A Certain Slant of Light by Laura Whitcomb

her teeth and let Jack nibble it until they were kissing, Libby turned to look at Mitch every few seconds, but Mitch never moved. And James sat still as well, ex cept during a scene in which the man and woman who had been robbing banks and running from policemen were nude, making love to loud music. I dropped my gaze, choosing to look down at James's hand.
       I missed silent movies. The music was more integral, like a sound painting. Emotions were not lost but heightened because of the muteness. When you read the actors' eyes, a secret language formed in your mind. If truth be told, more often than not, I watched the audience instead of the screen while attending silent pictures with my Knight. As the light dappled across the forest of faces, I could watch them create inside their hearts each a differ ent story from the same images. It was a shame the way modern movies smothered their stories with songs and loaded every mo ment with noises and words. Little was left to the imagination.
       James watched the screen but shifted uncomfortably to the sounds of moans and cries. Libby whispered something in Mitch's ear, and when she looked back at the screen, Mitch turned and watched her for a long moment.
       Libby went with her sister, three of them crammed in the back of Rayna's car. She rolled down the window as they were about to pull away and waved. "Call me some time," she yelled. She grinned with white baby-sized teeth, her black curls bobbing.
       Mitch just watched her, looking ill.
       "That Libby is a trip," said James as we stood beside the rusty car.
       "No kidding." Then he looked at James. "When we got pulled over, why the hell were you hiding in the back seat, for Christ's sake?"
       "I wasn't hiding," said James.
       "You can't lie worth shit," said his brother. "Don't ever play poker for money."
       We drove back to Amelia Street, me in the back seat, James with his arm on the open window.
       "Thanks," said James.
       "What for?"
       "For buying me dinner and stuff."
       "Well, when I get you that great job, you can start taking me out."
       "Okay."
       There was silence again.
       "So, what did Libby do to make you swerve?" asked James.
       "Not another fuckin' word about her," Mitch groaned.
       James laughed.
       When I had followed them into the house, Mitch went off to bed and I sat at James's desk. Amid the monster cartoons, there was a new drawing now. It looked nothing like the snarling crea tures around it. It was a light pencil sketch of a pair of eyes. An itching pleasure curled into me when I realized who the model must have been. James took a white undershirt and shorts with him to the bathroom and came back wearing them. He sat on his bed.
       "So you slept last night," he said.
       "Yes."
       He lay down on his blanket close to the wall, leaving a space for me. I sat with him.
       "Did you have a wife when you were James?" I tried to pre tend I didn't care one way or the other.
       He hesitated. "I don't think so." Then he asked, "Did you have a True Love?"
       "No," I said. "Just a husband."
       "I'm sorry." He didn't ask me for details, and I wouldn't have been able to provide many even if he had.
       "I wonder why you didn't get all your memories back when you went into Billy's body," I said.
       "Maybe it takes time."
       I knew I didn't want to remember everything. "What was the very first thing you remembered when you became Billy?"
       He smiled. "How the knothole in our porch steps looked like a cat's eye."
       "I don't think I'll know how to take a body," I confessed. But I wanted with a full-moon fever to touch James.
       "Tomorrow we'll look for someone who needs saving," he said quietly.
       I reclined, facing him.
       "You'll love it," he told me. "When you step into the flesh, you can smell grass again. And drink water. You can grip a stone and throw it. Everything will be fine."
       He sounded so sure, I couldn't