Ginny Moon

by Benjamin Ludwig

  “You want me to stop trying to run away.”

  “What else?”

  “You want me to stay with Brian and Maura.”

  “Exactly,” says Patrice. “But I think it might be a good idea to start calling them your Forever Parents again. And like I just said, no more stealing. You’ve made quite a reputation for yourself at school. As it is, the parents of the kids whose phones you took have agreed to let the matter drop, but you’re going to have to work hard to earn everyone’s trust back. And the two of us are going to have to keep seeing each other for a long, long time. We need to keep you safe, young lady. All of us care a lot about you. We need to make sure that you’re always in a safe place.”

  I know that if I stay at the Blue House I’ll be in a safe place but it still isn’t right. I pick hard at my fingers. Tears come out of my eyes now and I start breathing faster. “I want to live with my Baby Doll,” I say. “I’m okay with Krystal being my Baby Doll. I’m okay if she turned into the Other Ginny.”

  “It’s okay to be upset,” says Patrice. “But none of those things are true. Krystal with a K isn’t the Other Ginny, and she’s never going to be a baby again. As long as you understand those things, it’s okay to be upset. You have every right to be. But you have to stop stealing, and you can’t sneak around anymore. Now, will you please let go of Agamemnon? He’s going to get mad if you keep grabbing his fur like that.”

  Then something jumps in my face.

  I yell and wave my arms. It is Agamemnon. He hits my face with his paws so fast that I can’t even count. He makes another loud noise and is gone.

  “See?” said Patrice. “Agamemnon doesn’t like it when you squeeze him so hard. It hurts him, but he doesn’t know how to ask for help. So sometimes he just lashes out and surprises us. When you’re hurting or angry about something, you need to learn how to ask for help, too. I can see that you’ve been hurting a lot, Ginny. Now, let’s start by promising that we’ll stop stealing.”

  I nod my head yes because there’s no reason to steal if I’m stuck here in the Aftermath.

  “Good,” says Patrice. She looks at the clock. “We have a little time left. Let’s start writing those letters of apology that we talked about earlier. I’ve got some paper right here. And then I think we’ll be ready for me to have that chat with Maura.”

  EXACTLY 11:07,

  WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 26TH

  I am asleep in bed but my eyes are awake. They are as open and as green as the numbers on my alarm clock.

  When you run away the police always find you. If you try to fight they pick you up and put you in their car and take you to the hospital. After that the family you lived with comes to bring you home.

  But there are times when you don’t run away and the police still come. To your house. If you try to fight they still pick you up and bring you to the hospital but then the family you lived with doesn’t come. They don’t come to take you back. Instead a social worker comes. She brings you somewhere new.

  That was what happened before.

  I ran away two times from Samantha and Bill before I pooped on Morgan’s rug which was when the police came to take me away. Because I didn’t want to live there anymore. I was really tired of Morgan. She was tedious.

  And before that the police came to take me out of Carla and Mike’s house. That was because of Snowball. I felt bad afterward and kept saying, “Please, please come alive again,” but I was too late. And when you hide a dead cat you should never put it under your mattress. People will go in your room and say, “What the hell is that bump in your bed, Ginny? What the hell is that bump!”

  So if you want to leave a house forever it’s pretty easy. You just have to do something bad. It doesn’t even have to be on purpose.

  But it can be.

  Because I don’t belong here. I belong on the other side of Forever where I’m still nine years old and everything adds up. Not here in the Aftermath. There’s no place for (-Ginny) in the Aftermath at all. She doesn’t fit in the equation or the sentence and the minus sign means she’s supposed to be subtracted. I know that I drive everyone bat-shit crazy. I see the funny way they look at me when I talk. I’m just a cave girl who doesn’t belong. I can’t do anything right and can barely keep my mouth closed. I can’t take care of anyone so I just don’t belong unless it’s in a cave or like Bubbles in a zoo.

  So I’m going to make the police come. If I do something really, really bad they’ll come put me in jail. Because jail is like a cage at the zoo. Jail is for people who need to be away from everyone. If I can’t be who I used to be and my Baby Doll doesn’t need me then I’m guessing I shouldn’t be anywhere except behind bars. Because (-Ginny) isn’t even a person. She is like an animal or a ghost or a scary, scary statue.

  Which means tomorrow I’m going to make Brian and Maura Moon wish they let me get a cat.

  EXACTLY 4:35 IN THE AFTERNOON,

  THURSDAY, JANUARY 27TH

  Maura is on the couch holding Baby Wendy. She just finished breast-feeding it.

  I am sitting on the floor. I just finished watching.

  Because there are three things that Patrice asked Maura to let me do now that everyone thinks I’m staying at the Blue House. The first is to let me watch when she breast-feeds. Before Maura used to put a white cloth over her shoulder or a receiving blanket to hide Baby Wendy’s head. I wasn’t allowed to look. But now I’m supposed to watch because it encourages attachment.

  The second thing I’m supposed to do is help out a little more with the baby. Like getting things ready for its bath or picking out a storybook when it’s time to read. So this morning I asked if I could carry the diaper bag when we went to the grocery store. But Maura wouldn’t let me.

  The third thing I’m supposed to do is hold the baby while Maura watches. Once a day. Maura says we aren’t there yet.

  Outside I hear the mail truck coming down the road. I hear it slow down and stop at the neighbor’s house. Then it starts up and slows down and stops in front of the Blue House. I hear the sound of the mailbox door open and close. Then the mail truck drives away.

  “There goes the mail truck,” says Maura. “Ginny, I’m expecting something important, so I want to run outside and see if it came. Wendy is almost asleep, so I’m going to put her down in her crib. Do you think you’ll be all right if I go get the mail?”

  I look up. “Yes,” I say but it doesn’t sound like my voice. It doesn’t sound like Ginny’s. I know exactly whose it is.

  “Good. Now, just stay here. Get yourself a coloring book or maybe something to read, and just relax until I get back. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Great,” says Maura. “Just remember, if Wendy starts crying, everything will be fine. I’ll be right back. And if the sound bothers you too much, just go right into your room and shut the door. But really, it shouldn’t happen. She just finished eating. She’s already asleep. I’m sure I can set her down without waking her up.”

  Maura stands up with Baby Wendy. The baby’s eyes are closed. She walks past me into the kitchen and goes upstairs. She comes down exactly forty-four seconds later.

  “There,” she says. “Now, I’ll be right back. Be a good girl, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say.

  She sits down on the bench by the door to the screen porch and puts her boots on. Then she gets her coat. She zips it up and pulls on her gloves and hat. She smiles at me one last time. And leaves.

  I stand up.

  In summer or spring or fall when there’s no snow it takes approximately four minutes to get the mail. When it’s cold and snowy in the winter it takes five. So Maura will be gone for approximately five minutes.

  Which means I have plenty of time.

  I get up and run into the kitchen and grab a dish towel from the counter. It is
white with two green lines around the edges. Two green lines as green and thin as snakes. Maura used the towel a little while ago to dry some baby spoons and a little bowl. Baby Wendy didn’t eat the rice cereal and pears she made for it.

  The towel is still damp. I hold it with one hand and lift the other one to turn on the stove but then I start to get anxious. I put my hand back down again and run into the living room to look out the window. Through it I see Maura in the driveway halfway to the road.

  I run back into the kitchen and turn the front right burner on. The same one I used in the Little White House to make eggs. Only this time I’m not cooking. I’m setting the white-and-green dish towel on fire on purpose so that it will make the counter and maybe the cabinets start to burn. Then Maura will come in and put the fire out and yell and scream and call the police to take me away and this Forever will end. Approximately five minutes from now.

  It’s all part of my new secret plan.

  I stand over the burner. The towel is in my hands in a tight, tight ball. The burner turns orange. I smell hot metal.

  And then Baby Wendy starts to fuss.

  In my brain I say, Well dang!

  I step back to listen. The fussing gets louder.

  I run back to the living room again and look out the window again and now Maura is standing next to the mailbox talking to someone. Mrs. Taylor. They are talking and talking and upstairs the crying is getting louder and behind me I know the burner in the kitchen by now is red, red, red.

  I put the towel on my shoulder and start to pick at my fingers.

  Maura said to go in my room if the baby starts crying. Maura said she’d be right back. She didn’t say anything at all about stopping to talk with Mrs. Taylor.

  I look down the hallway toward my room. I think. Then I run into the kitchen again. I turn the burner off and pull the towel from my shoulder and hold it in front of me. By two corners. I put the corners together and lay the towel flat on the counter. Then I fold it in half again and smooth it out. Nice and even, even though my hands are shaking from the crying. Because I need everything to be all set and ready to go when I get back.

  I turn and run up the stairs.

  At the top of the stairs the crying is so loud that I have to cover my ears even though it’s on the other side of the bedroom door. I look through the bathroom out the window and still see Maura and Mrs. Taylor talking at the mailbox.

  So I push the bedroom door open and walk right up to the crib. The baby’s eyes are closed. It doesn’t see me yet. I bend down close and say, “Ush, ush, ush.”

  But the baby doesn’t stop. It just gets louder. Its tiny hands are in fists and its mouth with no teeth is open and it is screaming, screaming, screaming.

  Then on the dresser I see the bunny. The bunny is small and fat and has eyes that are sewn in thread because buttons are dangerous for babies. The fur on the bunny’s ears is flat and thin because the baby chews on it all the time. Maura washes it mostly twice a week so that it doesn’t smell. It makes Baby Wendy feel better when it is sad or having a hard time going to sleep. It needs the bunny. Now.

  So I grab it and put it in the baby’s arms but the baby is all worked up. I know it isn’t going to stop. I start looking for somewhere to hide. Outside I still see Maura and Mrs. Taylor talking, talking, talking so I pick the baby and bunny up together and move up and down gentle, gentle and say, “Ush, ush, ush,” again even though I’m breaking the most important rule.

  And it works.

  The baby settles down and is quiet. I take a deep breath and hold it close. Its bottom is in my right hand and my left holds the back of its neck and head. Baby Wendy is little, little, little. It snuggles close and grabs my shirt and starts to suck.

  The feeling is warm. Like a hug. Its hands and arms feel like my Baby Doll’s. I want to recoil because it isn’t supposed to feel that way but I can’t because I’m too deep in my brain. In the feeling. I can’t let go even though I want to.

  Then I hear a noise downstairs. Is it the door? I can’t tell.

  I walk to the stairs to look and listen. I don’t hear anything. I turn to look out the bathroom window again but when I do the bunny falls. It falls down three, four, five steps. And sits there.

  The baby starts to cry again.

  I bounce and I ush but this time it doesn’t help. The baby needs the bunny. I have to get it but I can’t get it because both of my hands are holding Baby Wendy.

  Outside I see the mailbox. Maura and Mrs. Taylor are gone.

  Which means I have to move fast.

  I put the baby down on the floor and step over it. Onto Step One. Two, Three, Four, Five and I bend down to grab the bunny. Then I turn and lay on the stairs so my chin and arms are on the landing next to Baby Wendy. I put the bunny near her face. “Look! Here it is!” I say.

  The baby stops crying. It opens its eyes. It looks sideways at the bunny. Then at me.

  It doesn’t know what is happening. It doesn’t know anything. It opens its mouth and yawns. Then it looks in my eyes like it is surprised. I wonder, Does it see what’s in my brain? Does it know that I am (-Ginny)?

  My mouth is open so I shut it fast. I look at Baby Wendy over my glasses. “The brain is in the head,” I tell it.

  It smiles and laughs.

  Then I say, “I know you can’t see inside but that’s where my brain is. I don’t want you to see what I’m thinking.”

  I move the bunny closer to her. Baby Wendy is too little to always grab things on the first try. She picks her head up and reaches and falls back down again with her cheek on the carpet.

  I move the bunny closer.

  I remember doing the same thing with my Baby Doll.

  “Ginny?”

  Maura is inside the house. I take a deep breath and my shoulders and arms get tight. “Ginny, where are you?”

  Baby Wendy doesn’t make any noise or sound. It just keeps looking at the bunny. Reaching for it.

  “Ginny, where are you? Ginny, what are you—” Her words stop but they are all one word. Her voice is a hole in a window.

  She leaps four, five, six times and is past me. I duck. She picks up Baby Wendy.

  Now Maura is standing over me on the landing with her lips curled and her teeth showing. “What the hell were you doing?” she screams.

  “The baby dropped the bunny!” I say.

  Maura looks confused. She looks and looks and looks. At me. At Baby Wendy. At the bunny near the edge of the landing.

  “You were trying to get her to roll!” she says. “You took her out of the crib and tried to make her roll down the stairs!”

  “No, I didn’t!” I say.

  “Yes, you did! What the hell else could you be doing, offering a toy to a baby at the top of a staircase? What’s wrong with you? Why would you do something like this?”

  That was three questions all at once and I don’t know which to answer so instead I self-advocate. I push off the edge of Step One so that I’m kneeling on Step Three.

  “You were outside too long! The baby started to cry! I picked her up and gave her the bunny and she stopped! Then I heard a noise so I went to look but the bunny fell and I had to pick it up! So you stop yelling at me, Maura! Stop yelling at me right now! I did a good thing!”

  Maura’s mouth opens but no words come out.

  It is exactly the same look that Gloria gave me when I yelled back at her. It is exactly the same look she gave before she told me to have a nice life and left me all alone.

  I want to put my head down but instead I look right in Maura’s eyes. I look and I look and then I open my mouth and breathe.

  “I believe you,” she says. She swallows. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything.

  “I still don’t think we’r
e ready to have you start holding her yet, though,” she says. “There are things you need to learn, no matter how much you already know. And this proves it. You can’t put a baby down near the edge of something she could fall off of. But I do think you’re probably ready to start helping out with Wendy a little more. How does that sound?”

  That sounds confusing but she is not yelling and she is not calling me a crazy girl. She is not screaming or telling me I did something bad even though I was going to set the kitchen on fire. She’s telling me I can help take care of my baby sister.

  “That sounds really, really good,” I hear myself say. It is my voice. Ginny’s.

  Then I stand up and wait because I don’t know what else to do.

  So Maura says, “Wendy had a nice long beverage before I put her down. She’s probably ready for some solids. Do you think you could help me by taking out the rice cereal?”

  I do not say Hmm or Let me think about it. Instead I lean forward. “Do you think it would make her approximately happy if we put some human milk in it?”

  Maura leans forward too. “I think it would make her exactly happy if you put some human milk in it. We’ll have to warm it up first, though.”

  I look down at the floor again. The bunny is still there. I pick it up and give it a hug and then give it to Wendy. We all go downstairs.

  In the kitchen I take out the rice cereal. I put it on the counter. With one hand Maura pulls a chair out from the kitchen table. She points at it so I sit. She lets out a loud breath. Her smile is crooked. “All right,” she says. “I don’t know any other way to work myself up to this. Ginny, could you please hold Wendy while I get the cereal ready?”

  I am so shocked that I can’t answer with my mouth. I nod my head yes. I put my arms out and cross my left leg over my right.

  Maura stands close and puts the baby in my arms. My sister. Wendy’s head rests in my left elbow. I start to breathe slower. Nice and gentle, Nice and gentle. I am holding Wendy and Wendy is holding her bunny. The bunny isn’t holding anything, not even a carrot. But when I look up again Maura is holding the dish towel. The one with the green lines along the edges.