marmalade?
“There’s a man, you see,” he said and I did see, a round man with round glasses and thick hands, and this man offered Jackson more money than he’d ever been offered for a performance. “Food and real shelters included,” Jackson continued and I saw in his mind a hotel with a swimming pool and everything. I saw warm baths and soft beds. “We’d stay for the winter, till things get warm again.”
That part of the deal was important, I realized, and I felt the pain in Jackson’s hands as though it was my own. He was young, but his bones had already started to rub together, causing him pain no matter how he moved. Jackson wanted to bed down somewhere warm for a few weeks and move on when spring came.
“Dallas,” he finally said. Which was backwards from where we were going. It would delay San Francisco, he said and I got a flash of a beautiful young girl in his mind. Not his lover, but his mother as he remembered her from his childhood. Jackson wanted to get home, wanted it badly, but didn’t know if he could stand the winter ride to get there.
This was agreeable for the little girl who began to purr against my side. I’d forgotten she was there, but traveling east was fine with her and when Jackson took his vote, her long pale arm was one of the first to rise.
Didn’t matter to me where we went, really, but Dallas was a little too close for my comfort. Close to Sherri Lynn, close to the little house that had been ours. She was still there; she wouldn’t leave her roses nor her turtles for anything in the world. She liked her teaching, liked being far from her family.
“Limbo,” the little girl whispered and I wondered then if my mind were clear to her like Sherri Lynn’s had been to me. “Goin’ east, goin’ east.” She couldn’t contain her excitement.
“What is it you want me to make vanish?” I asked, wanting this over. Once I did the trick, she would go. Wouldn’t she?
But she shook her head and her pale hair rubbed her shoulders and then my coat as she nuzzled up to me. I froze under her touch. I didn’t need this, didn’t need her telling me I was in limbo. I wasn’t. I’d moved on with my life, did what was best for me and Sherri Lynn both.
The little girl didn’t answer, and I found out later that night that Gemma, now as dark as Sombra, and Sombra, now as light as Gemma, had named her Vara. Vara curled herself up at my grate once more and slept through the show, while I danced and performed until exhaustion claimed me and I made a man’s vanished coin appear in a woman’s all-too visible cleavage. He chuckled, she shrieked, but the play went on.
The train moved at a steady pace through the New Mexico desert. It was strange to see snow across cactus and scrub brush, over the red and taupe earth, but there it was and it looked pretty.
Vara didn’t move from the small window much. She stayed huddled in the blanket and her breath made small puffs of fog on the pane. Every now and then she pressed her fingers against the glass, as if trying to measure distance. Once, she got excited about a landmark, but we passed it and she realized it wasn’t the mountain she’d been thinking about.
She started wailing the next day, as the train drew closer to the state line. She woke me with her crying and there was nothing I could do to calm her. Her cries rose until the window shattered and the train ground to a sudden halt. Froze up on the tracks, as though it was caught in ice. Vara wrenched herself from my arms, scrambled out of the car, and across the frozen desert.
I watched her go, the tail of her shift flipping up and down like an antelope tail. She’d refused all offer of other clothing; didn’t want anything that made her look human, she told Gemma. There was no danger of that, I thought, but kept my opinion to myself. She was too small and too pale to be human, but running away . . . she had that down pat.
With the train stuck on the tracks, we weren’t going
“There’s a man, you see,” he said and I did see, a round man with round glasses and thick hands, and this man offered Jackson more money than he’d ever been offered for a performance. “Food and real shelters included,” Jackson continued and I saw in his mind a hotel with a swimming pool and everything. I saw warm baths and soft beds. “We’d stay for the winter, till things get warm again.”
That part of the deal was important, I realized, and I felt the pain in Jackson’s hands as though it was my own. He was young, but his bones had already started to rub together, causing him pain no matter how he moved. Jackson wanted to bed down somewhere warm for a few weeks and move on when spring came.
“Dallas,” he finally said. Which was backwards from where we were going. It would delay San Francisco, he said and I got a flash of a beautiful young girl in his mind. Not his lover, but his mother as he remembered her from his childhood. Jackson wanted to get home, wanted it badly, but didn’t know if he could stand the winter ride to get there.
This was agreeable for the little girl who began to purr against my side. I’d forgotten she was there, but traveling east was fine with her and when Jackson took his vote, her long pale arm was one of the first to rise.
Didn’t matter to me where we went, really, but Dallas was a little too close for my comfort. Close to Sherri Lynn, close to the little house that had been ours. She was still there; she wouldn’t leave her roses nor her turtles for anything in the world. She liked her teaching, liked being far from her family.
“Limbo,” the little girl whispered and I wondered then if my mind were clear to her like Sherri Lynn’s had been to me. “Goin’ east, goin’ east.” She couldn’t contain her excitement.
“What is it you want me to make vanish?” I asked, wanting this over. Once I did the trick, she would go. Wouldn’t she?
But she shook her head and her pale hair rubbed her shoulders and then my coat as she nuzzled up to me. I froze under her touch. I didn’t need this, didn’t need her telling me I was in limbo. I wasn’t. I’d moved on with my life, did what was best for me and Sherri Lynn both.
The little girl didn’t answer, and I found out later that night that Gemma, now as dark as Sombra, and Sombra, now as light as Gemma, had named her Vara. Vara curled herself up at my grate once more and slept through the show, while I danced and performed until exhaustion claimed me and I made a man’s vanished coin appear in a woman’s all-too visible cleavage. He chuckled, she shrieked, but the play went on.
The train moved at a steady pace through the New Mexico desert. It was strange to see snow across cactus and scrub brush, over the red and taupe earth, but there it was and it looked pretty.
Vara didn’t move from the small window much. She stayed huddled in the blanket and her breath made small puffs of fog on the pane. Every now and then she pressed her fingers against the glass, as if trying to measure distance. Once, she got excited about a landmark, but we passed it and she realized it wasn’t the mountain she’d been thinking about.
She started wailing the next day, as the train drew closer to the state line. She woke me with her crying and there was nothing I could do to calm her. Her cries rose until the window shattered and the train ground to a sudden halt. Froze up on the tracks, as though it was caught in ice. Vara wrenched herself from my arms, scrambled out of the car, and across the frozen desert.
I watched her go, the tail of her shift flipping up and down like an antelope tail. She’d refused all offer of other clothing; didn’t want anything that made her look human, she told Gemma. There was no danger of that, I thought, but kept my opinion to myself. She was too small and too pale to be human, but running away . . . she had that down pat.
With the train stuck on the tracks, we weren’t going
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