Celestial Inventories by Steve Rasnic Tem Read Free Book Online Page B

that “it lacked character.” Her mother once took her to a lady who cut silhouette portraits out of crisp black paper at a shopping mall. Her mother paid the lady five dollars to do one of Laura. The lady had finally given up in exasperation, exclaiming “The child has no profile!”
    Laura overheard her mother and father talking about it one time. “I see things in her face,” her mother had said.
    “What do you mean?” Her father always sounded impatient with her mother.
    “I don’t
know
what I mean! I see things in her face and I can never remember exactly what I saw! Shadows and . . . white, something so white I feel like she’s going to disappear into it. Like clouds . . . or a snow bank.”
    Her father had laughed in astonishment. “You’re crazy!”
    “You know what I mean!” her mother shouted back. “You don’t even look at her directly anymore because you
know
what I mean! It’s not exactly sadness in her face, not exactly. Just something born with her, something out of place. She was born out of place. My God! She’s
eleven
years old! She’s been like this since she was a baby! ”
    “She’s a pretty little girl.” Laura could tell her father didn’t really mean that.
    “What about her eyes? Tell me about her eyes, Dick!”
    “What
about
her eyes? She has nice eyes . . .”
    “Describe them for me, then! Can you
describe
them? What colour are they? What shape?”
    Her father didn’t say anything. Soon after the argument he’d stomped out of the house. Laura knew he couldn’t describe her eyes. Nobody could.
    Laura didn’t make judgments when other people talked about her. She just listened. And watched with eyes no one could describe. Eyes no one could remember.
    No, it wasn’t that she was sad, Laura thought. It wasn’t that her parents were mean to her or that she had a terrible life. Her parents weren’t ever mean to her and although she didn’t know exactly what kind of life she had, she knew it wasn’t terrible.
    Yes, she was born out of place. That was a big part of it. She didn’t enjoy things like other kids did. She didn’t enjoy playing or watching television or talking to the other kids. She didn’t
enjoy
, really. She had quiet thoughts, instead. She had quiet thoughts when she pretended to be asleep but was really listening to all her parents’ conversations, all their arguments. She had quiet thoughts when she watched people. She had quiet thoughts when people could not describe her eyes. She had quiet thoughts while gazing at Halloween Street, the glowing white house, and all the things that happened there.
    She had quiet thoughts pretending that she hadn’t been born out of place, that she hadn’t been born anyplace at all.
    Laura could have been popular, living so close to Halloween street, seeing it out of her bedroom window. No other kid lived so close or had such a good view. But of course she wasn’t popular. She didn’t share Halloween Street. She sat at her desk at school all day and didn’t talk about Halloween Street at all.
    ----
    That last Halloween Laura got dressed to go out. That made her mother real happy. Laura had never gone trick-or-treating before. Her mother had always encouraged her to go, had made or bought her costumes, taken her to parties at church or school, parties the other kids dressed up for: ghosts and vampires and princesses, giggling and running around with their masks looking like grotesquely swollen heads. But Laura wouldn’t wear a costume. She’d sit solemn faced, unmoving, until her mother finally gave up and took her home. And she’d never go trick-or- treating, never wear a costume.
    Once she’d told her mother that she wanted to go out that night her mother had driven her around town desperately trying to find a costume for her. Laura sat impassively on the passenger side, dutifully got out at each store her mother took her to, and each time shook her head when asked if she liked each of the few