Magic Hour
She tried to smile. “It took you long enough.”
WHEN GIRL WAKES UP, SHE GOES TO THE WINDOW AND STANDS THERE, staring out at the yard. She loves these new words, especially when she adds my in front of it. This word means something is hers.
There are hundreds of birds in her yard right now, though not so many as there will be when the snow is gone and the sun is hot again. Down below, lying on top of the melting snow, is a pink flower.
Maybe she should bring it inside. That would make Jewlee smile, maybe, and Jewlee needs to smile more.
She tries not to think about that, but already it is too late. She is remembering last night, when Jewlee held Girl so tightly she had to push her away . . . and how Jewlee’s eyes had watered at that.
Lately, Jewlee’s eyes water all the time. This is a Bad Thing. Girl knows this. Although it now seems long ago that Girl was in the deep forest, she sometimes remembers Him. And Her.
Her’s eyes watered more and more . . . and then one day she was DEAD.
The memory of it is terrifying. Before, in days past, Girl would have howled now, called out to her friends in the deep woods.
Use your words.
This is what she must do now. Using her words is a Good Thing that makes Jewlee happy. But which words? And how can she put them together? How can she tell Jewlee how it feels to be warm . . . to not be afraid anymore. These words are too big; too many are needed. Maybe she’ll just hold Jewlee extra tightly tonight and kiss her cheek. She loves it when Jewlee does that to Girl at bedtime. It is like a bit of magic that makes Girl dream of the pretty things in her yard instead of how she used to sleep in her cave, freezing cold and all alone.
She hears the door to the bedroom open and close. Hears footsteps.
“You’ve been standing at that window a long time, Alice. What do you see?”
Is that a bad thing? There are so many rules in this place. Sometimes she can’t remember them all.
She turns to Jewlee, who looks like a princess in one of the books they read. Still, Girl can see the water trails on Jewlee’s cheeks and it makes her feel sad inside, like the rabbit who’d been forgotten by his little boy in the story. “Bad?” she wonders. “No window stand?”
Jewlee smiles, and just like
that, Girl feels happy again. “You can stand there all day if you like.” She goes to the bed she sleeps in and sits down, putting her legs out on top of the covers.
“Book time?” Girl hopes, reaching for the story from last night. Grabbing it, she rushes over to the bed. “Teeth, first?” she says, proud of herself for remembering. It is hard to think of such things at story time.
“And pajamas.”
Girl nods. She can do it all—go potty, brush her teeth, and put on the pink jammies with the stiff white feet. Then she is on the bed beside Jewlee, tucked in close.
Jewlee pulls her sideways, settles Girl on her lap so they are nose-to-nose. Girl giggles, waiting for kisses.
But Jewlee doesn’t do that. She doesn’t smile. Instead, very softly, she says: “Brittany.”
The word hits Girl hard. It is what Him used to say when he was mean and wobbly from the stuff he used to drink. What does Jewlee mean? Girl feels the panic growing inside her. She scratches her cheek and shakes her head.
Jewlee holds Girl’s hands in hers and says it again.
“Brittany.”
This time Girl hears the question in the word. Jewlee is asking her something.
“Are you Brittany?”
Had those other words been there all along, only drowned out by Girl’s heartbeat?
Are you Brittany?
Brittany.
The question is like a fish swimming downstream. She grabs onto its tail, swims with it. She gets an image of a little girl—tiny—with short, curly black hair and huge white plastic underwear. This baby lives in a white world, with lights everywhere and a soft floor. She plays with a bright red plastic ball. Someone always gives it back to her when she drops it.