Georgia
WHEN THE SUN STARTED to push pink fingers against the little barn window that faced east, Moses rolled away from me and started pulling on his clothes, his eyes on the window and the dawn. It was November, and the sun rose sluggishly. It had to be after six. Time to go. My parents would be up and about soon, Mom probably already was. Thanksgiving dinner was a big job. Moses and I hadn’t spoken much in the hours he’d stayed with me. I’d been surprised that he’d stayed at all, even sleeping for several hours before waking me again with kisses and warm hands, convincing me there was no way I could ever live without him. He had stayed silent throughout, and his silence now was almost more than I could take. I wondered how he’d learned to push the words away, to drown them, to not feel them pounding against his head and his heart, begging to be spoken. I told myself I could do it now. I could be as quiet as he was. At least until he left the barn. But as he walked toward the door, the words broke free.
“I think you do love me, Moses. And I love you back, though it would be easier not to,” I said in a rush.
“Why would it be easier not to?” he shot back quietly, as if he hadn’t told me he didn’t love me without hesitation. He could say he didn’t love me, but he didn’t especially like being told he was unlovable.
“Because you think you don’t love me. That’s why.”
“That’s one of my laws, Georgia. Thou shall not love.”
“That’s not a law in Georgia.”
“Not this again,” he sighed.
“What would make you love me, Moses? What would make you move to Georgia?” I waggled my eyebrows as if it was all just a big, funny joke. “I’ve told you I would go red. I told you I would let you in my head. And I’ve given you everything else I have.” I felt my voice catch all of a sudden and a flood of tears rushed toward my eyes like a dam had burst with those words. I turned away immediately and busied myself with folding the blanket that now smelled like him. I folded and straightened and then pulled on my boots while Moses stood frozen, six feet away. At least he hadn’t left, though part of me wished he would.
“You’re upset.”
“Yeah. I guess I am.”
“That’s why I have that law,” he whispered, almost gently. “If you don’t love, then nobody gets hurt. It’s easy to leave. It’s easy to lose. It’s easy to let go.”
“Then maybe you should have had a few more laws, Moses.”
I turned my head and smiled at him brightly, not sure if I was pulling it off. My nose stung and I was guessing my eyes were too bright. But I chattered on with forced cheer.
“Thou shall not kiss. Thou shall not touch. Thou shall not screw.” But I didn’t say screw. I called it like it was, as much as it felt like acid on my tongue. It wasn’t that to me. It was love, not sex. Or maybe it was both. But at least it was both.
“You found me, Georgia. You chased me. You wanted me. Not the other way around,” Moses said. He hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t even sound upset. “I didn’t break any of my rules. You broke yours. And you’re mad at me because of it.”
He was right. He was absolutely right. And I was so wrong.
“I’ll see you later, okay?” I said quietly, not daring to look at him. “You and Kathleen are coming over for Thanksgiving, right? We eat early so we can eat all day.” I was proud of myself for my composure. I despised myself for not kicking his ass.
“Yeah. Eleven, right?”
Small talk never felt so fake. I nodded and he waited, watching me. He started to say my name, and then he sighed and turned away. And without another word, he left the barn.
“Sunrise, the smell of straw, Thanksgiving dinner, a hot shower, a new day.” I whispered my list of greats, trying not to let the tears fall, trying not to think about what came next and how I was going to get through the next few hours.
Moses
“GRANDMA!” She didn’t move.
“Gigi!” I shook her and patted her cheek. But her head just lolled a little to the side and her eyes stayed closed. She lay on the kitchen floor, a heap of fragile limbs wrapped in her quilted robe. A broken glass lay at her side in three fat pieces, sharp islands in a large pool of blood tinged water. She’d hit her head when she fell, and the blood had merged with the water from her glass. It wasn’t a lot of blood. It was as if she was dead before she hit the ground; the blood spilt looked insufficient, almost. Death should require more blood.
When I’d come home the night before, I’d gone straight up to the bathroom and then from there, straight to my room. I’d lain in bed trying to hold out on Georgia. She’d stayed scarce for a month. And now she wanted me? It made me angry. And yet I wanted to see her. I wanted to see her so bad. I finally gave in, threw on my jeans and a shirt and crept out of the house, not wanting to wake Gi.
What if she’d lain here all night?
I laid my head against her chest, and I waited, willing her heart to resume its beat against my ear. But she felt cold. And her heart stayed quiet. She was cold. Without realizing what I was doing, I ran for a blanket and covered her up, tucking the blanket around her body securely.
“Gigi!” I closed my eyes, needing her to tell me what to do. I could see people who were dead. I saw them all the time. I needed to see Gigi. I needed her to tell me what happened. I needed her to take me with her.
I got my brushes. Assembled my paints. And I sat next to her and waited for her to come back to me, however she could. And when she did I would fill her walls with all her pictures. I would paint each day of her life until this one—this last terrible day—and she would tell me what the hell I was supposed to do now. I opened myself up, wide open like a gaping canyon with sharp edges and steep cliffs. I parted the waters, and as I concentrated, the walls of water grew so high I couldn’t see where they ended. Whatever wanted to cross could come. Everyone. Anybody. Just as long as they brought Gi back across.