Don’t Let Me Go(8)

Billy leaped backwards into his own apartment, folded over himself and sank to the rug, his heart fluttering in panic. He remained in this highly protective posture until he’d heard his neighbor come through the front apartment house door, close it behind him, and move along the hall and up the stairs.

Then he jumped up and slammed the glass patio door closed, quickly and gingerly, as if the door itself had been the source of all this upset.

He did not look out again at any time that morning.

He knew the girl must still be out there, but he could not bring himself to check.

? ? ?

It was almost dusk when he began to debate the issue with himself. Out loud.

“We don’t want to know that badly,” he said.

Then, upon some reflection, “We do want to know. Of course. Of course we do. Just not that badly.”

“Besides,” he added a moment later, “it’s not dark enough.”

He glanced out his sliding-glass door again.

“Then again, when the streetlights come on, it will be too late. Won’t it? And then we’ll have to wonder all night. And wondering tends to keep us awake.”

He sighed deeply, and tied on his old robe. But not really because he wanted to ask the question so badly as to brave the outdoors for his answer. More because there was simply no other way to end the utter exhaustion of wrestling with himself on the issue.

The little girl looked up when he slid the patio door open.

Billy did not initially step out.

It was a little earlier, a little lighter, than it had been the last time he’d gone outside. A shocking thought, he suddenly realized. Had he, really? He’d really gone outside? Maybe that had only been a dream.

He shook such thinking away again, forcing his mind to focus. Back to the issue at hand: that it was not as dark this time. And darkness served, if need be, as a rudimentary form of cover.

He wanted to step backwards, into his safe home, and slide the door closed again. But the little girl was watching him, waiting for him to come out. How insane would she think he was, if he backed up now? How much of the truth was he willing to let her see?

He took one step out into the cool late afternoon, then immediately dropped to his knees. He moved on his hands and knees for a step or two, then hit his belly and slithered to the edge of the patio. It had not been a move thought out in advance. Yes, he knew it was much weirder than just going back inside. But it happened that way. And it was too late to either fix it or mourn it by then.

He looked over the edge of the patio at Grace.

“Why are you crawling on your belly?” she asked, in her famous voice.

“Shhhhh,” he said, instinctively.

“Sorry,” she said, with only the tiniest bit less volume. “I always have trouble with that.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Tell it.”

“Maybe some other time. I came out here to ask you a question.”

“OK.”

“Why are you sitting outside?”

“You asked me that the last time.”

“I know I did. But you didn’t answer me.”

And, at least for the first few moments, she didn’t answer this time, either.

“I mean, I know your mom is somehow doing something other than looking after you. That much is clear. But you have a key. You could still sit inside.”

“Right.”

“So, why?”

“Maybe you should tell me the story about crawling on your belly first.”

“I don’t think so. I think we do my question tonight.”

“Why yours?”

“Because I asked first.”

“No, you didn’t. I asked first.”

“I asked the other night. You said so yourself.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Grace said, solemnly, as if accepting that the rules were quite clear on that. “You did. Well, it’s like this. If I sit inside, then nobody will know I’m in trouble. And so then nobody will help me.”

Billy’s heart fell. Literally, from the feel of it. He felt physically aware of the sensation of it falling, hitting the organs in his poor lower belly. None of which could have happened, of course. But all of which carried a felt sense of itself all the same.

“Oh, you’re in trouble, huh?”

“You didn’t know?”

“I guess I knew.”

“See, it has to be somebody who lives here. Because that way I can still stay with my mom.”

A silence. Billy could see and feel where this train was headed, which is why he offered no reply.

“Can you help me?”

Another long silence fell, during which Billy was aware of the pebbly nature of the patio surface against the front of his chest and legs.

“Baby girl, I can’t even help myself.”

“Yeah. That’s what I figured.”

It was a low and very dark moment, even by Billy standards. Not only had it just been firmly established that he was utterly useless, but clearly this little girl had been fully able to see for herself how useless he was, even in advance of being told.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m useless. I wasn’t always. But now I am.”

“OK,” she replied.

“Well, goodnight,” he said.