“Pearl?” I can barely speak, barely say your name. What have you done? And why?

Through your sobs, you tell me a story. The words come fast at first, through hiccups and sobs and sniffles, but soon your voice steadies. You do not look at me, but I wish you would, because I feel like I would be able to check for the truth of the story in your eyes.

The Carpet

Grampy, the room was so quiet and dark, and I tried to close my eyes and go back to sleep, but someone whispered my name. At first I thought you had come into the room, but the door was still closed. That’s when I knew the silver-haired woman was in the room with me, standing still in the corner. The woman from my school. She wore a kind of hooded coat, and the only reason I knew it was her was because the moon coming through the window lit up a few of her stray silver hairs. She asked me if I had finished the map. I said I had, and she sighed like it was the best news, like I had done something very important and she was happy instead of sad like she had been up until then. She asked if I would show it to her, so I reached down under my bed and brought it out, and when I turned she was right there. I hadn’t heard her coming across the room, and I jumped. The carpet makes footsteps so quiet. Her face was still in the shadows of her cloak.

I handed her the map, and out of nowhere I felt this fear that she wouldn’t be pleased, that maybe my drawing was too much like a little kid’s or my words weren’t spelled right. But she nodded and drew a sharp knife from her pocket. It was one of the knives from Tom’s knife collection, the scariest-looking one in the case, the one with the black handle and the curving, smiling blade. She held that knife up to me in between two fingers so that she was barely touching it. I knew she wanted me to take it, but I was afraid of it.

The blade flashed in the night and reflected the moonlight coming through the window. Sometimes I think the tall windows are more like doors than windows, and sometimes the light that comes through feels more like something I can grab on to.

“Go ahead,” she said. At first I wasn’t sure what she wanted me to do with the knife, but I took it in my hand, and it was much, much lighter than I thought it would be. So light, like it might float away. I held it extra-special tight so it wouldn’t float, because I knew Tom wouldn’t be happy if we lost his knife.

“How did you get this?” I asked. I hadn’t seen an easy way to open the glass case on the wall, but of course this woman is taller than most women I know and it was probably quite easy, so I felt stupid after I asked. But she didn’t make me feel stupid. She pretended I hadn’t said a thing.