Momma thinks I'm strange for writing poetry in the bathtub, but Momma watches the Weather Channel and craves escargot. So she can't be expected to understand. But Emily whispers me my poems no matter where I am, and she doesn't thinks itÕs strange at all. So why should I? And Emily's the only one who matters anyway. But I can't talk about her anymore. She's been banished to the roof. I can hear her up there sometimes; singing. Always the same song, (it doesn't have any words.)
I used to talk about Emily a lot, but Momma would always get a funny look on her face and turn away. Or sometimes sheÕd call Daddy and take the phone into the hallway. ThatÕs when Emily was banished. I hid in the closet for two hours while Momma was calling me, and then she came and talked to me through the door. That night, after everyone else had gone to sleep, I sneaked outside and had a very long talk with Emily. She didnÕt mind. She said she liked it out there under the stars, with all the little night things. So she told me then that she was banishing herself to the roof at once, to keep her out of trouble. SheÕs been up there ever since.
It feels funny not to have Emily with me all the time. IÕm not afraid though. She dances above my bedroom at night, singing me lullabyes, and lies flat on her stomach, with her lips up close to the shingles, so she can whisper me stories when I canÕt sleep at night. No one knows about her then. She tells me about the faeries and witches she sees up there, (she can see everything from that high) and says that one night she has a good mind to fly off with them and see what theyÕre like.
I cried very hard when Emily first said she might be going away, but now IÕve made her promise that if she does IÕll go with her to meet the faeries too. So at night I listen closely while Emily thinks IÕm asleep, to make sure she doesnÕt forget me and sneak off before I wake. Momma says my eyes are turning black underneath and my skin is gray from not getting enough sleep, but I have to stay up and keep an eye on Emily or I know sheÕll leave.
* * * * * * * * * * *
EmilyÕs been up on the roof for three years now. Or maybe itÕs been two weeks; that depends on whether you talk to Momma or Emily, but I think EmilyÕs right. (Except if itÕs been three years I should have gotten taller.)
Last night Emily tried to fly away again. She says sheÕs restless. But I heard her sing for the witches to come take her away, and I threw open my window so I could call her back. Emily looked so funny staring down at me. Her head hung over the side of the roof while she watched me so it looked like that was all there was to her. Her hair seemed as black as her eyes as it hung down toward me, blowing back and forth in the wind and shaking wet raindrops onto my face. Then she smiled and beckoned me to her, like she had some wonderful secret just for me. I shook my head but she only laughed and took a step back, so I couldnÕt see her anymore. Then she started singing.
I cried the whole way out the window, and the whole way up our sycamore tree to the roof. The bark was cold and slick under my bare feet and twigs caught my clothes and skin, ripping both. But Emily kept laughing and singing, louder and louder, as the wind whipped my hair into a stinging blindfold and the hem of my nightdress slapped against my ankles. Emily started dancing again, like one of the sycamore leaves when they got caught up in the wind, and I watched her in the moonlight, but she wouldnÕt help me up or offer me her hand. So I pulled myself up and itÕs a good thing the tree hangs partway over the roof or IÕm sure I would have fallen.
The shingles felt like broken ice on my toes as I finally stood at the top, and Emily suddenly stopped short and turned to stare at me. I finally got a good look at her then. Her hair and dress were both a black so dark it was almost blue, and her eyes were bright blue-purple that flashed at me like lightning. I held my skinny arms close to my body and clutched my pink cotton nightgown tightly as I peered at her through a thin curtain of light hair. Emily laughed and ran to me, lifting and swinging me around until my feet forgot to brush the roofÕs cold, sandpaper surface. I wondered how Momma could keep from waking with all our noise above her.
Emily stepped back from me, holding my small hands in hers, and led me to the roofÕs edge. I curled my numbing toes tightly over the side and looked down the three stories to where MommaÕs rosegarden spread up their thorny fingers to touch me. On the fence between our yard and our neighborÕs, Mrs. RobinsonÕs cat cried over some tragedy only he knew of. Emily reached over and turned my face to hers. She wore a kind of half-smile and the growing storm was reflected in her eyes and the rainwater washing her face. I was shivering and afraid when she asked me if I could hear the faeries calling. Her song began in a whisper and grew until it matched the howling wind and eclipsed everything else. I didnÕt know whether she was a siren or a banshee in the midst of all that thunder, and the lightning silhouetted her frame against the writhing tree branches and pitch black sky.
Her smile reminded me of a Cheshire cat when she turned to me.
ÒFly!Ó she said; and I felt her hands on my shoulders before I lost my hold on the roof.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I think I saw her face poking over the side as I fell. I donÕt remember much after that. Only the rosebushes. The white ones caught me; those were MommaÕs favorites. I remember opening my eyes for a moment; I couldnÕt see any faeries, or Emily either, all I could see were the roses. I wondered why they looked so different; the white parts all glowed in the moonlight but there where little dark blotches decorating the petals that had never been there before. I donÕt think I closed my eyes, but I listened to my temples throbbing, and then I couldnÕt see anything anymore.
When I woke up Momma was crying. I asked her where Emily was, but she just turned away and that was when I knew Emily was gone. I guess she flew away that night, but I wasnÕt strong enough to go. I canÕt be angry with her though; she did try to keep her promise . It was my own fault I couldnÕt make it.
I miss Emily sometimes, but I know sheÕs still around here someplace. On cold nights when the wind is blowing so hard it shakes my room, I wake up and I hear her. I can run to the window, but Momma put screens and a big plastic cover on it, so I canÕt reach out anymore. EmilyÕs out flying in the night somewhere, I know she is, and her voice carries to me. Singing. EmilyÕs always singing.
copyright 1994 by Ginger Pierce Davis