touch

Deep in thought, I left the library and started the seven-block walk home. The overcast sky matched my troubled mood. Just in case my psyche wasn’t the issue, I needed to categorize the questions I had and decide which was the most important. I would ask the most important first tomorrow.

I really wanted a better explanation of what it was. That, although finding out what it wanted, should come first. But after our talk today, I didn’t think I needed further clarification regarding what it wanted. It wanted to present itself to me as a choice. Maybe I needed to know what, exactly, that meant.

Nodding to myself, I set the first question to memory. But that brought me back to who it was. Was it a he? A she? Did it even have a gender? What was its name? The questions started piling up. Taking a deep breath, I cleared my mind and started again. What is your name and what does it mean to choose you? Good.

As I neared the house, I slowed down circling back to my original thought. Could I trust anything it said? I debated again about telling at least Gran. If what it said were the truth, she’d be interested to know about our history. But how could I tell truth from lie? The only person to verify it died almost two hundred years ago. All I had to go on was its word, which might even be a figment of my deranged mind. Alright. Keeping it to myself.

Red nosed and weary, I pushed open the front door and called out a less than chipper greeting. Gran responded from the back of the house.

“I was wondering where you were. Did you run into trouble?” She moved toward the kitchen with a concerned expression looking me over for any new marks of trauma. They were well hidden… in my mind.

“I was doing some research at the library. Mom’s right. Living in town is kind of nice.” Making an effort to sound happy, I peeled off my jacket, hat, and mittens. She stepped aside as I put them away and moved to help her with dinner.

“As long as you’re safe, that’s all that really matters.” She grinned at me impishly and then added, “You’re mom was right about town. I do like having neighbors again.”

Moving to the stove, she started browning some ground meat. While we put together the fixings for tacos, she told me about the widower two houses down who’d stopped by to offer his help when it snowed.

“I assured him that with all of us girls working, we’d be fine on our own, but he insisted. He had one of those machines to clear away the snow. Said he’d be happy to do it in exchange for some cocoa.”

I looked up at Gran in astonishment as something clicked into place. We needed to choose before seventeen. We lost our gift, but no longer needed to hide until our daughters turned twelve. Oh, and our husbands were short lived. Why, then, hadn’t anyone ever re-married? Based on our conversation, Gran was still interested.

Before I could open my mouth to ask her, the door opened and mom and Aunt Grace got home. It wasn’t a topic I wanted to bring up in front of everyone. So I kept quiet.

The next day, I waited for the lunch hour with a sense of expectation, the question repeating in my mind. What is your name and what does it mean for me to choose you? I still wasn’t decided if I would believe what it said.

This time it took me by surprise in the lunch line. “I like how you dress.”

I turned and saw Beatriz standing just behind me. Since I’d been looking around watching for it, I had no idea how it had managed to sneak up on me.

The boy who’d been behind me eyed Beatriz oddly. Could he hear it? I wanted to run the first time I heard it, so I didn’t think that was it. Then I realized how the thing’s statement must have sounded. Having a rumor that I was a lesbian floating around school would be a new one for me.

Since it stood awkwardly to the side, I handed it a tray and motioned for her to step in line. The boy behind us didn’t say a word, but watched us closely.

Moving with the line, I watched it out of the corner of my eye. It did everything I did. Asked for what I asked for, studied me. It watched closely how I interacted with people. If it wanted to learn social skills, I’d have to let it know I’d be a bad choice for a teacher.

“I dress like everyone else,” I commented as we waited for the register.

“No. You don’t.” I turned back to look at it questioningly. “You dress for yourself. They dress for everyone else.”

I paid and, for the first time, really noticed what I wore and compared to everyone around me. Sure, I wore the same worn and holey style of jean. It was easy to do when you were poor. But I skipped the cute little flats or the high heels that some wore. I owned sneakers. One pair. That’s what I wore. My mom and I wore the same size, so we swapped around our closets to keep a bigger selection. She didn’t work anywhere with a dress code so cumulatively we owned tee’s, long and short sleeve and a few sweaters.