Forty Days and Nights: Love Stories. 16. Grey Light of Day

She lay, peaceful, listening. She loved to listen to the cars go by as she fell asleep. Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes. Swoosh, swoosh, tap, swoosh, taptap.

She sat up.

Dark and dark in her room. She looked at the window, frozen and not at all breathing.
Nothing.
Swoosh, swoosh. Swoosh.
Nothing.
She slid back beneath the covers, carefully, silently, not disturbing them at all, at all, not making the slightest sound, not moving the blankets or the sheets in any way. It took forever, it could take all night, it could take as long as it needed to take. All the way down. Further. Completely under the covers. Pause. Listen, wait. Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh.
Nothing.
Breathe.
Swoosh. Swoosh, swoosh.
Nothing.
Relax.
Nothing.
Swoosh.
Swoosh.
Sleepy.
Tap.
Swoosh.
Taptaptap.

She did not move, she was speared to the sheet, to the mattress, to the floor. Not a breath, her heart had stopped, she could not blink her wide-staring eyes.
Taptap.
Tap.
TAPTAPTAP.

She couldn't make her mouth open, couldn't find breath to scream for her mother in the next room. What could be tapping at her window, her upstairs window? Nothing, nothing, not a bird, not a branch, not the wind, nothing. Someone could be on the carport roof, but they'd have had to climb and anyway they'd have to be on the carport roof. No one would want to be on the carport roof. No, she said out loud before she knew she would, no, she said so softly it frightened her. No. No one could be there. No one would want to. No. No. NO
Tap.

She looked, she had to look. She looked without moving in any way, without rustling or wrinkling the covers at all, at all, she looked from under her quilt at the window and saw the hand pulling away, pulling back to tap on the glass. Saw it and saw that the tap would come and saw the soft green light around the hand. Saw it and pulled as far into herself, as far from her outside skin, as far into the core of her body where her heart was maybe still not beating as she could possibly go. Right into her center, right into the safe middle.

Tap.

He was looking at her, right at her where she was under the quilt. He could see her and she knew he could. His grey hair stood up from his head and danced in the green and grey light from his eyes. He was looking straight at her and no one moved at all. Then he put his face right up against the glass and tapped with both hands on the pane, unblinking eyes fixed on hers. Light shot from his fingers, raced across the glass and disappeared into the wood trim. I need a friend, he said into her eyes, I need a friend to help me. When he spoke, light dripped and splashed off his teeth. Help, he said. Get out from under there and come be a friend.
She didn't move.
You're not, she thought, desperate, denying, you're not real. I don't know you, she thought, I'm not your friend, I don't know you.
Oh, he said and leaned back his head, ah, he said as if she had spoken, this is what you are? Horrified, she watched him ponder as if they were speaking together, as if she were a minor problem, an enigma for him to resolve. You want to know a friend? he asked, his eyes on hers. Knowledge? You want knowledge? Yes, then, he said, making his eyes wide, making them huge and leaning forward, you will come flying? and he was right through the glass, right into her room, without a sound, without any effort or noise or warning or mercy, come flying and you'll know me. Come flying, he whispered against her face as he took her from her bed, come flying and we are friends.

She never stopped thinking. She never moved or took her eyes from him or looked down or wondered how far he would fly or how it would end. She never stopped looking at him and thinking and listening to his words and waiting with care for him to say the words she listened for, would know, could recognize as she heard them. She listened and thought til she ached with it. He clasped her easily and callously and flew her high and told her all the places he could take her and why she would love them and wish never to come back and all the places he couldn't ever take her and why and how those places would kill him and she listened and listened and listened. He adored her listening and he spoke and spoke into her soft ears, told her all there was to him, all that made and marred him and he longed for her to listen so to him always and he told her more and more and more than she needed to know. When she had it, when she had enough, she lifted her arms suddenly and made herself limp and heavy and impossible and slid through his arms, poured away from him as water pours itself over the edge of the world. And when she saw him shooting down so quickly to catch her, as she had known he would, she made herself an arrow, made herself a spear, tore through the air toward the ground. She heard him, what he said as he sped to catch her before she hit, before she was ended, sped to be there first, to stop her, to outmaneuver her, to prevent her. Just as she had known he would.

It was a near thing.
He set her on the ground, on the grass, set her on her feet and put his eyes right up to hers. That is not helpful, friend, he said as he had said in the air, light from his teeth landing on her shoulders and arms. That is not how we know each other.
And another boy was there, right there and not afraid, not even surprised at the girl suddenly landing on his lawn with a boy who dripped and spat grey light. Leave her alone, said this new boy, back off. You are not helpful, friend, the first spat and swore, light streaming from him into the grass and bouncing off the newcomer's glasses. I'm not your friend, the new boy said evenly, and turned to the girl, Is he bothering you? he asked politely.
But she was gone.
She might have died at his strange steadiness, she might have fainted at his courtesy, at his old fashioned courtliness and the gentlemanly way of him if she hadn't been running for her life, running to the garden hose and to turn on the spigot that was at the corner of the house, right where she was expecting it, right where she had known it would be. Is he bothering you? she asked herself as she raced back to turn the hose and all the water it could convey on the green and grey light pouring from hair and hands and teeth, is he bothering you? Why yes, unknown sir, yes he is, she thought, and thank you very much for asking. And she wondered, washing him away into the grass, why it was always water? Every movie, every story, every single time. What do these people have against running water? she asked herself. Why is it always water, and why did he tell me? Because he had, he had told her straight out and she had been listening. He must not have thought there was much to me, she thought grimly. He must not have supposed I was up to it.

The other boy stood quietly as she washed the last of the light down the storm drain. Wow, he said, that was very neat, he told her, man oh man, very quick and tidy. He looked at her with interest and respect. I'm impressed, he said, would you like a jacket? He was carefully not looking at her nightgown. Wait here, I'll get one and then I'll drive you home. She waited. She couldn't move. When he put the jacket on her he felt her shaking and put his arm around her. Come on, he said, I'll drive you. Don't worry about the hose, I'll take care of it when I get back, he said, and he laughed. She didn't move. You know where I live, she said, a question and not a question, and such an edge to her voice. A sharp edge. I know your brother, he said gently, taking the hose away from her. I know you, she said, surprised, but I don't know your name, why don't I know your name? I sit behind you in chemistry, he said and laughed again, and you will know my name. Give it a day, he said, laughing. She looked at him, now that she knew him. You laugh a lot, she said soberly. I do, he said, and then he laughed. I do. Come on. She shook her head. Why were you awake? she asked and he said softly, steadily, Star watching. Strange things going on in the sky tonight. I was lying on the tramp in the back. So I saw you, um, coming down. I saw you land. She still just stood there so he folded his arms patiently, waiting. How did you do it? he asked while he waited. With the hose? You're amazing, he told her, how did you do it? I read a lot, she told him, I read and I listen and I think. He nodded. Yes, he said, you do. I see that you do. He laughed, hugely admiring. Come on, it's getting light. I'm taking you home.