Night has come again, blanketing us in darkness and we sit, my sister and I in our matching rockers rocking, and mixing our tinctures, crooning the words that will bring about what we seek within the ingredients. The light of the fire is bright and burning red, swathing the walls in its rudy glow and making Etta when her face is mostly in shadow appear as she once had when she was young and all the men followed her with their eyes, their bodies springing to attention. She feels my eyes upon her and she glances up and smiles through her words at me exposing her toothless mouth. I smile back and my mind wanders back to long ago when we were both young, when our bones didn’t ache and our muscles could bend quickly and resiliently.
Next to me, Etta's rocker stops and when I turn to her, I can see her pale eyes staring at me, into my mind, perhaps envisioning herself through my memory. "Why do you travel there, sister?" She asks, her voice a mumble. "Those days only lied to us, spun our lives out from under us and burnt what was left."
"I was only remembering you." I say, glancing furtively at her, hoping that the anger that accompanied her in those years is not leaking back into her.
She simply shakes her head. "I don't remember who I was then." But I know she remembers. Sometimes I watch her pull out the paintings that painters came from miles around to paint of her, painted as the Madonna, the whore and Eve. The roles those painters cast her in never were simple, never bore a resemblance to who really lived beneath the sheer white skin and sky blue eyes. When she looks at those pictures, her eyes grow distant and somewhat dreamy, and I wonder if she is thinking of John or her children.
"Stop!" Her rocker has stopped altogether and she is staring at me, reading my mind, following me down the echoing caverns of time. "I can not go there, ever. Again!"
I look at her and nodd, pressing current concerns into my head, hiding my face from hers'. But time has grabbed me, has yanked me back in its sprialling circle and refuses to let go.

Encounters

When Laura left the room, I turned to Papa and stared at him, at the lines that created his face and the colors that blurred like blue marbles to make his eyes, and I didn’t recognize him.
He shifted under my gaze, glancing up at me briefly before turning away and towards the door.
“Papa?” I asked, stepping after him quickly, shifting Avi on to the ground where he immediately grabbed on to my legs and turned his head into me.
Papa paused and the room seemed to freeze with him. The air seemed to hold a stillness, a waiting in it that it had not before and I turned and glanced around me expecting someone else to be waiting and watching with me, but we were alone.
“What, Martha?” Papa’s words came between clenched teeth and squared lips.
I moved towards him then, placing my hand on his back, that shuddered into stone beneath my fingers. The silence stretched out around me shutting me into a sorrow that throbbed through me and pressed at my lips and eyes. Sobs welled in my mouth, around my tongue and escaped my lips in a blubbering sound that contained no words.
Papa turned back to me, glanced at my face, guilt etched in the corners of his eyes and the shadow of his mouth. “Stop it, Martha. Stop it.” He reached down and grabbed Avi who clutched me even harder, his own little body racked with tears. Papa wrenched Avi from me and tossed him up into his arms as if he weighed nothing, Avi cowered into him, his round hands gripping Papa’s neck, Papa’s hands gently stroking circles on his back.
“Papa.” I said, again and reached out towards him. “Why? Why?” I could feel my face contorting with the words that whined out of me in their self pitying sobs and watched Papa’s look of guilt turn to one of disgust. I quickly tried to control my sobs, swallowing the emotion that was errupting out of me and attempting to straighten my face out of its pleading expression.
“Stop it, Martha. We will talk about this later, when you are calm.” His voice held the same patronizing slide that it had held so often with Mama, when she would come crying to him at times, and he would shake his head and run from her clinging hands and weeping eyes.
When she had done that I had pitied her, had shaken my head as Papa had done at her, but now as the emotions racked through me I knew what she had felt. The emptiness that he could create in one, the feeling that one was not good enough for him no matter what they did.

Blind Date

I told her to wear a red scarf so that I would know who she was. Unfortunately this seemed to be the going trend at the Starbucks. Red scarves were everywhere, worn around the waist as a belt, around the neck and in one circumstance around the head.
I had almost given up when a dark haired girl came in wearing a blue scar with a thin red line through it. She walked with a long confident stride, her eyes grazing above the heads of those around her as she approached the counter, nodding knowingly at the cashier, who nodded back.
“The usual.” She said, her voice low and strumming, her hands holding out a credit card while she turned and gazed around the room. Her eyes were a pale blue, like an ice pond in winter, hiding their depths by their surface and they clipped from one person to another searching for me. I rose slightly and waved, her eyes bounced back to me, her eyebrows lowering slightly and she nodded.
She turned back to gather her coffee cup from the cashier, her calves tightening as she rose on tip toe. She proceeded to the cream and sugar counter, where she gracefully removed a glove to reveal a well manicured hand and with cast down eyes poured two sugars into her coffee before covering it again. My rubbed my hands that had suddenly become sweaty with nerves, down the sides of my jeans and wiped a quick napkin over my mouth.
She finished preparing her coffee and replacing her glove walked towards me. And then past me to an empty table behind me. Startled I reacted with out thinking. “Carrie?” I asked turning towards her.
The woman looked over her shoulder at me, gazing at my face for a moment before her lips turned up in a slight snarl. “No.” She said, dismissing me.
“I’m Carrie.” I heard and turned back around to see the girl with the scarf around her head standing at the other end of my table. The scarf had come lose and had fallen back to reveal hair the color of straw, pulled back into two clips.
Confused I stared at her and then back over my shoulder at the woman with the long black hair, who wore a slight smirk on her face. Embarrassed I turned around and gestured at the chair across from me.
Carrie shifted her feet and sat down, plunking a rather large purse down on the table. “I thought that was you.” She said, breathlessly, pulling the scarf off and slipping it into her purse. She still wore her coat, a pea colored vintage piece with large brass buttons and high collar. She looked up at me and smiled, her lips rather chapped and her teeth slightly smallish, giving her a malnourished look.
I smiled back as best I could, absurdly angry that she wasn’t the girl who sat behind me. “Did you find this place alright?” I asked, the only thing I could think of saying.
“Yes. Thank God for map quest.” She laughed, a slight hiccup sound. “Did you want to order some coffee?”
“No. I can’t really stay long.” I glanced up at her and watched her face fall, slightly, before it rose again in another smile.
The girl behind me laughed, a slight snort and I turned to her, unable to stop. She was sipping from her coffee cup, her chest rising and falling in laughter. Her eyes rose and met mine, and for a moment I couldn’t move, magnetized by their hypnotic blueness. “You are an ass.” She said, rising and coming to my table.
I turned as I followed her with my eyes and body. “What?”
“You are an ass.” She said again, standing at my table and gazing down at me. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a date?”
I glanced at Carrie, who was looking at me and then the girl with a perplexed look on her face, her head moving back and forth between us as if she were a bird.
“Wasn’t this supposed to be a date?” The girl asked again, this time her voice loud and bold, calling attention to us.
“Yes, yes. Why are you yelling?” I asked, glancing around the room quickly.
“A date. Then why do you need to leave so quickly?” She asked, ignoring my question as her voice rose even louder.
“Stop it!” I hissed at the girl, before rising. “I have to go. Sorry.” I said to Carrie who was now gazing at me with outrage dawning on her face. I tried not to run from the Starbucks but I could feel everyone staring at me. I know I walked pretty quickly, and almost tripped once, which was followed by girlish giggles. I stumbled into my car, relief filling me as the darkness of my window’s hid me from the outside world. It took me a moment to regain my composure.
How dare she call me an ass, and why did she have to yell it? It was just a misguided blind date. I had met Carrie on line and we had talked quite a few times, her quick humor and sweetness beguiling me into wanting to meet her. Perhaps if I had met her first, before seeing the dark haired beauty things would have gone differently, but disappointment had raced me into not wanting to continue.
I was just about to start up my car to leave when the door opened and Carrie and the dark haired girl came out into the bright sunny day. They were laughing, heads thrown back and bodies bending with their laughter. Carrie no longer wore the vintage coat as old woman might, she wore it hip and young on shoulders that were thrown back carelessly. Her hair was down now, falling in waves past her shoulders and she was talking a mile a minute to the dark haired girl, as only old and dear friends can.

Character I Met

Kipsa and I had been hiding out in the woods all afternoon, hoping to find Robin Hood or at least a glimpse of one of his many merry men, but to no avail.

"Your da lied." Kipsa said, looking up at me with his yellow green eyes. "There's no Robin Hood."

I looked back at him wondering at his naivety. "He didn'a lie, its just a story."

Kipsa broke a branch in half over his upper thigh. "Na, he lied and so did you."

I looked at him and considered belting him across his somewhat smug face, until I heard a sound. I placed a finger to Kipsa's lips and pointed my finger over his shoulder to where the sound was buzzing.

It was a low sound, like a buzzing bee, as it floated up and crescendoed down, sometimes stopping for breath and then continuing. Kipsa's eyes took on their adventurous glimmer and he slipped to the forest floor and began to slink snake like towards the sound. I was right behind him, sometimes bumping into his dirty feet, sometimes passing him.

We left the forest and came into a small clearing, where the sound became louder and more human sounding. Kipsa saw him first and cringed back slightly into me. I do not know if I would have seen him if it had not been for Kipsa's line of vision. I followed it and stared for a moment before I descrened the shape of a small boy camouflaged by the atmostphere around him.

He was no taller then my sister, who has lived two summers, but where she is chubby and round, he was slender and sleek and where she was so baby like he was so boy like. His skin was a dusty brown, his hair a few shades darker and his eyes green like spring leaves, new and rainy wet looking.

The boy did not see us at first, but continued to hum, for that was the sound that we had followed to him. He gazed up at the sky, his lips in a upward cat grin and his hands twining grass blades together in an intricate braid. He seemed to be in a trance, as if his own humming had put him there, for he didn't move or glance at us, as Kipsa began to whisper questions at me.

"What is he?" Kipsa placed his lips right over my ear, sending shivers up and down my spine.

I glared at him, but he didn't notice. "What should we do?" Shut up, I mouthed at him, but Kipsa's eyes were on the boy.

"Do you think he is one of the Leprechaun's?" Kipsa asked, his whisper raspingly loud.

I was turning to push at Kipsa when the boy stopped humming and threw his head back, laughing. "Leprechaun?" He said through his laughter, and he turned his head towards us, but not his eyes, which didn't seem to focus on either one of us. "Do I look like a leprechaun?"

Kipsa stood and stepped towards the boy, who seemed to shift his colors from brown to dark green. I followed after Kipsa, slowly, wairly.

The boy stepped towards us and this time I watched as the colors of his hair did change, slightly, as if somehow a shadow fell upon and through him. I pulled Kipsa back towards me, but he shrugged me off and stepped towards the boy again. "I don'a know. I never saw one, before." Kipsa said, his voice low.

The boy's smile did not change nor did his eyes flicker from their far off stare. "I am not."

"What are you?" Kipsa reached out a hand to touch the boy, who only came to his hips, but his hand passed right through him. "What are you?" Kipsa asked again, his voice quavering as he crept away from the boy who was laughing, his colors shifting to blues and purples.

"What am I?" The boy's voice threw itself around the clearing as if it were a rock bouncing across the smooth surface of a lake. "What am I?"

Kipsa fell back and into me and we fell in a jumble of arms and legs. "Let's go!" Kipsa said, for the first time that day making sense.

We fled, leaping over fallen trees and curving around bent branches, our bodies pumping with fear for the boy's voice followed us, sometimes right at our heels and sometimes in front of us. "What am I?" It called, no longer laughing and merry, but lonely and confused. "What am I?"

We did not stop until we were in the village, surrounded by throngs of people yelling and singing, the smell of beer, blood and piss filling our nostrils. We slowed our foot steps and wiped the sweat from our faces, not daring to make eye contact with each other.

"What the hell?" Kipsa kept muttering under his breath. "What the hell?" We stopped at the well and pulled up the bucket, tossing the water over our heads, feeling the coolness slick down out backs.

"Thirsty?" Kipsa asked, letting the bucket fall and nodding towards my cup where it hung from my belt. I nodded and unhooked it, as Kipsa pulled the bucket up, brimming with sparkling waves of water. It was then, as Kipsa took it in both hands, to pour it into my cup that we heard it again, a slight waiver like the buzz of a mosquito. "What am I?"

Kipsa started to shake, the water slipping down from the bucket into my out held cup, taking on the contours and lines of a small boy.

Blue Moon

The gods were angry with Celius. He could tell because everything had gone wrong for him in the past year. His crops, the ones that had appeared, had shriveled up within a week of their first appearance disregarding the rain and fertile soil that they had been planted in. His wife who had never swayed in her steadfastness to him, had begun to glance elsewhere, her eyes following the men that slunk past his house. When confronted she laughed and shrugged with disdain.

Celius tried to recall what he had done to wrong the gods, but could think of nothing. He had made his annual sacrifice of two goats, a hen and one sixteenth of his earnings. Although in retrospect, he had not counted the money he had made on the selling of his mule as earnings.
This thought corrected">occurred to him in the dead of night, smacking him out of his half slumber and into the silence of his room. His wife did not lay beside him and when he searched for her through out the remainder of his house, she was not to be found. Cursing himself at his own selfishness and stupidity he gathered two coins from his purse and headed out towards the temple.

"Perhaps," he said to the night sky, hoping that the gods might be listening, "if I get the money to the alter by morning, the gods will have forgiven me, and return my life to me."

His journey would take him most of the night, for the sky was dark with only a few distant stars peering through the cloudy sky at him. He had gone only a small distance when he realized that someone walked ahead of him, hidden under a long cloak and carrying a lantern that lit the road in front of them, making their shadow loom out and behind them.

Relieved that he might have some company on his journey he sped up slightly thinking that he would soon overtake them, but as his footsteps grew faster, so did the figure in front of him. After a brief moment he realized that the person might fear him and think he might mean them harm, and so he called out to them. "Hallo! Would you like some company on your journey?"

The figure stopped abruptly, and Celius did as well his eyes struggling in the dark to make out what was happening. The light that the figure carried faded slightly and then grew as the figure turned back towards him and it was then that Celius realized it was not a lantern that was lighting the way for the figure, but its eyes, that slid cold blue back and towards him. Celius dropped back a step, his hands rising to protect his eyes and he let out a low murmur of terror. Here was one of the gods in the flesh, come to take him for wronging them. Stupidly he held out the money in his trembling hand, turning his face away.

A long moment passed, Celius kept his eyes closed, not sure what to expect until he heard a slight jingle of laughter and felt breath upon his hand. He turned his face forward and opened his eyes a slit to see that the creature stood only steps from him, its eyes gazing down on the two measly coins that rested in his hands and its sharp toothed mouth open in a smile.
Instantly the eyes shredded the air and met his, blinding him for a moment before they dimmed and gazed upon him. "What is this?" the thin lips slipped the words out, filled with a hissing undertone.

Celius stared and could not find his tongue to speak. He felt hypnotized by the eyes that did not leave his and what ever other part he had that he could have claimed, was paralyzed with fear. The creature shifted its weight and repeated itself. "What is this?" This time its voice was more human sounding with less hissing. As the silence ensued and Celius still could not bring himself to speak the creature, moved its eyes in a rolling motion before fixing themselves upon Celius again, along with a long fingered bony hand.

For a moment, Celius reeled away from the dry cold touch of its hand, but it pulled Celius towards it and he found he could not move. For a moment, his eyes still locked with the creature, he thought he saw shadows of his own life flicker within its eyes.

The creature let go of Celius, leaving him feeling empty as if he had revealed to much of himself, and once again began to laugh. This time the jingle was louder and the mouth opened wider, revealing two sets of sharply pointed teeth and a somewhat serpentine tongue. Fascinated, Celius watched unable to move in the sudden dark that the creature's closed eyes caused.

"You owe me nothing!" The creature suddenly hissed, closing Celius' hand and pressing it back towards him. "You have offended no one but your wife."

"Wife?" The reference to her finally forced words from his throat.

The creature wiped its mouth and nodded. "She has cursed you."

"What?" Celius, for all his fear felt the disbelief spin up from his heart and into his head. "My wife would never do that!"

The creature smiled. "Just like she would never leave your bed in the middle of the night for another man?"

Celius stared, his eyes suddenly filling with the tears he had not allowed himself to face.
The creature cocked its head curiously like a dog, watching the tears slowly roll down Celius' face and down his chin. "Such strange creatures you humans are. To be so stunted by emotion."

Celius swiped his eyes quickly with the back of his hand, feeling anger build within his chest.

"Hush." The creature suddenly placed its hand upon Celius heart. "I did not mean to laugh."

"Why would she do this to me? It affects her too!" Each word was abrupt as it spun from
Celius and fell in the night air.

"She is woman." The creature said. "She reacts to what she sees. She knows about Coretta and Alphony. She responds as she sees fit."

Celius stared, his heart suddenly strumming in his ears at the names of his lovers, long cast off but still a memory. "What can I do?"

"Go home." The creature reached out its finger and touched Celius' cheekwhere the remainder of one tear still lay and brought it to its eyes where for a moment it glimmered prism bright before joining the light that lay there. "All is well."

Celius opened his mouth to say something, but discovered he was alone, staring up at the rising blue moon. After a long moment he shook himself.

"I must have been dreaming," he muttered and headed home, passing his fields tall with wheat and corn that bent in the small breeze that played around him. He smiled as he entered his home, dropping two coins in the jar by the stove that he discovered in his pocket and crept into the back room where the snores of his wife shifted the shadows of the room. Quietly he crept into bed, trying not to awaken his wife who suddenly stopped mid snore and turned to him, her eyes bright in the moon that shone through the window.

"Hello, my love." She smiled at him, curling herself up to him, and his arms slipped around her.

"Hello." He closed his eyes and smelt the smell of the days baking in her hair and for a moment felt a ridiculous gratifying feeling of relief. "I dreamt you had left me," he whispered into the night air.

She chuckled from below his chin. "Don't be ridiculous."

Wanting

I awaken to the low buzz of discussion right outside my room. I can hear Sarah's voice, a high pitched chirp in between the other's who have the decency to keep their voices low enough to hide the words. I open one eye and stare around the room, darkened but for the shaft of light that creeps below the hospital door. I want nothing more then to leave this place and go home.

Home, where I know where everything is, where the smell is of my cooking emitting itself from my oven and where I know the way the colors in every room will look every hour of every day.
I shift my weight uneasily and slip one of my legs over the edge of the bed.

My bones, sparrow light, lug the skin and muscle that drips with age from them like spilt milk. It always takes some getting used to, this aging. I have been old far longer then I was ever young, but it still surprises me, the way my muscles don't just flex and bend the way the once did and the way my bones ache deep within them until I can imagine the holes the loss of calcium have hollowed out there.

Sarah's chirruping becomes louder, slightly alarmed and I freeze, allowing myself to gaze at the shadows that pace in front of my hospital door, like guards.

"Hell," I mutter, after a brief moment. "What do I got to lose?" My feet find the floor, cold reverberating up my toes and into my ankles, but I continue on, sucking on my lower lip and make my way to the dresser where my purse lies, marooned in the center. A mirror hangs above it, reflecting back at me my image.

I do not remember this face, I hardly ever gaze at this grey shadow that has splashed away what I am or thought I was. I stare at the creased lines of my eyes, attempting to distinguish the cat like shape that they had once held, but can not. The eyes that gaze back at me are hidden under folds of wrinkles, the lashes I once had are lost in those trenches. The color that once was of charcoal black are now tinged with effervescent grey, a sheen of color that makes them almost alien in appearance. I shake my head, watching the few curls I have left straggle back and forth in limp hanging wisps.

My hands, fingers bent with arthritis slip into the depths of my purse and come up with my keys and two mints. I am not aware for a moment that I am humming until I place an unwrapped mint in my smiling mouth. "Ah, Hell!" I mouth at myself. "What do I got to lose?"

I pull my purse up my arm and make my way, slowly and carefully towards the door. In my journey towards the door, I become aware that there is silence and no pacing shadows. I speed myself up slightly and can feel my heart begin to pound with the exertion and excitement of my planned escape.

When I finally reach the door, I open it a crack and peer out. The nurses station is abandoned and my daughter in law is no where in sight. I hear a cackling and it takes me a few seconds to realize it is me. "Hush, Betty!" I whisper to myself. I cackle again.

I limp down the long hall, with one stop in between doorways to check my route and to glance slyly behind me. No one anywhere! When I am only a few feet from the elevators, I hear Sarah's chirp again and I almost throw myself at the down button, my finger stumbling like a drunk over the keys before I press my entire self into it and force the button down.

"Betty?" I hear Sarah, her voice loud with warning, pitch itself down the hall at me.

I do not turn, but straighten my back, hoping that she will not recognize me. No luck, I hear the tapping of her shoes gathering speed towards me.

The elevator door opens and I thrust my body forward, my heart battering in my ears and press the ground floor button before I glance out at Sarah's now rushing figure. I begin to cackle again, little gasps of air rushing out from me and even though I try to stop I can not. Spittle is dripping out of my toothless mouth, but still I can't stop myself.

Sarah is almost at the elevator when the doors shut completely. Her face is red and angry, her eyes staring blue and shocked at me. I am cackling so hard now that I begin to see dots of black in the air and begin to rake the air with my hands in my attempt to breathe. I hear a sucking noise before I realize that it is me, swallowing air, trying to force it down into me, before I feel my body fall, collapsing in on itself.

I awaken to Sarah. She is above me, staring at me, her eyes hurt and angry. I want to yell at her to leave me alone, let me go and that this is not all about her, but I can not because there is something down my throat moving my lungs, forcing the air in and out of my body. I begin to scramble, my hands flinging themselves towards my mouth, before they are stopped by restraining bands that tie me to my bed.

Frantically I stare at her, but she shakes her head and leaves the room, leaving me alone in the semi darkness, wanting nothing more then to go home. Home, where I know where everything is, where the smell is of my cooking emitting itself from my oven and where I know the way the colors in every room will look every hour of everyday.

Snapshot

My grandmother gave me her old books when she moved into the nursing home. "They were going to be yours, when I died, and I guess in a way I am, now." She told me.
I had stroked her shoulder and reminded her of all the things that she would be able to do once she was moved in, but she moved away from me, her slightly humped back exposing her vulnerabilities to me.
Most of the books were cheap romance novels, girls swooning in the arms of muscled long haired men, and I flipped those books back into the boxes they came in. Others were older, some children's books and some the classics. It was in a copy of David Copperfield that I found a picture of my mother.
She is sitting front and center, her pale reddish blond hair swept in a long shiny wave to the side. This was how she had looked for most of my youth, retaining that innocent young look until I had hit my teenage years and had caused grey hairs to form and lines to crease on her, or at least that was what she claimed.
In the picture her eyes are green and large, fringed by long darker eyelashes, but they appear wary and skittish, as if they would rather travel away from the photographer to somewhere else, anywhere else. Her smile is small and close lipped, causing one of her dimples to appear on her right cheek and even now I stare at it with envy.
Her arms are around me, her shoulders hunched as if to protect my baby form. I look like any all American blond blue eyed baby girl, dressed in pink, cheribly fat and smiling. My eyes admit my presence but return to my mother, to her pale green sundress, that contains pink flowers and puckers and tucks to make it stylish and well fitted.
I can not take my eyes off of her face, to the way the light plays on one side of her face and not on the other side, the bottom half in shadow, the upper part shadowed but for the glint of eye staring out. This working of light makes her appear scared, haunted and filled with loss, making her appear older then her twenty years. Her stance, her protective arms and raised shoulders hovering around me as if she is protecting me, rather then simply holding me.
I shudder and stare at her face again, wondering who she was and what she was thinking. I place the picture in David Copperfield again and place it, neatly and concisely on the shelf between Oliver Twist and Great Expectations.