What happened on our way home could be easily explained by the fact that it was Halloween, we were sharing spooky stories, and we were all a little jumpy. We were bound to see things that weren’t there.

“How far’d you say?” Tom asked me. It wasn’t a complaint. I think we were all enjoying the walk.

“About five miles or so, give or take.”

“Your parents won’t mind?” Mary asked, shaking her head back and forth to free her hair from the cloak. She had a very concerned voice, a very kind voice.

“To be honest, they won’t even notice.”

“Sounds like my folks,” Tom said, and there was an ounce of bitterness around the edge of his words. “They couldn’t care less about me coming or going. As long as I close the door and turn off the lights.”

“Close the door, Tom!” Shirley shouted, laughing. “Turn off the lights!” Her voice softened. “My parents think I’m spending the night at Mary’s.”

“And my mom thinks I’m at Shirley’s,” Mary admitted. Even though Shirley and Tom both thought this was hysterical, Mary’s voice made me think she wasn’t happy about the deception. Or maybe it was something else.

“How’d you all become friends?” I asked. Tom and Shirley were familiar to me—our school wasn’t that big. But I couldn’t place Mary.

“Mary and me, we’ve known each other all our lives,” Shirley gushed. “Our parents knew each other from something or other. Some nearby town. Something our moms did together. I can’t remember. But Mary only moved to Nysa last year.”

“What about you?” I asked Tom.

He smirked. “I’m tagging along.”

Shirley smacked his arm playfully. I couldn’t tell if the two of them were together. They obviously liked each other. I glanced over at Mary. It was hard to see her face in the dark, but her soft voice made her sound pretty. Her hair blended in with the shadows.

I wish you could have seen her as I first saw her on that night. The fact that she was practically invisible in the dark didn’t make her less beautiful—it made her more so. It blurred the lines between her physical body and the world around us, so that Mary became part of the night, part of the fields, part of the air. Her physical form was only the center—the rest of her stretched out into everything else.

I guess that sounds strange. Someday you’ll understand what I’m saying.

Honestly? Sometimes I feel that way about you, when I go up and check on you at night and you’re sleeping, and the darkness is all around. I can hear you breathing, and I can see the shadows around your eyes, the waves of your hair on top of the blanket, but everything that is the essence of you sometimes seems to fill the room. You are much more than what lies in that little body.

The field. Yes, the field is what you asked me about.