Waiting for the Moon

wearing the lush green coat of spring, rolled out from the house into a thick glade of towering evergreen trees. Dozens of pale new buds sparkled on still bare tree limbs. Beyond, the sea was an endless, hammered sheet of silver, rolling gently into the rocky shoreline. A single bird circled above the water, crying out its keening wail as it dove, wings tucked, into the icy blue.

She reached for the bird. Her knuckles cracked into something cold and brittle and invisible. She drew back, confused. "Want ..." was all she could manage to say.

He touched her wrist, gently drew her hand toward him. "Let's do another test, okay?"

She tried to tell him that she wanted to go outside, wanted to see the world that lay beyond this dark, too quiet room. Her mouth opened, closed. Nothing came out. She could think the thoughts, but she couldn't translate them into speech. The headache started again.

He led her back to the bed and gave her a small board. She sat down and stared down at the thing he'd placed in her lap. It was a small wooden oval, dotted with holes.

He handed her a square peg. "Now, put that in the square hole."

Square hole. Neither of the words meant anything to her. She had no idea what he was asking her to do. She stared at the little wooden spike in her hand, trying to igno

re the pounding in her head.

"Go ahead."

Frustration exploded inside her, made her feel sick and shaky and utterly alone. What about her head?

"Selena?"

She threw the spike across the room and lurched to her feet. Unsteady, shaking, she started walking toward the strangers. She wasn't sure where she was going, or why, but suddenly she needed to move.

The people parted wordlessly. Behind them, she saw a small table, draped in lacy white fabric. A thick black

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tube sat on a pewter holder. Above the tube, a golden-purple light throbbed magically.

The beautiful, flickering light mesmerized her. She turned to God, tried to tell him how lovely it was, but again the words were lost between her brain and tongue.

He stared at her in silence, watching her through assessing, narrowed eyes. For the first time, she felt a coldness in his gaze, as if he'd given up on her.

Her stomach clenched. She looked away, moved toward the table.

He said something?meaningless mush of sound. Too fast. He was talking too fast, and she didn't want to listen anyway. She just wanted to see the sparkling color up close. She reached for it.

"No!"

She heard the shouted warning a second after she touched the wondrous light. Pain ignited on her fingertips. She gasped and yanked her hand back, staring down at the bright pink spots forming on her flesh.

"Jesus Christ." God pushed the strangers aside and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her toward the commode. There, he splashed water from the pitcher into the porcelain basin and plunged her hand into it.

The pain vanished in liquid.

Confused, she glanced back at the tube. The bright color was gone; in its place, a skinny black string floated upward.

"Fire," Ian said, pointing to the tube. "Fire. Jesus Christ .. ."

The minute he said "fire," she remembered. The tube was a candle, and the beautiful red-gold spot was a flame. She looked up at Ian, tried to tell him that she understood. It took forever for her to say the single word. "Bench."

That disappointed look darkened his eyes again, and she felt a crushing sense of shame.

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"Poor thing, she's a bloomin' idiot," one of the strangers whispered.

"You should know," another answered before God shouted for silence.