The whole thing was a bitch to put up all by myself. But I did it, and it wassoworth it.
I placed a huge green rug embroidered with gold flower designs at the foot of my bed, which was the same one Sage had used—a brass wire bedframe that I had polished until it gleamedexactly like yellow gold. I put a lacquer over it so it wouldn’t patina and would stay shiny.
I didn’t want to put up bookshelves that would cover the wallpaper, so instead I found some tall, polished maple bookshelf nightstands for either side of the bed. It only took me two weeks to fill them so thoroughly that books were basically pouring out of the shelves now. Over the bed I hung a photograph of Ana Mendieta’sThe Vivification of the Flesh—labyrinth-esque lines she drew, or maybe painted, on warm brown paper that resemble…well. They kind of resemble the old gods to me, if only I could remember what they looked like.
When I wasn’t a ghost, walking the earth, either vividly and in color after Sage’s tears, or distantly and in a thick cloud, I was…elsewhere. Back in my body inside the cavern of the ancient oak tree in Cranberry Falls State Park. I remember dappled light from above, pouring over me in a broken sheet of gold, and the wind through the leaves of the trees, coupled with birdsong and the occasional owl’s hoot. Sometimes I remember someone holding my hand…maybe. Or brushing my hair. Maybe. Nadia says these were the old gods, taking care of me, to answer her prayers for my protection. After all, none of my family knew where my body had ended up. Nadia definitely neglected us, but she did pray relentlessly for my safekeeping. From this, I have learned that prayers to the old gods are powerful.
I remember my supernatural hibernation, all eight years of memory fragments from the woods, in the way we remember dreams. The more I try, the more I forget.
I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. I look around my room and remember something else I wish I could forget, something that makes my heart pinch. Teal and Sage still haven’t come by to see my bedroom since I’ve done it up. It’s been…what? I counton my fingers. Almost a year since I moved in here…and four months since I redid the whole attic.
I pick up my phone and find messages and texts from both of my sisters. Sage has left many apologies.I’m so sleep-deprived. I’m sorry, Sky. Thank you for the food.Teal has added in,Look, Sage told me what happened. We’re both just worried about you. Maybe you and I can meet up like we said we would, and just chat about some things?
I roll my eyes at the “like we said we would.”Wedidn’t say anything.Sheleft me on read.
And the “we’re both just worried about you” is a rough read. It means they’ve been talking about me, while being too busy for me at the same time.
I stare at my phone for a few minutes and finally realize what my subconscious has been dancing around for a good long while now. My sisters have many priorities, and I am simply no longer one of them. The acceptance hurts, but it also comes with relief. The pieces of the puzzle in my hands have finally come together. I have answers now, and with the answers, I can make decisions on where to go from here.
I’m not going to fight them on this any longer. I’m not interested in bending over backward and doing somersaults to get my own family to remember I exist. Or to get them to just be up front with me and say, “Please leave the snakes at home.” I would’ve done it. I wish Sage or Teal had justtoldme.
For the last weeks, even for the better part of the last few months, Teal and Sage have been living their lives and leaving me out of it. They’ve done nothing that would make me believe anything is going to change in the future. So. I just need to do the same.
I text Teal back,Sounds great! Get back to me with a datewhen you can and we’ll set something up.These words are Teal’s kryptonite because she never gets back about dates, ever.
Next I write Sage,Don’t worry about it. I know you’re exhausted and busy.This, I really mean.Whenever you have some free time, hit me up and we can get pizza, yum!
The message is as childish as Sage implied I am. But I don’t know what else to say. I don’t want her to contact me, and if she thinks I’ve forgiven her, she won’t. It’ll be just like before.
They each “heart” my messages—neither of them responds with words—and I bite back a bitter laugh.
I sit back on my bed and let my mind wander for a few minutes. It doesn’t take much time at all to come to a significant conclusion: In order for me to do what I just said—live my life, leave my sisters out of it—I need to…well, get a life to live, right?
I close the text messages and open up a new app, one whose icon is a city skyline in the shape of a heart.Sign up for today!the screen announces cheerfully.And conquer loneliness for tomorrow!
A few months ago, someone launched this dating app, Matchmakr, for all the largest cities in the Northeast—New York, Philadelphia, D.C., and more. Even though the name kind of makes my skin crawl, I downloaded it the second I heard of it…but something a bit like the threat of humiliation kept me from making a profile. Making a profile on a locally used dating app felt a great deal safer. Stupid, really, considering that I will never escape my reputation.
No one from Cranberry would ever want the girl who lied, the antler vagina girl, et cetera ad infinitum. If I’d had my doubts about this before, they all were shattered by Grayson Baker and his cruel, stupid friends.
But no one knows Sky Flores in Baltimore or New York City.Hell, in those places, even if they did know me, it probably wouldn’t faze men from bigger cities. They probably walk by women with far more bizarre backstories than me literally every day. The street musician with her banjo, the living statue painted in white bronze from head to toe—I could be considered in an eccentric category alongside them, you know? I snort as I imagine it: me, standing on the corner of a busy downtown, a sign hanging around my neck:Ask me about the old gods!
I look around and sigh. My room is magnificent, and whenever I spend time in here, I feel so peaceful. I did this. All by myself. And I’m so proud of it.
I’m gainfully employed. My job is fascinating. I love my boss. And I love my daily walks in the woods to be with the crows, the deer, the voles.
But I want something more.
I want someone to prioritize me so deeply, to remember me so consistently, that I never feel like a stranger in my own skin when I’m around them. I snort when I remember there’s only been one person who I’ve fantasized about having that with since ghosthood—and he’s just agreed to be my fake friend in exchange for the story of my trauma, basically. My snort quickly becomes a sigh.
The truth is, I want what my sisters each have. A family of my own.
With my heart pounding, I hit the cityscape heart on the app button and tapCreate an Account.
9
Matchmakr: Your Profile
@salt&seagirl’s short biography:
