Ginny. And about Gloria’s surprise.

  Then Maura says, “Ginny, are you all right? What are you thinking?”

  She stands close so I hear her right through my hands.

  “Sorry,” she says. “Ginny, what are you thinking about?”

  I close my eyes and think of something else. Quickly. I remember what happened at the Special Olympics basketball tournament yesterday. I take my hands down. “I am thinking about Baby Wendy,” I say.

  “Really? What are you thinking about her? Specifically, I mean.”

  I look down at my watch. “It’s almost eleven o’clock. It should be waking up soon.”

  Maura looks surprised. “You know, you’re right. You sure have a good handle on her schedule.”

  “I was really proud of you for playing that tent game with her the other day,” says Brian. “You’ve been doing a great job of helping out your mom.”

  He is talking about Maura, not Gloria. But still he didn’t ask a question.

  Sister Josephine walks in. She’s the lady in charge of Saint Genevieve’s Home for Girls Who Aren’t Safe. Sister Josephine wears a big black sheet with a pillowcase hanging from her head. She calls it a habit.

  “Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed having a look around the dormitory,” she says. “Lunch is at twelve-thirty, so we have some time on our hands. Brian and Maura, why don’t you stop by the office and talk with Sister Mary Constance? She can answer some of the financing questions you mentioned.” Then to me she says, “As for you, young lady, why don’t the two of us go for a walk? I think you’ll enjoy seeing the gardens.”

  EXACTLY 11:02 IN THE MORNING,

  MONDAY, JANUARY 24TH

  Outside we walk down a shoveled walkway through lots of bushes and trees. Everything is wet and there are piles of snow next to the walkway. “In the summer all these rosebushes are in bloom,” says Sister Josephine. “There are five different varieties.”

  At the end of the walkway I see a statue. There are bushes around it so I can’t see the bottom. A stone bench is in front.

  The statue is of a girl wearing a habit or maybe some kind of hood or blanket. She doesn’t have a face. The stone is smooth and round where her eyes and mouth should be. Her head is looking down at something in her lap. I can’t see because the bushes are in the way.

  Sister Josephine points. “Do you see her, there? Wearing the shawl? That’s our Blessed Mother. You know, the Virgin Mary. She was just a girl when she had her baby,” she says.

  “How old was she?” I ask.

  “No one really knows,” says Sister Josephine, “but a lot of people think she was as young as fourteen.”

  “Fourteen?” I say.

  Sister Josephine nods.

  I walk closer to the statue, past the stone bench and right up to the bushes. I rise up on my tippy-toes and look to see what the girl is holding.

  It is a baby.

  A stone baby with tiny hands and feet. A stone baby with no face. It is looking right at me.

  For approximately three seconds I can’t breathe.

  “Why doesn’t it have a face?” I say.

  “Ah,” says Sister Josephine. “I’ve often wondered that myself. The real Blessed Mother certainly ha—”

  I interrupt. “No,” I say. “The baby. Why doesn’t the baby have a face?”

  Sister Josephine looks at me funny. “Oh. I think it’s the same reason for both figures. The artist probably wanted us to see that the beauty of our Lord and our Blessed Mother is unimaginable. How does that sound?”

  I don’t answer. I can’t answer. “Does...does—” I try to say but I can’t finish my question.

  “Does what, Ginny?”

  “Does the baby know who she is?” I say. I need to know because the baby can’t see the fourteen-year-old girl’s face. It can’t tell what color her eyes are. It’s like the girl changed and now she has a different head.

  “Of course the baby knows who she is. She’s his mother. Babies always recognize their mothers. He’s all grown up now, of course.”

  But Sister Josephine doesn’t understand. She doesn’t get it. “What about sisters?” I say. “Do babies recognize their sisters? Do they remember their sister’s face?”

  Sister Josephine leans back. “I don’t know,” she says. “Our Lord didn’t have any sisters.”

  She keeps talking but I can’t listen to her. Instead I cover my face with my hands. I don’t want anyone to see me. To see my face. Because I’m not who I used to be. I am (-Ginny) and I’m fourteen years old now and my Baby Doll isn’t going to remember me when I go to the little rendezvous.

  “Ginny?”

  I put my hands down. Sister Josephine is standing on my right.

  “Ginny, why were you covering your face?”

  “I want to go inside now,” I say.

  “Are you upset? What’s going on?”

  “It is cold.”

  “All right,” says Sister Josephine. “We can talk some more inside.”

  EXACTLY 7:02 IN THE MORNING,

  TUESDAY, JANUARY 25TH

  I am on the bus. We are driving into the front bus loop. Outside I see the space where the Green Car parked when Gloria came to school. I remind myself again and again that she’ll be driving a different car today. I don’t know what kind yet but I know the motor is running and when I hop in the car Gloria will zip the hell out of town. Which I’m guessing means she’ll drive really, really fast before the police come. She might even peel out.

  I have my backpack. It is packed for our little rendezvous which really isn’t little at all. Inside there is a pair of jeans and four pairs of underwear and nine training bras and three pairs of socks and three shirts and one pair of jammies. Plus my quilt. I wanted to bring nine movies and my DVD player too but I had to take them out to fit the gallon of milk I took from the refrigerator. In the front pocket is my Snoopy pad and Michael Jackson calendar. In the left side pocket there are exactly three one-dollar bills and two quarters and five dimes and thirteen nickels and four pennies. All of the money is for Gloria. To make her happy. In the secret inside pocket is Brenda Richardson’s phone. It is turned off. In the right side pocket is a baby bottle that I found in one of the kitchen cabinets.

  The bus stops. Everyone stands up. I look outside and see the first few kids walking to the glass doors. I see Ms. Carol waiting next to the bus like she always does.

  I look down at Larry who is still sitting. Getting off the bus isn’t easy for him. He nods his head. “I’m ready, babe,” he says.

  I don’t correct him. Instead I say, “Thank you, Larry.”

  Larry climbs down on the floor and slides his legs under the seat in front of us. He pushes one of his arm braces way down with him. He shoves the other one under the seat across the aisle.

  When he finishes he says, “Maybe someday we’ll see each other again. When we’re older. You’ll come back to find me, right?”

  “I’ll come back to find you,” I say but my brain is too distracted to think right now.

  He puts his hand up for me to squeeze. I squeeze it.

  All the other kids are already at the front of the bus. I follow them and hurry down the steps. When I get to Ms. Carol I stop. “Larry is on the floor,” I say.

  “What do you mean?” she says.

  “His braces are under the seat. I’m guessing he needs help.”

  “Is he hurt?”

  I make sure my mouth is closed. Larry could have gotten hurt when I was getting off the bus. He could have hit his head on the seat or got
ten his hand stuck in a spring. “I don’t know,” I say.

  Ms. Carol stands on her tippy-toes. She looks with her too-big eyes into the bus. “Ginny, just stay here,” she says. “Just stay right here for a minute while I go check on him.”

  She gets on the bus and says something to the bus driver. The bus driver looks in the mirror. Ms. Carol walks down the aisle.

  I move up close to the bus under the windows. So close that I see the yellow screws in the yellow paint. So close that I can’t see who’s inside.

  And they can’t see me.

  I run.

  I run until I get to the end of the bus. Then I remember to slow down and walk like Gloria said. I walk slow and steady down the sidewalk. Past cars with parents in them. Past the flagpole. Past the end of the bus loop. Past the Drug Free School Zone sign. Past the whole school.

  I turn around one last time to see if anyone is chasing me and yelling, “Ginny! No! Don’t do it! Don’t cross the street!”

  But no one is there. I am going to the little rendezvous all by myself.

  I walk past the parking lot and some bushes and trees. Then in front of me I see cars driving fast on the road in both directions. On the other side of them is the gas station. The sign above it says Cumberland Farms.

  I get to the corner. There is a white crosswalk in front of me made of two parallel lines. Parallel means two things that are next to one another but don’t touch. The lines are white, white, white.

  I put my toes at the edge of the curb and look across. The cars are going by very fast right in front of me and I don’t think I can get between them. I want to pick at my hands and fingers but I am wearing mittens. Then a black car stops and the driver starts waving. Only he isn’t waving like he’s saying hello. He is waving like he’s angry. Then I see that he is telling me to walk. He has stopped the cars going one way. I step onto the road.

  And I see that I am walking on a giant, giant equal sign.

  Something in my chest jumps. I’m guessing it is my heart. The equal sign is right under my feet. I am crossing to the other side of Forever. To the place where I am nine years old and my Baby Doll is waiting.

  The driver honks. I come up out of my brain and see that I’m standing right in front of the black car. Still not moving. The man in the driver’s seat yells and bangs the steering wheel. I hurry past him and see other cars stopped in the other lane. The one in front is white. The driver in it is waving her hand at me like the first. I run as fast as I can all the way across the rest of the road.

  Now the road and the cars and the bus are behind me. Ms. Carol and Larry and Brian and Maura are all behind me now because I have crossed the giant equal sign to the other side. To the place where I belong.

  I look down to see if I’m shorter. If my clothes still fit. Nothing looks different so I look around me instead. I see exactly four gas pumps with a big roof over them and the gas station. There are cars parked outside the building. Two of them are green but in my brain I remember neither of them is Gloria’s because Gloria said she was going to drive a different one. I stand here looking and looking and thinking hard. Then someone calls my name.

  It is Gloria. She is at the corner of the store wearing a yellow hat with a pom-pom on top. I start walking toward her but then there is a loud noise and a car stops fast right next to me. The driver puts his hands up and shakes them. Through the glass I hear him yell.

  Gloria runs to me. She takes my hand and we hurry past the gas pumps. She brings me behind the building to a blue car.

  “Ginny, you need to look where you’re going!” Gloria says to me. “Shit. I need to hug you.”

  She gives me the biggest hug I have ever had. She is hugging me so tight that I can’t move. I feel her bones under her coat. Her shoulder bones and her back. She’s still really, really skinny.

  Finally Gloria lets go. She pushes back from me. “Honey, you can’t walk out in front of cars! You have to look both ways. Shit, you got tall,” she says. “You haven’t really filled out yet, though. How many boyfriends have you had?”

  I start to say that I have had zero boyfriends but I hear a tapping sound and when I look I see the Other Ginny right there in the car. She sees me and I see her. She puts her hand flat against the window.

  “Do you recognize her now?” says Gloria. “It’s Krystal with a K. That’s your sister.”

  I shake my head. “No,” I say. “Krystal with a K is my Baby Doll.”

  And Gloria says, “Right. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. That’s Krystal with a K. Don’t you see? That’s the surprise I was talking about on the phone. She grew up. Well, got older, anyway. Just like you did.”

  I don’t know if Gloria is teasing me or not because the Other Ginny is way too old to be my Baby Doll. My little sister will always be my little baby and this girl is much, much older than that. I shake my head no. “That’s the Other Ginny,” I say.

  Gloria laughs. She makes a motion in the air with her hand and then the Other Ginny opens the car door and walks to us. She is skinny and her hair is brown and her eyes are green.

  Which means she looks approximately like me.

  “Hi, Ginny,” she says.

  That was not a question so I don’t say anything. I don’t have to say anything at all to the Other Ginny unless she asks a question.

  “There,” says Gloria. “You recognize your Baby Doll, don’t you?”

  “That’s not it,” I say.

  “Don’t you remember me?” says the Other Ginny. “I have your picture. Mom gave it to me, and I’ve been carrying it with me everywhere. I showed it to you on Sunday.”

  I want to say Well Dang! because she asked me something. So I say, “I don’t remember you. My Baby Doll is one year old.”

  “Not anymore I’m not,” she says.

  “Ginny,” says Gloria, “I know it’s been a long time, but you have to accept this. Your sister isn’t a year old anymore. What your aunt said was just an expression. When we talked on the phone after her trial, she told me all about how you took her at her word when she said your sister would always be a baby. But that’s not what she meant, Gin. That’s not what she meant at all.”

  I am breathing faster and faster. “Crystal with a C doesn’t use expressions,” I say. “Crystal with a C is the one who tells the truth. She said my Baby Doll will always be my little baby.”

  “I’m not quite sure what you mean by she’s the one who tells the truth, but what your aunt said is definitely an expression,” says Gloria. “And you can’t flip out about that. No one can stay one year old for five years. She’s six now. Look at her hair. Look at her eyes. The two of you look a lot alike.”

  “Here,” says the Other Ginny. “Look again. It’s really me.”

  She holds out the picture and this time I take it.

  I see that her face looks approximately like my Baby Doll’s. Then I bring the picture up to my eyes. I put it back down and look back at the Other Ginny. Then I bring the picture up again and move it to the side so I can see the Other Ginny and my Baby Doll at the exact same time.

  And I see that they are the same person.

  Which means that Krystal with a K is the Other Ginny. My Baby Doll turned into a little girl. Patrice was right.

  I can’t see anymore because my eyes are wet. “It isn’t one year old?” I say.

  Gloria laughs. “Nope,” she says.

  I am confused. If my Baby Doll is six years old then it doesn’t wear diapers. It doesn’t need me to pick it up and hide it. It doesn’t need me to give it human milk. It doesn’t need me to take care of it at all.

  I look in Gloria’s car just to make sure there isn’t a car seat in the back. To see if Gloria is playing a trick. What I know and what I used to know keep trading places in my brain. “My Baby Doll isn’t in the apartment?”
I say even though I already know the answer. Then I don’t know it anymore. Then I know it again.

  I stand there blinking.

  Gloria makes a breathing sound. “I knew this was going to be hard for you. We can talk about it while we drive. Let’s get in the car.”

  “No,” I say. Because what I know is still switching back and forth. In my brain I write,

  Baby Doll = Krystal with a K = Other Ginny = Six Years Old

  and that is way too many equal signs.

  My voice won’t work but in my brain I say, It’s just an expression, It’s just an expression.

  “No?” says Gloria. “What do you mean, no? And what are you whispering?”

  What all this means is that Gloria told the truth. Does that mean Crystal with a C told a lie? I don’t know what to do but I have to figure it out fast. I open and close my eyes. I look down at the numbers on my watch and pull myself up out of my brain. “Are you still going up to Canada?” I say.

  “Yes. Of course we are,” says Gloria. “We’re going to Quebec to stay with my family. They’re going to hide us for a while. Why are you even asking that? You know where we’re going. We talked about it and you understood. Now come on. Get in the damn car.”

  She grabs my arm and pulls. I recoil and fall on the cold wet ground. Gloria picks me up and stands me on my feet. When I can see straight I see a man near the gas station standing still and looking at us. Gloria yells at him. “What are you staring at, asshole? She fell, okay?”

  In my brain I remember the time Gloria came to the Blue House and peeled out. I remember how she came to school and made quite a scene. I remember how violent Gloria can be.

  But, We’ll be safe with her family, I say in my head. We’ll be safe. I write,

  Gloria’s Family = Someone to Help Keep an Eye on my Baby Doll

  And,

  Gloria’s Family = Someone to Help Keep an Eye on Me

  My bottom hurts from where I fell and my pants are wet. I look down at the numbers on my watch and shake my head. No. Gloria is still completely impulsive and unreliable. We’re not going to be safe with her no matter where she takes us.