27
Rachel
He didn’t come. I knew the rain would make it too difficult for him. Yet, somehow, I hoped he would come anyway. Now, Mama has left, and today is over. And, with it, any chance of seeing him. Perhaps I imagined him. It would not be impossible.
When I was a little girl, I imagined a playmate for myself, a little girl with red hair and freckles. Her name was Sarah, and she liked all the same things I liked, peanut butter sandwiches and playing with dolls. When we had tea parties, she would always let me have the last cookie. I taught her songs, and we danced and played games. She never neglected me.
What if Wyatt too was imaginary, like Sarah had been? What if I was slowly losing my mind?
No. The thing about Sarah was, she always did what I wanted her to do. Always. And that was because she was me, and I was her. She never disappointed me. She always showed up. Wyatt disappointed me precisely because he was real. He was a real boy who could not climb my tower in the slippery rain.
I walked to the window and opened it. A blast of cold air met my face, but I was still warm from the fire inside. I stared down, remembering yesterday, the feel of my feet on the sodden, snowy ground, the first time I had felt it since I had come here so many years ago. I glanced at my bed. The rope was under there. So strange, to have the means of escape at my disposal yet not go. Was I really not leaving because I wanted to stay? Or was it because I was afraid to leave this, my comfortable cocoon? If Wyatt didn’t come back, would I continue as I had been before, all alone, no contact with anyone? Could I be content to stay here alone? Had I ever been?
I gazed into the moonlight and saw that the rain had ended. Indeed, it was snow falling now, giant, lacy flakes that had already begun to whiten the trees.
I glanced at the rope again. Would he come tomorrow? I pulled the rope out from under the bed and tied it using the figure eight knot. Then, I threw it out the window so it dangled and fell all the way to the ground.
I closed the window as best I could and went to bed. In my darkened room, I tried to imagine he was there. After all, I had seen him before, in my dreams. But now that he had been there in the flesh, I could dream him no longer.
That’s how I knew he was real.