Stanzi—Friday Evening—Twenty Questions

We are flying through blue skies and there is nothing I can see but my naked body because I cannot look up.

There is a scar on my right leg. It’s fourteen inches long and nearly an inch wide. It’s dark, like the color of my deepest gums.

I stare at it.

If I said, “When I look at the scar, it all comes back to me,” then I would be lying.

It never went away, so it can’t come back.

Not for any of us.

Gustav is first to speak. We are half an hour away from the Place of Arrivals. We are departing. The map clearly indicates that THERE ARE NO DEPARTURES. I don’t know how to read a helicopter map, but if I did, I would be able to tell you that Gustav is not following the same route as when we arrived.

Gustav says, “I’m sorry it’s so cold.”

Patricia says, “It’s not your fault it’s cold.”

Gustav says, “I think I meant I’m sorry we’re naked.”

“Naked isn’t bad,” Patricia says. “We’re like babies.”

“I guess it could be symbolic,” Gustav says.

I can feel them both waiting for me to talk, but I’m looking at my scar. It’s easy to avoid when showering. If I don’t look down, then it’s not there.

“I don’t think birth is this cold,” I say.

“True,” Gustav says.

“I don’t even think death is this cold,” I say. “My sister was six years old. Last time I held her, she was warm.”

No one says anything.

I say, “Right before then, we were playing Twenty Questions. It was my turn. I was eight. I chose wombat because I knew she didn’t know what a wombat was.”

No one says anything.

It’s just me and my scar.

My scar has a mouth.

It says, “I just kept saying It was wombat! It was wombat! as we lay in the back of the mangled car waiting for someone to help us. Wombat. I don’t think I’ve said wombat since that day. Not one time. Not even in biology. Wombat.”

I slap it. I slap the scar for saying it. I slap the scar for saying anything.

“Stanzi?” Patricia says. “Stanzi?”

“I am not Stanzi. I am ____________. I have always been ____________.”

I slap my scar again. It doesn’t feel anything. My legs are numb from the atmosphere. I’m numb from the atmosphere. I have always been numb from the atmosphere.

The scar speaks through my slapping. “I watched as she tried to breathe. I felt her die. She had peanut butter and jelly saltine crackers stuck to her arm. They were her favorite. She never knew what a wombat was and I was trying to trick her because she was so impatient all the time. Six-year-olds are supposed to be that way, though. That’s what Mama and Pop always told me.”

“Oh, Stanzi,” Gustav says.

“Wombat wombat wombat. We used to play with my microscope together,” I say. “We used to play State Tag—a game we made up to remember the states. She always pronounced Tennessee wrong.”

“Oh, Stanzi,” Patricia says.

“I never let her cross the road by herself. I never let her eat too much candy. I muted the commercials on children’s TV so she wouldn’t get brainwashed. I told her nobody could ever actually look like Barbie. I told her she was smart all the time. I taught her how to make her own cheese sandwich once.

“But she still didn’t ever know what a wombat was and it was an unfair advantage.”

Gustav leans into me and gives me a half-hug. I feel Patricia’s cold hand on my shoulder.

“I wanted to be Stanzi forever,” I say, inspecting the red slap marks around my scar. “I just wanted to be Stanzi and you could be Wolfgang and everything would work out okay. I thought we would stay there. I thought it would be good for us. I thought we could be free.”