“Well, I like to talk. I miss having conversations, you know. Maybe one day we could have one?” Thanks to that night, in the shower, I know there is a mote of humanity in him I must tap into. It's rare I get him like this. Still and quiet. So I must take the leap.
“Okay, I'll take that as a not tonight, Vesp.” I imitate his rough voice. I chuckle to myself and I just know deep down inside he wants to, too.
“Sometimes, I can see the moon through the skylight. Thank you for that by the way…the skylight. I miss feeling the sun on my skin. It's the closest thing I have to that.” I pause, unexpectedly finding myself choking up. The wooden chair creaks as he shifts his weight in it.
“Anyway, do you know what my name means?”
I wait for a response, like I could trick him into speaking with me.
“Well, I'll tell ya. It's Evening Prayer.” I pause politely giving him a chance to respond as if this were a two-way conversation. “My mom and I aren't close. I grew up for about the first thirteen years of my life on a commune. She was always more concerned about herself. I was just a product of her exploration.” I add air quotes to that final word. “She had so many partners, she wasn't even sure who my dad was. Not surprisingly, no one stepped up to the plate. Years later, she got pregnant with my brother. She gave birth to him with one of the women at the commune—they referred to themselves as goddesses—assisting her, and there were so many complications. That's when she realized she had to leave. His condition was one that required more modern interventions.”
I'm not used to one-sided conversations. It feels like I'm rambling. But as he sits there silently, I'd like to think he's listening, maybe even intrigued.
“She moved us down to Sacramento, and within a year she was married to my step-dad. She has that way about her. She's so fucking selfish and yet she gets who or what she wants. Maybe it's because she makes no apologies or has no shame. Me, I'm full of those…” I sigh, wondering if this is too much. Maybe there are parts of myself I should shield from Night. I can't tell anymore if this is the new me, the one who has adapted to survival, who has accepted her current station, or the old me, a wounded girl, just wanting everyone's love and approval.
“My little brother, Johnny, sometimes I hate her for how he is. I can't help but think if they had just gone to the hospital sooner, things could have been different for him.” Tears glide down the sides of my face. I haven't really thought of him since the first few weeks. It just caused too much pain. But I've decided tonight will be the night when I'll let myself feel a little self-pity. “She's no better about him than she was with me. So I try so hard for him to see that he's loved and he's not a burden. And now he doesn't have me—”
The chair creaks again. I think I'm pushing a button so I stop. I wipe the tears from my eyes and smile. “Oh yeah, this was about the moon. Wow, I really went off on a tangent there. So my grandmother, she was so different from my mother. And she lived by Sacramento, so she couldn't see me too often. But when she could, she would take me away for a weekend here and there. She was so warm and kind. She's the person I try to be like most, especially with Johnny. She died not too long after we moved off the commune. I've never felt pain like that. Just a hollowness. A loss that just sits there. She used to tell me that whenever she saw the moon, she'd think of me, because of my name. And she'd say a little prayer for me.”
I sigh, sitting up in my bed.
“Then she gave me this necklace. It was this pretty gold pendant of a moon. It was her way of always being with me. So when I was feeling sad, I would hold it and close my eyes to feel like she was still here. But I don't have that anymore. Now it's gone. Now I'm truly alone.”
The words flowed out of me from a place of honesty. I lost myself. And only then do I realize the massive risk I have taken in sharing that story. That I am accusing him of not just stealing a necklace, but of trying to replace something with his presence that is irreplaceable.
The wooden chair grinds across the floor as his shadow grows tall.
I hold my breath, wondering if I've set him off. If he's sees my words as a manipulation and not just a desperate woman just being human in the face of insurmountable circumstances.
This time, he's not silent as his boots stomp heavily against the creaky floors and he slams the door and latches it behind him.
I wanted to say something.
So badly that my lips trembled and I could barely sit still.
I'm not sure what I wanted to say, but as she went on about her life, told me things that no amount of peering through windows could ever reveal, I wanted to speak to her.