Why is it that calling her a roommatesoundsright butfeelswrong?
And why does calling her more than a roommate soundwrongbut feelright?
“You’re hurting me,” she says, snapping me out my thoughts. She taps my hand. “Too tight.”
“Sorry,” I say quickly, letting go of her as though I’ve been shocked. I back away a couple steps. “Sorry.”
She smiles. “It’s fine.” Then she crouches down so that she’s eye level with Nora’s headstone, and that smile fades. It falls away from her eyes first, then her lips, until what’s left in its place is something like concern. “Did you lie to me?” she says.
I blink. “What?”
“Not you,” she says. She jerks her chin at the headstone. “Her.” She swivels her head up to look at me. “That’s what Tonya said, wasn’t it? That parents lie to their children if they think it’s for their own good?”
I nod slowly. “Yes,” I say. Then I shove my hands in my jacket pockets to protect them from the biting wind. “Something like that.”
“That’s what I thought.” She turns back to her mother now. “When she said that, I got the strangest feeling. The hair stood up on my body. And it made me wonder…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t need to. It’s clear what she’s wondering.
Did her mother lie to Juniper in order to protect her? And if so, what would she have lied about? Juniper’s dad?
After a few more seconds of staring at the headstone, Juniper sighs. Then, in an awkward manipulation of arms and legs and shifting weight, she seats herself on the ground, leaning back against Nora. She looks unbearably tired all of a sudden, like she could close her eyes right there and be asleep in moments. I’m entirely unsurprised when her lids drift shut, her lashes fanning over her pale skin.
I guess we’re staying for a while.
So I approach the Bean women once more, loweringmyself to the ground next to Juniper and sitting with my arms wrapped around my knees. Earlier I wanted to fill the silence, but now it seems inappropriate to do so; I wait quietly, taking my cues from the woman next to me. I watch the leaves scattering in the wind; I note the headstones around us that seem well cared for and the ones that don’t. I remember what Juniper said about feeling sad for people who are forgotten after they die, and I promise myself that when I someday lose the people I love, I’ll bring flowers to their graves.
“Want to listen?” Juniper says some time later, startling me. When I look at her, she’s holding out an earbud; the other is already tucked into her ear. I take what she offers without question, putting the single headphone in and listening to the music that floods through my mind.
“It’s calledDanse Macabre.It tells the story of Death on Halloween night,” she explains, letting her head drop back to rest against Nora’s headstone once more. “He appears at midnight and begins playing his fiddle, calling the dead forth from their graves. They dance until dawn, and then they return to the ground until the same time next year.”
I nod, imagining the scene. “What about Nora?” I say. I wrap my arms more tightly around my knees. “Does she dance with them?”
“Not sure. She loved to dance, but if someone told her to, she’d be less likely to do it.”
“Defiant.”
“Very.”
“What kind of dance are we talking?” I cast my eyes around until they fall on an empty plot. “There’s room over there,” I say, pointing.
“Mmm, no,” Juniper says, shaking her head. “You know that scene in the animatedAnastasia, during ‘Once Upon a December’? When she imagines all the people dancing, but they’re kind of waltzing around in the air?”
“Incredibly, yes,” I say dryly. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“That’s sort of how I’ve always pictured it. A bunch of skeletons, bowing and curtseying and spinning and twirling above me.”
“Just skeletons?” I say. “Not zombie-looking people?”
She shakes her head at this. “That’s too scary. In fact, if you think about it…” She pauses, her eyes narrowing as she thinks, the wind playing with her pink hair. “The scary part about a corpse is that itresembleslife. It’s that juxtaposition between what it looks like versus what it actuallyis. I think your average adult would not say that a skeleton is scary, right?” she says, looking at me.
I ponder for a second. “I think I agree.”
She nods. “Because once a body has reached skeleton stage, all humanity has vanished. There’s no question, conscious or subconscious, of whether that body is dead. It’s obviously dead. What freaks our brains out is seeing something dead that still hashintsof aliveness about it. It’s the same as the concept of the uncanny, right? Not Freud’s uncanny—Uncanny Valley.”
I swallow at the sound of her warm, husky voice talking about Freud and the Uncanny Valley and dancing skeletons. “Yes. Exactly.” My body is coming alive with electricity, sparks dancing in my veins, and I could honestly kick myself. But the way her mind works is fascinating. I want to take out a monthly subscription to her world view.
Yes. The way she sees things is intriguing. She’s smart, she’s irreverent. She’s beautiful, and I still retain the very visceral memory of her pressed up against me. It’s normal that I’m feeling these things. But what exactly do they mean?
Ugh. I almost groan out loud as I realize I might need to ask Caroline for advice.
