When Women Were Dragons(78)

“No idea. Couldn’t bear to open it. We weren’t . . . close by the time she died. Not by a long shot. Didn’t feel right to look inside. She said it’s for you. So it’s for you.” He shoved the box into my hands and then turned on his heels and went to his room. He took the bottle with him.

This was the last time I saw my father. Later that week, while he was at work, my father had a heart attack and collapsed at his desk. He didn’t make it to the hospital. Two days later, in the middle of the night, his house caught on fire while the rest of the neighborhood slept. Lit cigarette from a passing vagrant, the paper said. “Let that be a lesson to us all on the dangers of smoking,” the editorial said. But that didn’t explain the fact that his bedroom window, along with its surrounding wall, had been somehow wrenched free and torn off the house. It was found the next morning resting against the large oak tree by the alley.



I didn’t open the box, either. I also couldn’t bear to look inside. Maybe my dad and I weren’t so different after all. I sat with it on my lap for a long time, my fingers lingering at the latch. Finally, I gave up and put it in the back of the closet.





31.

That night, at dinner, Beatrice nearly dragoned. Right in front of me. Her eyes grew large, then wide, then gold. She blinked once, and then blinked again with a nictitating inner eyelid, a pale blue membrane languidly sliding across the circumference of the eye. One talon curled from her index finger. She watched it grow with fascination, then, in a state of wonder, lifted her face to the sky as she slowly brought her hand to her sternum.

I dropped the pan holding our dinner onto the floor.

“Beatrice,” I gasped.

“Today’s the day,” she whispered. Gold face. Her tongue glittered.

I leaped over the table and grabbed her in my arms. She was so hot she blistered my skin. I didn’t care. I hung on for dear life. My hands burned. My arms burned. My neck. My cheek. And oh, my heart. Everything burned.

“Stop!” I pleaded. “Oh, Beatrice, please stop.” I held her tight, wrapping my arms around her body so far that they wrapped around myself as well. “Mama was all alone and oh, god, please don’t leave me alone. You’re a girl, you’re a little girl, you’re my little girl. Don’t go.” My voice caught. I began to sob. I held her so tight she gasped. “Please don’t, Beatrice. I can’t bear it.” My tears fell on her neck and quickly turned to steam.

Beatrice shuddered in my arms and sighed. And then, quite quickly, she cooled. Her whole body went limp. Her head rested heavily in the crook of my elbow, like she was a baby. She blinked. Blinked again. Then looked at me with her little-girl eyes—not gold anymore, but big and brown. And bloodshot now—from transformation or from crying, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t let go.

She frowned. “But.” Beatrice stopped, slightly disoriented. She licked her lips. She looked at the ceiling. Her thoughts, I could see, moved slowly, as though she was wading through deep, deep water. Tears began to trickle down her temples and pooled in her ears. She took in a breath, staccatoed by sadness as the realization of what just happened at last began to settle. “But why?” she said at last.

I sank to the floor, pulling Beatrice onto my lap. I stroked her hair. I kissed her cheeks. They were still hot, but not injuriously so. The food cooled on the floor. Somewhere, in another apartment, a radio droned and droned. I held Beatrice close, my body rocking back and forth.

“Do you want me to tell you a story?” I asked. She didn’t respond, but that didn’t matter. I closed my eyes, too much of a coward to hold her gaze. Did I know to feel shame yet? I think deep down, I probably did. “Once upon a time,” I said, “there were two sisters. Both good. Both bad. Equal parts of each. They took care of one another, and worked hard, and both tried their best, and mostly it was good enough. They loved each other so, so much. One day, they heard the dragons’ call. ‘Come with us,’ the dragons said. ‘Come play with us. Be one with us.’ The dragons called and called and they would not shut up. One sister answered the call. She took off her skin. She stepped out of her life. She became a dragon. The other sister didn’t. She had work to do and people to care for and things to learn. She loved the world and everything in it and didn’t want to leave her life behind. She stayed as she was, but she missed her sister, more and more each day, a great yawning sadness, until she couldn’t bear it anymore. Her heart broke in half and she died of sorrow. The end.”

Beatrice’s eyes scanned the room, finally settling on my face. They narrowed skeptically.

“Is that a real story?” she asked.

“Of course it’s a real story,” I said. “I told it to you, didn’t I?”

“Are you telling it right?” she asked.

I started to get annoyed. “Of course I’m telling it right. It’s my story. This is the only way to tell it. That’s how stories work.”

Beatrice looked up, met my eye, held my gaze for a good long time. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Did Mama tell you that story?” her breath catching slightly.

“No,” I said. “I had to figure it out for myself. It took me a long time to understand.” I looked at her. I took her hands in mine, kissing her knuckles. “But I understand it now. I understand what Mama lost. I understand what she did for her family. No more dragoning. Please. Beatrice, if you dragon, there is no more us. If you dragon, then you’ll fly away, and maybe you’ll forget me, and I’ll be all alone. I don’t know how to be alone. Don’t leave me, Beatrice, promise me you won’t.”