This time I know exactly where to go.
The air is October cool,
with some fog rolling in.
I stop before the house
and try to finish my sketch, to get it just right.
No cars again, just the wide windows
looking over the tall trees.
Then I remember what Martin said,
how she never leaves the house,
and I stop for a moment,
try to look inside the shuttered windows.
All this talk about monsters
and creatures, and now the fog
is coming in thick …
it makes me a little scared.
I don’t even want to go to the door.
But then, through the windows
from somewhere inside,
I can hear her voice, high and clear;
she sings “Crazy for You.”
I stop and listen
but the fog is creepy,
so I ring the doorbell.
She comes right away,
cracks the door open
but stays behind it.
You again? she says.
I want to tell her I like her singing,
but it only comes out as Your song is … um …
What? she cries. You heard me?
I nod my head slowly.
It’s quiet, but then she laughs,
and it’s like the air gets warmer
and the fog lifts just a bit.
I see her eyes
through the doorway
bright and brown
in the foggy afternoon.
So are you just here
to spy on me singing?
Oh, I say, and I pull out the bags.
You don’t talk much do you? she says.
What’s your name?
Mine? Of course mine, I think, who else—
Etan, I say.
Etan, she repeats.
I like the way she says my name
like the tan matters.
For everyone else
the E is the main thing.
I’m Malia, she says.
Do you really think
my singing is good?
I nod, and I realize that I’m still holding
the packages. I hand them over to her,
and that’s when I see it.
Her hand looks like a glove,
her wrist and arm
like someone scratched her,
layered scales of skin stacking
one on top of the other.
If I could have stopped time,
I would have kept
my hand from jerking back
when her fingers touched mine.
But she pulls the package in fast.
Thanks, goodbye, she says,
and closes the door.