Part 8 by Vila Gingerich
My words ruffled the delicate hair and wings of
the Her. “Mythical creatures: a figment of who you dream to be. Could that be
true?”
Dreams? Bree would raise her eyebrows at the
thought. She considered me a dottery grandmother with one sensible shoe in the
grave.
Even so, I still had my stash of somedays, my valise of what-ifs, my shoe box of—
Dreams?
Maybe this magical creature, this Her, embodied
my fancies of what I could be, could do—submit that story, see Venice, run that
marathon.
A rustle came from the box and I leaned closer.
Tiny limbs stretched, then straightened, and a wince puckered Her face. No
fresh blood welled, though, and I let out the breath I hadn’t know I’d been
holding.
With an index finger, I scooted the lid of
honey closer.
Her tiny nose twitched. Asking this elegant
being to put her face down and drink like a dog seemed preposterous.
“I’m sorry.” My face burned. “I didn’t think.
Maybe—”
A hand fluttered out and downward, like a baby
moth, and then—a droplet of honey glistened in her palm. She held it to her
lips, paused, and the golden head nodded.
At me. For me.
My heart clutched and tears pricked behind my
eyelids.
As the Her drank and my knees grew stiff from
kneeling, I became aware of voices outside the window.
“What’s
wrong with Grandma?” Bree’s voice sounded sharp as glass.
“You noticed too?” Margaret speaking. “She
meant to slam the door in our faces earlier. I mean, it’s not like we weren’t
invited. Oh, and she forgot my diet. She had nothing but sugar for the Earl
Grey.”
“Well, right now she’s in her bedroom, crying
into a shoe box,” Bree said.
I glanced over my shoulder and gasped. The
bedroom door stood ajar.
Vila is a very good friend at Novel Matters. She won our essay contest on why novels matter in 2012. You can read her essay here. She is currently a humanitarian aid worker in Eastern Romania with her husband. Learn more about Vila here.
Thank you, Vila!
5 comments:
Well done Vila1 Love it :)
Voila, Vila! Can I say how much I like the way you took the story?
Thanks, Megan and Cherry! I usually write middle grade fiction or personal essays, so this was a jump for me. But I enjoyed it. :)
This is wonderfully lyrical. Poetic. And meaty. I feel tension between wanting to concentrate on our relationship with the Her or our relationship with the family, quite apart from the conflict of the two relationships meeting each other.
The way you describe Her, Vila, I could sit and watch all day. Magical writing.
Henrietta, thank you for your kind words! I'll admit, I'm sooo curious about the family dynamics.
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