The Moths and Other Stories by Helena María Viramontes Read Free Book Online

into a little ball and sleep. I will. I will become you, knotted stomach.)
    finally bonded drifting afloat i become, and how much i love it. craft cradles me drifting far. far away. the waves rock me into an anxious sleepless sleep, and i love it—God, how much i love it. brimming baptism roll. swell. thunder. reaching up to vastness. calm. i relax beneath the fluids that thicken like jelly. Thickening. i am transparent and light, ounceless. spinning with each breath you exhale. i move closer and closer to the shore and i love it.
    I rub my stomach because it aches. (Would I like to stay Alice, or become a mama?) I rub my stomach again as I sit on the couch (perhaps unconsciously hoping the rubbing will unknot my…my baby? No, doesn’t sound right. Baby-to-be? Isn’t the same. Isn’t.) I sit, my arms folded, on a vinyl plastic couch which squeaks every time I cross or recross my legs. One of my legs swings back and forth. My breath is misty and I exhale hard to watch it form into smoke. Unfolding my arms, I lift my hands to my face and my fingers massage my eyelids. Blurred. Slowly focusing the room. A living room converted into a waiting room. Across from me a small fireplace. An off-white wall supports a single picture of snow and church. Dusty. Everything is dusty. In an isolated corner, a wire chair stands. Big room; practically empty. One dirty window pasted with announcements.
    â€œI don’t know why, that’s all.” And that was all it had come to. “Now will you please stop bugging me?” Her voicebecame thorny with these last words, and she was now more annoyed than hurt. How many times had she asked herself that same question which became implanted in her mind and soon germinated into a monstrous sponge, leaving no room for an answer?
    He finally lifted his eyes off the lawn and shifted his glance to her face. Slowly, he continued, “It’s the twentieth century…” Again he shook his head in disbelief and his eyes glanced over her shoulder and into nothing. “Why weren’t you taking anything? You know better…” He paused, wet his lips and sighed. “You’re a girl. You’re supposed to know those things.”
    â€œDon’t. Don’t. I don’t know why.” She felt sorry for him and her voice became increasingly soft. “What do you think we ought to do?” He looked down at the blotches of dirt and grass, staring hard, as if the answer laid beneath.
    â€œYou’ll have to get an abort…”
    â€œWait.” She couldn’t breathe and she held her hand to his lips so that the word would not be mentioned out loud and therefore made a real possibility. “Let’s…we gotta think this over.” There was a long pause between them. The wind blew weak leaves off the tree they sat under, and, she thought, weak leaves enjoy the moment of freedom faster, but they die sooner. She realized now, suffering from this heaviness on her heart, that the decision was ultimately hers and hers alone. Her eyes, that had first pleaded desperately under the tree, now looked upon him as a frightened child.
    â€œAlice.” She turned to him and a reassuring smile appeared on her face. She hugged him tenderly and whispered, “You’re just making it worse for both of us.” Hers. The wind blew a colder breeze and they comforted themselves with an embrace.
    A girl with long stringy hair enters the room followed by a chilly draft that slaps me on the back (I hope I don’t look that bad). She sits on the lonely wire chair. I smile at her with lazy lips, but the encouraging gesture is not returned. (Oily hair. Looks like she used mayonnaise for shampoo.) I belch out a giggle. (Alice—now’s not the time to joke.) I keep swinging my legs until my heart swells and I choke—Oh my God…
    My God, what am I doing here? Alone and cold. And afraid. Damn, dammit. I should have stayed a virgin.