A Wish after Midnight

18.

I take a minute out in the hallway to pull myself together. The right side of my face is tingling, but I don't think anyone can tell I got hit. I can hear Mama crying on the other side of the door. Part of me wants to go back inside and tell her everything’s going to be alright. But another part of me is stinging, and I need someone to put their arms around me and tell me it’s going to be alright. I take a deep breath and walk across the foyer. I stop again, take an even deeper breath and push my way out the door, through all the negroes standing out front. I hold my head up but keep my eyes on the ground. I watch the sidewalk until there’s no one around, then I lift my eyes up and blink at the moon. Everything’s blurry ’cause I got tears in my eyes. My face is burning and my lips feel like rubber, they keep bouncing apart, and I just want to disappear inside Judah’s arms, but Judah isn’t home. I go straight to his building, but nobody answers the buzzer, and an old lady sitting by the first floor window tells me the whole family went out.

“They had those drums and things with ’em,” she adds as I’m walking away.

I thank her, and wonder if maybe Judah’s drumming in the park. It wouldn’t take long to walk over there, but I don’t want to show up looking all pitiful, like a dog that’s been chased away from its home. And that’s just how I feel right now.

So instead I keep on walking. I walk down the blocks, over, and back up again until I reach the garden. It’s late, but the Palm House is lit up and there’s music coming out into the street. I stand on the sidewalk and look up at the tiny white lights that go all the way up to the top of the glass dome. I decide to get a little bit closer, even though this brings me closer to my building. I know I'm not going back there tonight. But that means I need someplace else to go.

People in fancy clothes are standing around, smoking cigarettes and laughing kind of sloppy like they’ve had a little too much champagne. The good thing is, these folks are black. If it was a white wedding, I'd never get in, but I’m dressed alright and I look kind of grown. So I go up the steps real casual like to see who’s working behind the desk. It’s Samuel, Judah’s cousin. He recognizes me right away, and starts to say hey when the phone on his desk rings. Samuel picks it up, and someone on the other end starts shouting at him. I step back from the desk and try to keep out of the way. A group of loud, tipsy wedding guests pushes past me, and Samuel is trying to talk to whoever’s on the phone when his walkie talkie goes off. A big man in a tuxedo staggers into the lobby, his cummerbund and bow tie undone. “Where’s the toilet? I gotta take a piss.” The other wedding guests laugh then groan in disgust as the man unzips his pants and stands in front of a big potted plant. I glance over at Samuel who has started shouting into the phone. “Lady, I can’t help you right now. The garden’s closed. I can’t help you right now, you gotta call back on Tuesday—not Monday, we’re not open on Mondays—Yo, man, what are you doing!?”

I see my chance and take it. I walk through the open glass doors and out onto the terrace. A security guard is standing by the lotus pool, but he’s holding his walkie talkie up to his mouth and he just pushes past me and heads straight for the lobby. I can see more security guards farther down the terrace, their white shirts and gold badges glowing in the dark. More wedding guests are standing in clusters around the lotus pool. The bass from the stereo system throbs through the glass conservatory, the tiny white lights flash like diamonds against the black surface of the lily pool. A breeze ruffles the sheer hems of elegantly dressed women. I would look too out of place if I tried to mingle with this crowd. I look over my shoulder once, real quick, then dart up the steps and into the shade of the magnolia trees.

I’ve never been in the garden at night, but I know these paths like the back of my hand. I could walk them with my eyes closed and not miss a turn, but right now my eyes are open wide. There are shadows everywhere—hanging above me, shifting beside me. Black shadows are pooled like water on the ground. I tell myself these are only bushes and trees—green leafy things that look so innocent during the day. But now it is nighttime, and despite the nearly full moon shining overhead, the garden feels sinister and strange. A wave of laughter suddenly ripples up from the terrace, and I decide I’d better leave the visitor center behind. I turn left, and the glowing white triangles of the giant compass tell me I am heading west.

I pass the weeping hemlock, and for a moment I consider hiding beneath its drooping canopy. But I haven’t come to the garden to hide. I need to be someplace quiet, someplace safe. The garden is a refuge for birds and other animals that have no place else to go. Tonight I am like a wounded bird. I just need someplace to rest.

The whir of an engine makes my feet pick up speed. Security is focused mostly on the party by the terrace, but I need to be careful just the same. I don’t know what they’d do to me if I got caught, and I don’t plan to find out. I swim through the shadows without making a sound.

I reach the cherry esplanade, and the long, open field glows as though it’s covered in frost. The moon is so bright that I squint up my eyes and search for the safety of shadows. I decide to cut through the rose garden, and when the scent of rotting petals reaches my nose, I realize why I am here. I walk quickly, no longer unsure of my destination. I know where I am going. Some part of me must have known this was where I needed to be. Like the instinct Mr. Christiansen told me about that tells birds how to find their way home.

I pass through the white wooden gate of the rose garden and climb the steps that lead to the fountain. It waits for me in the moonlight, its water murmuring softly. Beyond the fountain and past the long stretch of grass, I can hear the faint sound of engines and horns as cars race along the parkway outside the garden gates. A rabbit bounding across the pale field stops and stares at me, its nose twitching nervously. But I am like a statue frozen beside the fountain, and within seconds the rabbit disappears.

My tears empty out of me, but the hurt doesn’t go away. I sit on the curved bench and think of all the wishes I have made at this fountain. I’m still waiting for them to come true. I remember the first time Judah kissed me, and the salty tears make my lips burn. I wish Judah were here beside me, or down at the other end of the bench. I wish he were here to tell me everything’s going to be alright. His words would slide around the bench in a whisper, just like they did that time before when Judah told me I was different. I am different. When Judah said it, he meant it in a good kind of way. But right now I don’t feel special. All I feel is lost and alone.

After a while the tears stop falling and I lean back against the hard stone bench. I wonder if Tyjuan’s still asleep in the bed, or if Mama woke him up just so she’d have something to hold. Tyjuan is all she has left. And what do I have? Nothing—not even a penny to waste on another worthless wish. I look over at the fountain and consider scooping coins out of the water. But that doesn’t seem right somehow, stealing other folks’ wishes. It would be like robbing a grave, disturbing the dead. I lean forward and search my back pockets for change, but find a scrap of paper instead. The words are faded and the light is dim, but I have no problem reading Judah’s haiku. The words echo and swirl around me. Five-seven-five. The poem is short, yet when I finish reading the whispering goes on. Please don’t leave me take me with you don’t look back stay with me hold my hand I’m frightened don’t let go they’re coming run…

Cautiously, I return to the bench. I perch on its edge like a bird ready to take flight. There is only silence around me. I turn and check the bushes behind me, then ease further onto the bench. Despite the hard stone, my tired body relaxes. I close my eyes and try once again to conjure Judah. I picture him sitting across from me at the other end of the bench, his full lips broken apart in a smile, his teeth shining like pearls. Then the voices return. Don’t trust anyone look for the signs sleep during the day run at night don’t look back help others if you can but help yourself first I’ll meet you there I’ll find you I will I promise just don’t look back…

Despite the warning I do look back. I turn and look over my shoulder and what I see there shocks me so much that I scream. Something strong and sudden like a jolt of electricity hurls me from the bench. I fall on the hard, flat stones that circle the fountain, too stunned to feel any pain. I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming again.

The air in the garden chills suddenly. I shiver as fear and a cold wind raise the hairs on the back of my neck. My eyes are fixed on the ghostly boy, but another voice pulls my gaze away. A silverwhite woman emerges from the black shadows beneath the wisteria. She has a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a long skirt that touches the ground. She whispers, Don’t tell, and takes a step toward me. Terror chokes the scream that is rising in my throat. For we are no longer alone. The terrace around the fountain is crowded with children, women, and men. The shimmering ghosts all wear clothes that come from another time. All glisten in the moonlight just like silver coins under water. All plead with me to stay, to go, to help them, to take care. They move silently across the cold, flat stones. Please…please…please….

The ghosts look desperate but not unkind. I try hard to swallow my fear. Questions whirl inside my mind—where did you come from? why are you here? what do you want from me? But before I can utter a single word, a nearby tree starts to shake violently and a swarm of starlings descends without warning. I cover my head with my arm and stay close to the ground. In the chaos of flapping wings and frantic cries, the cluster of ghosts disintegrates and the silvery figures disappear.

Silence and shadows surround me. I pull myself up from the ground and try to think of an explanation for what I have just seen. I quickly scan the garden for traces of silver, but instead a flash of red catches my eye. Something small is lying on the ground, a few feet away from the fountain. It glints in the moonlight and I move toward it, but a cloud covers the moon and I have to fumble for it in the dark. My fingers feel only the cold, hard stone and so I stop, stand back, and wait for the moon to return. The cloud doesn’t budge but then I see it shining again—what else could it be besides a penny? A worthless coin someone dropped and never bothered to pick up. I reach for it again, but once again it disappears in a darkness that wasn’t there just a moment ago. Now I am determined. I can feel a wish trembling on my lips.

The moon slides out of the clouds like a hand pulled from a glove. The penny glows and then dies like a fiery spark. I reach for it and this time I feel it beneath my fingertips. Though it is strangely hot, I pick it up then move closer to the fountain, into the light of the moon. The penny cools in my palm, it grows dull and old even though it was flashing like a new coin just a minute ago. I stare at the penny and the longer I stare the less certain I feel that my wish will ever come true. I close my hand into a fist and squeeze the round, hard piece of copper. I want to hurl it into the still water but it weighs in my hand like a rock. The longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes, and I have to struggle to raise my hand up to my shoulder. For a moment I stand frozen, the penny in my hand, my hand poised beside my head. The fountain blurs, and I blink back my tears. Then with all the strength I can muster I throw the penny up into the air.

© 2008 Zetta Elliott. All Rights Reserved.