Moon Ghosts and Memory Boxes

I tried to speak. Tried to beg. My arms pulled at his neck. My hips thrust to his touch. His knees only clenched tighter. The bulge of his penis tented his pants and poked against the flesh of my buttock, while his fingers played an allegretto movement against my nipple and cunt.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!”

“Do it Kate, sing for me! Let me hear you. Let me feel you!”

Like a maestro directing a symphony, he orchestrated my climax.

* * *

I heard the chattering of birds and realized the indigo sky was brightening into hues of orange. Another night was nearly over. I grabbed Esme’s quilt and wrapped it around me. Day would soon come sneaking in my window, offering me the key to lock away my memories once again. I sat down on the floor and pulled out the old cigar box. The cardboard edges were fraying and the picture had long ago faded. I lifted the lid. Inside the box were miscellaneous treasures I’d collected over the years, including a half-eaten candy necklace, a pair of clip-on paste earrings, and a key. A key fashioned out of the side of a cereal box, by the hands of a seven-year-old, little girl.

“So Katie, what’s in the box?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“I could just look.”

“Please, Esme, say you won’t. Ple-e-ease.”

“Well, I *am* the one who gave it to you. So technically...”

“It’s just a key.”

“A key? What on earth do you need a key for?”

“Because. Because some day I’m going to have a home.”

I closed the lid on the cigar box and stuffed it back under the bed. I stood and looked around. The wallpaper was original seventies, the furniture was second-hand from a consignment shop, there were no family portraits of special occasions scattered about, and the scuffs on the hardwood floors weren’t mine.

Without Edward, this was just a house. Edward held the real key. My heart was with him. My home was with him--wherever he was. I dropped the quilt and went running through the house.

I searched frantically for the ballet company’s schedule he had given me and found it-- tucked in a travel guide I didn’t remember buying--as a bookmark.

Within minutes I was talking to an over-seas operator, and after struggling through a minor language barrier, I was ringing Edward’s room.

“Hello.” His voice sounded as rich as I remembered, and I nearly broke into tears.

“Hello, Edward.”

“Kate?”

“Yes, it’s me.” I paused, trying to gauge his reaction. His silence frightened me so I hurried on, “I want to meet you in Prague, next week.”

“You mean it, Kate?” His sudden enthusiasm gave me all the strength I needed.

“I really do! But first, Edward, I have to tell you something. I have to tell you about my mother.”

*****************
Renouncement Alice Meynell

I MUST not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
 I shun the love that lurks in all delight--
 The love of thee--and in the blue heaven's height,
And in the dearest passage of a song.
Oh, just beyond the sweetest thoughts that throng
 This breast, the thought of thee waits hidden yet bright;
 But it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
 When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away,--
 With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gather'd to thy heart.