“All right, then, sleep tight, Sweetie. Give me a kiss.”
“G’night, Mom.” Mary leans over to peck her mother on the cheek.
Mary enters her room, closes the door, and sets the lock.
Thank you, cable TV
Her mother’s decorating hand has also been at work in Mary’s bedroom. A framed print and new curtains brighten up the small space. Mary clicks off the overhead light, dropping the room into near darkness. The only illumination is the orange glow of the nearby street lights. She stumbles toward her bed, arms outstretched. After a few seconds of groping in the semi-darkness, her hands grasp the bedside lamp. She clicks it on, then settles her tired body on the bed.
Finally
Lying on her back, exhausted, she looks around her room, assessing its state, enjoying the nearness of the walls and the cracks in the paint. In stark contrast to the warm light within her room, the darkness outside the window now looks total.
How could I be hallucinating all this time? Who hallucinates for … how long has it been? As far back as I can remember … at least since Daddy left … ten years
Absentmindedly, she brings one knee up to her chest and reaches down to pull off her thin black sock.
I can’t be dreaming, they must be real
She moves to the center of the bed, resting the side of her head on a pillow and staring blankly at the bare wall opposite.
Her eyes follow a hairline crack in the wall. It wanders like a river, moving up the wall, snaking away at an angle, then creeping along the ceiling. It terminates in the pool of light that is thrown by the bedside lamp.
That test
She turns her head toward the lamp. Cautiously, she reaches out for it, laying it gently on its side. The glowing circle of light moves from the ceiling down to the wall. She slides off the bed and pulls the new curtains shut. She climbs back on her bed and kneels in the center, her lower legs splayed out on either side of her hips. Without even looking, she reaches down and pulls off her remaining sock, tossing it to the floor.
Mary double-checks that the lock is in place, closes her eyes, and balls her skinny fingers into hard fists.
All right, where are you inside me? Where do you live when I can’t see you?
She casts her mind through her body, digging for the shadows within it. Again, her warning voice creeps in.
Don’t go looking for them … you know you can’t control them …
Yes, I can. I did it in the bathroom, at least a little bit. I can do it again
That was a fluke, a mistake
No, it wasn’t
And it wasn’t even really them, it was just leftover pieces
I still did it
It will only make things worse
No, it won’t. I can make myself better
There is the faintest tickle in her stomach.
You’re close by, I can tell
She pushes her mind lower, lower, lower … With a sudden intake of air, she finds them. They are curled up in her abdomen, just below her navel. There is a quickening of movement inside her as they react to her awareness.
Don’t try to hide. I can feel you in there
For the first time in her life, she reaches in and pulls them forward.
Where are you Inky? Come out and play with me
Even with her eyes closed, she can feel a shadow bobbing in front of her. She slowly opens her eyes and sees the squat form of Inky suspended in the air in front of her, roughly the same size and proportion of a curved-top tombstone. She smiles to see him, excited to have brought him into being.
Inky! I knew I could find you
He bobs gently in the space before her, staring blankly.
What do I do now?
She stares at the dark form as it slowly dips and rises like a cork in water.
Move back, Inky
It remains in place, its eye-holes staring vacantly in her direction. She brings her fists up to her chest, clasping them to herself in order to strengthen her concentration.
Move!
Without stopping its ceaseless bobbing, Inky drifts slightly away from her.
Yes! Very good, Inky. Who’s a good shadow? You are, that’s who. Now keep going, keep moving. Go back to the wall. That’s it, Inky
The shadow floats backward like a helium balloon touched by a gentle wind. It bumps into the wall and rebounds slightly.
Good boy
She focuses her breathing, forcing it to take on a deep regularity: in, out, in, out ...
What next? Could I make two of you?
The shadow thing does not respond.
Is that too hard for you?
She brings her fists together, thumbs parallel, then slowly separates then, pulling her fists away to either side.
Like this, Inky, like this
Inky’s form begins to pull apart. First, a divot forms in its top, which quickly lengthens into a long, thin line of open space, cutting the shadow in two as if by an invisible knife. Each half begins to broaden, while at the same time moving away from the other. The single eye-hole of each half spreads wide, then breaks into two perfect ovals. The shadowy forms continue the process of division until there are two identical versions of Inky floating in front of her.
Good, Inky. I guess, “Good, Inkies” because there’s two of you now, like twins
Silently, she commands the two to rejoin. The shadows congeal into a single circle of solid black. She reaches out with her hands like a conductor, pushing and pulling the shadow into different shapes.
You look like a big flower floating in space
This new level of control spreads a warming happiness throughout her.
Who cares if none of this is real? Who cares if I’m hallucinating? She begins to recreate the twin Inkies. Once they have formed completely, she lies down, bringing them toward herself. They nuzzle against her until she falls asleep.
CHAPTER
Twelve
In the peculiar logic of dreams, a great golden sun shines down on her, yet it casts no shadows. Mary finds herself in a grassy clearing, surrounded by an ocean of tall, waving grasses bordered by islands of green trees. She lies on a picnic blanket, propped up on one elbow and wearing a gingham dress of sky blue and white. Ripe fruit rests on the cloth around her. Somewhere beyond her vision, she knows there is a chestnut mare.
A soft, warm breeze curls through her hair, moving gently into the field and scattering the silky white seeds that sprout there. Feeling a graceful presence on her arm, she holds it out in front of her. It seems impossibly long. A serpentine shadow, wispy and cool, curls around her arm. In some way, its presence is very comforting.
She is pleasantly surprised to find that she is not alone. Immediately beside her, Nate
Nathaniel
lies on his back, wearing a red polo shirt and jeans. His feet are bare, his eyes are closed, and his hands are laced together behind his head. With his elbows spread, his shirt pulls away from the belted waist of his jeans, revealing his slightly chubby abdomen and belly button. A few strands of dark hair are just visible under his arms, emerging from the hem of his sleeves. Watching him sleep, his chest rising and falling, Mary feels a sense of peace greater than any she can remember.
She cannot say why, but she wants to touch his belly. She stretches out her arm, reaching out until her hand floats parallel to his stomach. The shadow winds around her wrist, a translucent bracelet of smoke. She spreads her fingers slightly. It feels like hours, even years, as she holds the position, too afraid to go forward, too reluctant to go back. Suddenly, Nate takes in a deep breath, his stomach rising to touch her hand. As his body resumes its resting position, she carefully lowers her hand down to his abdomen. It feels soft and warm.
It’s like holding a baby, she thinks, although she has never done such a thing in her life.
Nate takes another deep breath and his lips part slightly, the barest hint of a smile. With a soft, sleepy voice he says, “You thought I’d feel like steel wool.
”
She shifts her body to lie down beside him. For an eternity, she lies next to him, feeling the warm breeze move over her, and hearing Nathaniel’s breathing beside her. Without looking, she senses a small presence behind her. It’s a puppy. The small creature sleeps behind her, warm, curving into the slight arch of her back. Without even seeing it she can picture with certainty its silky curls of ink-black fur. It takes tiny breaths that somehow match her own, in and out, in and out. She looks to Nate’s chest and sees that it is rising and falling in unison with her own breathing. At the deepest level of awareness, her dreaming self knows without a doubt that all three of them are one and the same.
S
Early morning sunlight filters through her curtains, filling the room with diffused light.
Lying on her side, half-asleep, eyes almost closed, she luxuriates in the warmth of her bed and the wonderful memory of the dream. When at last she fully opens her eyes, she notes with relief that the shadows appear to be gone and her bedroom door is still locked. Rolling over onto her back, she is surprised to see that her shadows have not actually disappeared, but are in fact floating high above her, nearly motionless. She presses her fingertips to her eyes, willing herself to full consciousness.
I’m still dreaming
When Mary reopens her eyes, nothing has changed. The shadows float in the air above her, bobbing gently. Instead of whirling around the room, they all seem to be pointed directly at her. She raises herself up on her elbows.
What’s going on?
Rising from the floor at the foot of her bed, Inky floats up and into view. He, too, seems to stare at her with his vacant, gaping eye-holes.
“Geez, Inky. It was just a dream,” she murmurs to the ghost-like thing.
A perfect dream
For just a moment, in an unmistakable and cartoonish imitation of blinking, his eyes begin to cover over. The darkness at their tops slides down like a window blind, only to reopen a moment later. For some reason, this seems entirely too funny. She claps her hands over her mouth to stifle the sound of her laughter. When Inky repeats the motion, she actually laughs out loud.
Her mother calls out from the next room, “Mary? Are you all right?”
CHAPTER
Thirteen
Saturdays are now walking days, exploration days, a solitary new ritual that she has come to enjoy. Mary strolls along aged sidewalks under the shadows of maples. Some are just beginning to turn yellow and orange, the first hints of autumn. Some days she shuffles through the downtown, occasionally looking around herself, but usually keeping her eyes on the ground. From the edge of her vision, she glimpses a familiar figure halfway up the block.
Van
She wishes she had crossed the street earlier; to do so now would be conspicuous.
Ahead of her, Van holds court over a group of guys, talking loudly, laughing. Once again she feels her attraction to him, despite her memories. She finds her conflicted feelings almost unbearable.
Mary approaches him, hands stuffed in her pockets and shoulders hunched. Van glances away from his friends and looks in her direction. His face lights up at the sight of her. “Hey! Oh, shit, I forgot your name. You’re that chick that wouldn’t swear!” She stops for a moment, gathering her strength.
Be invisible
She marches forward, determined to stomp right by him.
His eyes follow her as she approaches. As she draws alongside him, he says, “Hey, don’t walk away! C’mon, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad!” He begins walking backward beside her. “What’s your name again?”
He’s so close she can smell him.
What is it? Body spray? Something he puts in his hair?
Her mind boils.
Stop smelling so good stop looking so good stop being so mean just leave me alone
“Hey, talk to me. What’s the matter?”
Everything’s the matter
You’re the matter
Nothing’s the matter
“Nothing,” she replies, picking up her step. He continues his backward movement, increasing his pace in order to keep up. Finally pulling up in front of her, he blocks her path. She stops, raising her eyes to see him.
Stop having such a beautiful face, stop having such pretty eyes
He asks, “Hey, what’s going on?”
Don’t talk to him, don’t talk, don’t talk, don’t talk, be invisible, get away
She does not respond.
“C’mon, say something.”
Blood rushes to her face and, once more, she finds herself surprised by her own anger.
“I promise I’ll stop teasing you, or whatever,” Van says, flashing a smile. “You wanna get a coffee or something? I’m buying.” She looks away, sensing that she might start to cry, knowing that she has to keep it together.
A girl’s voice, loud and angry, asks, “Is this asshole bothering you?” Turning, Mary can see two skinny girls sitting in a doorway, each wearing tight jeans and hoodies. One of them has her hood pulled loose over her long hair, an earphone jammed in one ear, the other end dangling. The other one has her hood back, her hair buzzed short except for a dyed scarlet fringe across the front.
Van yells back, “Fuck off, Kristyn. We’re just talking!”
Standing up, Kristyn replies, “Well, she’s not doing any talking. She looks like she’s going to cry.” She approaches Mary, leans in, and repeats her question. “Is he bothering you?”
Who are you?
Why do you care?
Can you help me?
Steeling herself, Mary looks at Kristyn’s running shoes and answers, “Yes.”
The still-seated girl rises and takes a position on Mary’s other side. Each girl holds one of Mary’s thin arms. Kristyn reaches out and pushes her hand against Van’s chest, knocking him back a step.
“Oh, fuck you, Kristyn!” Van yells. Turning to face the other girl, he adds, “Fuck you, too, Cammy.”
Kristyn replies coolly, “You wish. Screw you, hippie-boy, we’re rescuing her from your lame ass.” Turning simultaneously, Kristyn and Cammy take Mary’s elbows and lead her away. “Let’s get out of here, Cammy, it stinks like HIPPIE!!!” This last word is yelled so loudly that no one on the block can miss it. Both girls laugh at this and lean in toward Mary in a conspiratorial, giggling crush. Even Mary finds herself smiling, although the joke is lost on her. Tears of anger, relief, and laughter begin to stream down her face.
“Don’t listen to those lying dykes!!!” Van shouts as they hurry away. Not looking back, Cammy reaches one arm straight up to give him the finger. At the corner, the traffic light flashes “Don’t Walk.” Mary makes an attempt to stop, but the other girls grab hold of her and drag her forward, racing her through the intersection against the lights. They stop on the other side, a little out of breath, still laughing.
“What an asshole. How can someone so hot be such a jerk?” Cammy says when she’s caught her breath. Mary feels pleased that someone, anyone, seems to share her feelings.
Looking at Mary, Kristyn says, “Are you okay? Don’t let him get to you. He’s, like, our total nemesis. It’s our job to make his life as miserable as possible.”
Mary nods her head to indicate that she’s okay. “You know him?” she asks.
“Oh, yeah,” Cammy replies, disgusted.
Kristyn looks back in the direction they came from. “I’ve been in French Immersion with him forever. What a connard.” Shifting her gaze to Cammy, she adds, “At least I never went out with him.”
“God, don’t remind me. That was ages ago, anyway. You wanna know why we call him hippie-boy?”
Without waiting for a reply, Kristyn says, “We call him HIPPIE-BOY” – she shouts the last two words – “because he totally hates it. He calls himself Van but his parents are, like, European hippie-people, or something, and they gave him this totally random hippie name that he hates. We found out his real name a while ago and now we torture him with it all the time. It’s sick. Y’wanna hear it?”
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“Sure,” Mary says softly.
“Are you sure you’re ready for it? It’s so bad, it’s going to mess with your mind.” Kristyn teases.
“I guess.”
“Solace VanRuit.”
Mary stares blankly at Kristyn, who appears to have expected a much better reaction. “‘Solace,’ like comforting someone when somebody dies, and ‘Van,’ like a big car-thing, and ‘Ruit,’ like the bottom of a plant, or whatever.” Mary cannot help but smile while the other two laugh.
“What’s your name?” Cammy asks.
Who are these girls? Why are they being nice to me?
You shouldn’t tell them your name
I can if I want
“Mary.”
“Oh, my God! I love that name! It’s so old-fashioned. It’s my grandma’s name. I’m Cammy and this is Kristyn. My real name is Camille which, God, is obviously awful, so I use Cammy. Did you know there’s a statue of the Virgin Mary right up the street at the bottom of the big church?”
“No, I’ve never been up there.”
“Oh, we totally have to go,” Kristyn says and, once again, Mary is whisked away, overwhelmed but unafraid, arm in arm with her new protectors.
“I can’t believe he would hit on a total stranger like that. I mean, I can believe it, but I still can’t believe it,” Kristyn says angrily.
Mary pauses, considers the relative value of the truth versus a lie, and replies, “I did meet him once before.”
“That would explain why you were trying to get away from him!” Cammy says, laughing.
“I met him there before. It was a little while ago, I guess.” Mary says.
Why are you telling them all this?
Shut up
“And we walked around a bit. He was pretty nice at first. He talked a lot. But then he …” she struggles for the words to use to describe their last time together, how she had let him into her house, and how he had tried to kiss her …
“He probably realized that you weren’t going to put out and so he took off,” Kristyn says, half-laughing, half-gritting her teeth.
Mary replies as honestly as she can. “I guess. He said he was sorry, though.”
“He’ll say anything to get in a girl’s pants,” Cammy says. “What a jerk. Can you believe he called us dykes?”
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