It’s colder today.
Fall is setting in, and the fog, thicker now.
More and more pumpkin faces fill the dark windows.
On my bike, I get to Malia’s faster than ever
and she’s waiting for me at the door.
I don’t have a lot of time,
I have to—
Great! she says.
Hands me her boom box and a backpack.
She wraps Blankie around her face like a hood,
and we head down the forest path.
We put the silver boom box on a Sitting Stone.
When I say so press play, okay?
She bows to the trees,
spins once
all the way around.
I’m sure today
of all days
they are listening.
Now.
She points at me.
I press play, and the drumbeats
and keyboard pops fill the space near the pool,
the water rippling.
She sings.
If you’re lost you can look
and you will find me …
To the tree, the pool, the afternoon sky.
I feel the music go through me,
her voice floating across the water in the pool,
filtering through the knotty branches,
humming in the Sitting Stones.
At the end,
she bows and Blankie falls over her head.
She stands up,
blows the hair out of her face.
Her face seems redder, too, swollen.
Scratch marks across her neck
that I didn’t see before.
Well? she says,
wrapping Blankie back around.
For some reason,
even now when I want to talk,
the words won’t come out,
so I hesitate,
not on purpose,
but by now
I know
that silence
can wound,
and by the time
I muster the words
it was good,
it’s too late.
I see her face change,
eyes turned down,
tears already on the way.