A Certain Slant of Light

by Laura Whitcomb

  “She’s safe,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  I couldn’t make myself move away from him. “Stay with me,” I said.

  “As long as I can.”

  Slow as a snail, I moved to the girl in yellow and stopped a few feet in front of her. She was breathing shallowly, her eyes a lifetime away. I sat next to her. James was watching us from his place beside the plant. I was wondering how difficult it would be to learn the slump necessary to imitate the way twenty-first-century women sit and stand, but this girl had prim posture, almost as if she were wearing a corset.

  “Jenny!” A slim woman in a gray dress and high heels came up to the girl. “Let’s go, honey.” The girl Jenny looked up at the woman, smiling mechanically, and rose smooth as smoke from the bench.

  I thrust my hand out and grasped the girl’s arm. It didn’t feel like touching Mr. Brown or James, but it didn’t feel like the dark woman, either. It felt cold like a pincushion of ice. But as Jenny moved, I was pulled along. I floated after her, looking to James for guidance. He nodded encouragement, so I clung to Jenny as she walked with her mother briskly out of the mall and into the parking lot.

  “I found something I think will work for the door prize,” said the older woman. “It’s a Bible Atlas.”

  “That sounds great, Mom.” I was chilled by the dead tone of Jenny’s voice.

  “Your father’s picking up the cake. We’d better get home and change. We’re supposed to be at the park at four and it’s after three-thirty.”

  Jenny’s mother pressed a button in her purse, and the lights of a maroon car blinked on and off. The vehicle that gave a short beep had a fish symbol and a small sign that said ABORTION IS MURDER on the back fender. The two stepped up to either side. James rolled by on his bike, waved a hand as he passed, and called, “Hi, Jenny!”

  Both of them stopped and looked. Jenny’s mother watched James disappear between two rows of cars. “Was that a boy from school?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Jenny.

  Eight

  “I IRONED YOUR BEIGE SHORTS, honey,” said Jenny’s mother. “Unless you think it’s too cold.”

  “That sounds fine,” said Jenny.

  I was stowed away in the back seat, tasting terror like a metal bit. What had I done? I was cleaving to a host I would never want to choose. What if we’d made a mistake again and something waited inside her?

  “Did your blue sweater come back from the cleaners?”

  “I think so.” Jenny looked out the window, but her eyes were focused on the glass rather than on what lay beyond.

  “Teri and Jeff are going to sing a duet.” Jenny’s mother tapped her heavy diamond ring on the steering wheel as she drove. The car felt like a hearse—large, clean, and the outside sounds were strangely blocked out.

  “They have such nice voices,” Jenny droned.

  “I should get my camera,” said the mother. “Remind me.”

  “Get the camera,” Jenny murmured.

  “I mean before I get back in the car, silly,” she laughed.

  The garage they pulled into was nicer than Billy’s house. It was huge, large enough for two cars and a boat, though it was empty when we pulled in. There was an immaculate counter with a shiny sink, a spotless white freezer, and a tool shop board with every hammer and saw perfectly outlined in white paint on the wall. There was a poster of a descending dove on the door and an ivy plant with a cherub wind chime beside it hanging from the ceiling.

  Jenny’s mother pushed a button under the steering wheel and waited for the mechanical jaws of the garage to close behind them before she got out of the car. While the garage door was only halfway down, I looked back, hoping to see James and his bicycle. If he had followed us, I could change my mind and fly to him. But he wasn’t there.

  “Hop hop,” said the mother.

  Jenny followed the woman into the house with her purse clutched to her middle. They came through an enormous sparkling kitchen, then Jenny passed her mother, who stopped at the dining room table to look at the headline on the newspaper neatly folded there.

  I followed Jenny into her bedroom and watched her undress. I couldn’t imagine trying to step into her flesh while she was in motion. She moved like a sleepwalker, folding her dress and slip daintily before setting them in the laundry hamper. She put her hosiery in a zippered net bag and stored her shoes in a box on the closet shelf.

  Standing in her matching white panties and bra, she paused as if in a trance. She’s stopped, I thought.

  “Are you ready?” her mother’s voice called from down the hall.

  Jenny blinked and began to move again, like a machine responding to the turn of a crank. She found shorts and a sweater on hangers and put them on. Another box in the closet held white canvas shoes, and from a dresser drawer filled with socks neatly rolled together in little balls, she took a white pair.

  “Are you almost there, missy?” called her mother.

  “Almost,” Jenny called back. She pulled the socks on, right and then left, sitting on the edge of the bed. Then the shoes, tying the laces in symmetric bows. Now she sat staring again as if her pilot light had blown out. Again she was still, but I was too scared to touch her.

  I looked around her room, decorated in little-girl white lace and yellow roses. The dressing table, the rug, the desk: Everything was spotless. The walls were bare except for a painting of praying hands and a poster of Jesus with children gathered at his knee.

  The girl sat as if hypnotized, and I stood in front of her. She was so young. It would have seemed more appropriate for us to choose a woman of my own age, but we needed an abandoned ship, and after all, James was in a body just as young. I was nervous. If I somehow floundered and could not cling to this child from the inside of her flesh, perhaps I would fall back into hell. She very well might be the last thing I saw before an eternity of pain.

  Sitting beside her, I touched her hand, the delicate, tan fingers on the white lace bed. She must be empty, I thought. I didn’t feel that falling sensation or the heat of danger, only an absolute stillness, like touching a statue. I recoiled, but she so generously lay down on her back now, as if surrendering, that I had to try. I reclined into her cold space. She seemed quite hollow, but there could still be a blackness hiding. A terrifying shuddering overwhelmed me. It was so violent, I jumped up again and looked down at the girl. She took a deep breath and sat up.

  “Five minutes,” her mother called.

  Jenny rose and went to the dressing table. There was no perfume or makeup there. Only a brush and comb and a white Bible. She took the brush and slowly pulled it through her hair, smoothing the locks with her free hand as she made each stroke. Now she pulled the few gold strands of hair out of the brush bristles and, laying the brush back in place, dropped these into the white wicker wastebasket.

  I followed her into the bathroom that stood open to the hall and watched her clean her teeth with a pink toothbrush.

  Do it, I told myself. But I couldn’t.

  “Don’t forget the camera,” Jenny called as she rinsed her brush, watching nothing in the mirror.

  “Thank you!” Jenny’s mother came into the doorway. “Let’s hit the road.”

  Jenny smiled but only with her lips. Her eyes were not even living.

  “You look very pretty, honey,” said Jenny’s mother, as she drove.

  “Thank you,” said Jenny. “You look nice, too.” The mother had changed into a cotton dress and matching cardigan, but I don’t think the girl had even looked at her clothes. I sat in the back seat, feeling like a coward.

  “Did Brad Smith ask you out?” said the mother.

  “No,” said Jenny.

  “He’s probably shy. I think he will. His mother already talked to me.”

  They pulled into the lot of a large park where fifty cars were already waiting. A vast pergola sheltered three rows of picnic tables covered with thin plastic—one set of two tables was crammed with dishes of all shapes wrapped in s
ilver foil, like a graveyard for food.

  “Cathy, where’s Dan?” a woman asked Jenny’s mother.

  “He went to get the cake. He should be back by now. Are you sure he’s not playing softball?”

  Jenny walked to the closest table where a woman with a bottle was feeding her baby.

  “Hi, Jenny,” said the woman.

  “Hi.” Jenny blinked at the baby. “Hi, Randy.”

  I followed Jenny to the grass field where several people sat on blankets and beach chairs, calling out to the others who were playing ball on the makeshift diamond. The only man in a dress suit came up to bat. Someone called, “Go get ’em, Pastor Bob.” Jenny clapped her hands mildly but was staring into the sky and missed seeing Pastor Bob hit a fly that was caught by the second baseman. I wanted to touch her again, but there were so many people.

  A dozen women set out stacks of paper plates and boxes of plastic forks. When a gray-haired woman in a red baseball cap rang a hand bell, everyone migrated to the picnic tables, but no one sat down. The pastor, sweating but smiling, held up a hand and everyone closed their eyes. Everyone but me. Pastor Bob closed his eyes as well. It was silent except for a baby crying.

  “Dear Lord,” the preacher boomed. “Thank you for your many gifts. Bless this food to our good and your will. Protect all those in your flock who cannot be with us here today. In the name of Christ Jesus, Amen.” The Amen was echoed, even by Jenny. When the preacher lowered his arm, he laughed and said, “Ladies, tell us menfolk the plan here.”

  As the woman with the bell pointed out how the food line should work, a man in a green polo shirt came hurrying up with a large pink box. Jenny’s mother frowned at him.

  “Where have you been?” she complained. “I was worried.”

  “Oh, it was my fault. I forgot to gas up the van. I had to walk a mile to buy a gallon.”

  She gave an unsure laugh but accepted the kiss he planted on her cheek.

  “Hi, Puppy,” he said to Jenny. Then he was gone, taking the cake box to the food table.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she said, not noticing that it was too late for him to hear.

  I watched as Jenny walked through the line, taking a tiny bit of each dish onto her plate, smiling and nodding as the boy who sat beside her talked and talked. She ate very little and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin after every bite, meticulous as a ballerina practicing at her barre.

  When the trash was cleared away, the pastor had the men bring most of the wooden benches, the folding lawn chairs, and the blankets to the grass. They put these in a large circle and everyone gathered. Some men stood behind the circle. No woman stood. The shadows were lengthening across the park. The pastor told the story of Daniel surviving all night in the pitch dark surrounded by hungry lions.

  I stood behind Jenny. Her posture was neat, but her head was down, as if she were in prayer. She sat on the end of a bench with her mother beside her and her father at his wife’s feet, sitting on a towel. Beside Jenny a little boy lay on the lawn with his head in his mother’s lap, falling asleep as she stroked his hair.

  “And we have the faith of Daniel,” Pastor Bob was saying. “Don’t we? Because we know God will shut the mouths of our enemies. When we obey His will, we can trust Him to protect us, can’t we?” A few voices answered softly, Amen. “Let us pray.”

  Jenny’s eyes closed and her hands folded. I decided I couldn’t wait forever. I stepped over the sleeping child and sat where Jenny was sitting. The ringing sound of crystal vibrating was all around me. I felt as if I had pressed myself into cold marble. I stayed in her, and in a moment, I started shaking. It was frightening, but I wouldn’t let myself run. I tried to see James in my mind’s eye, smiling at me. The ringing stopped with a popping sound. I felt like an ice sculpture starting to crack into pieces. Then it happened. I felt the shape of her, the shape of myself, inside the fingers and shoulders and knees of her. I even felt the snug shoes and the difference between her warm arms inside her sweater and her cool legs exposed to the breeze. I could feel the tickle of Jenny’s hair brushing my cheek. My hand went to my mouth when I heard myself cry out in amazement. I opened my eyes to see every face in the circle turned to me, and then the ground flew up and I was in the dark.

  “Give me that blanket.”

  I could hear excited voices. Rose-colored flashes appeared as my face was passed over by shadows and then sunshine glowing through my eyelids. My eyelids. I opened my eyes and saw a cluster of heads hovering with concern.

  “It was during the prayer,” someone whispered.

  “Maybe it was the Holy Ghost,” came another voice.

  “She just didn’t eat enough,” said Jenny’s father. He picked me up under my arms and knees. “Let’s not get too excited.”

  I was overwhelmed by having so many people pay attention to me. I couldn’t speak. The feeling of the father’s strong arm around me, the texture of his shirt felt through my own skin. I was still shaking.

  “Oh, honey,” I heard Jenny’s mother coo.

  The father set me down on a bench by one of the picnic tables. I couldn’t help myself. I began to cry, sobbing into my hands and, to my surprise, making tears, the salt of a forgotten sea.

  “Maybe she saw a vision,” someone said.

  “She’s just embarrassed,” said Jenny’s mother, stroking my hair anxiously. “Everyone go back to prayer meeting. I’ve got her.”

  I finally took a deep breath and stopped crying. Jenny’s mother, Cathy, tucked the blanket on my lap around me tightly and gave me a tissue. I wiped my wet face with the fragile paper and looked at her.

  “What happened, Jen?” she asked.

  “I felt so strange,” I said, startled by the sound of my words spoken in Jenny’s voice. My teeth were chattering.

  “Are you about to start your period?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “It’s okay,” said Cathy. “We’ll check your calendar when we get home.”

  “Mother?” I just wanted to say the word and see her respond.

  “What, hon?”

  I laughed, which was apparently an odd thing to do.

  “Do you need something to eat or drink?” she asked, looking concerned.

  “Do you have an apple?”

  “I don’t think so.” Cathy scanned the somewhat ravaged food table. “Lime jello? How about some grape punch?”

  “Yes, please.” My back was to the grass field. I could hear two soft voices singing a lullaby hymn. I turned around now to see the pastor and Jenny’s father, Dan, hovering on the outskirts, listening. A man wearing a police uniform stood with them, a baby sleeping on his shoulder.

  Cathy brought me a bright yellow plastic cup half filled with dark liquid. I held it with both hands. I had seen plastic before but never felt it. It was as smooth as it looked but had a faint, peculiar scent. I found that if I squeezed the cup and released, it made a popping sound. Cathy gave me a strange look as I drank the punch.

  “Oh, my,” I whispered. It was shocking how glorious it tasted.

  “You’re going to bed early tonight,” said Cathy.

  I was too fascinated to be afraid now. Everything was astounding. Being touched. Smelling people, their sweat, and perfume, and even the soap they used to wash their clothes as they gave me hugs goodbye. The power of all those eyes, shining right into mine. The weight of things, like the punch in my cup. The weight of me as I stood and moved. I was lightheaded with curiosity. I wanted to run and sing and walk down a street where people would turn a shoulder to pass without colliding with me.

  Unlike the woman at the mirror, I saw no flashes of Jenny’s past, no glimpse of the trauma that had caused her to flee. Like Billy’s body, Jenny’s came with no memories at all. I remembered then that James said it wasn’t until he was inside Billy that he started to remember his own life as one of the Quick. I felt Jenny’s heart start to race at the idea. I was a little afraid of what I might recall about myself. But nothing came to me a
t first.

  “Dan,” Cathy whispered loudly. “Let’s go.”

  After he exchanged a few quiet words with Pastor Bob, Dan came and took my hand. “Want to ride with me or with your mother?”

  “I have no preference,” I said.

  Cathy took the blanket from my lap and folded it. “You ride with me.”

  “See you at home.” Dan headed for a white van, and Cathy put her arm around my waist.

  “I can walk,” I said, for although I found the warmth of her arm against my body comforting, I wanted to walk free. I stretched and even tried a little hop in my step. I marveled at how strong my legs felt. The way my strides made my hair swing delighted me. I laughed out loud.

  “Well, I guess we’re feeling better,” said Cathy, uncertainly. It wasn’t until we were sitting in the car that she asked, “Jen, you didn’t...” She hesitated. “Have a vision or anything, did you?”

  I just looked at her for a moment. “Not that I remember,” I said.

  Once at home, I hurried to Jenny’s room, closed the door, and looked in the mirror. I could still hardly believe it was true, but I was indeed this hazel-eyed girl with blonde hair and slender tan fingers. I sat on the bed and took off my shoes. I wiggled my toes, staring at them as if I’d grown wings. I hopped up and made a few turning jumps, landing on graceful bending legs. Quickly, I took off all my clothes, even the matching underwear, hypnotized by my naked form in the closet door mirror. I felt the soft smooth breasts and the tiny hollow of my belly button. I came close to the glass and held up my hair to examine the shape of my ears. What a gift, to be suddenly young.

  For a moment, while I studied the maze of Jenny’s ear and the line of her neck, I saw another throat, like a ghost image an artist has painted over. This throat was paler, the ear a little rounder, the hair behind it curled instead of straight. I’m remembering, I thought. But I was startled out of my vision by a rap on the door.

  “Are you decent?” Cathy called from the hall.

  “Just a moment.” I looked in the closet, then opened the dresser drawers. I took the top pair of neatly folded pajamas and stepped into the bottoms. “I’m coming,” I called, buttoning the top.