I.    She had her memories.  She put them in a book and tied the book with ribbons.  Red ribbons, silver ribbons – Christmas ribbons.  One day she took her book to town and tried to sell it.  She asked one hundred dollars for her memories recorded in a book and wrapped with ribbons.  She approached a man, the seventh she had spoken to that day.  She showed him the book and said, “These are my memories.  I will sell them to you for one hundred dollars.  Would you like to buy my memories?”  He shook his head no, but reached into his pocket, and took out all his money.  One dollar and some change.  He handed it to her, “I don’t have one hundred dollars, but take this and buy yourself some food to eat.  It’s very cold today.”  He smiled, and walked away.  She found a bench, and sat.  She untied the ribbons that were around her book.  Red ribbons, silver ribbons – Christmas ribbons.  She opened the book and put the dollar bill and change one page away from the last page of her memories.  She closed the book and tied the ribbons.  The coins made the book bulge, but the ribbons kept it closed.  She sat with the book in her lap and thought about the man who had given her the money.  She made a memory of him, a precious memory she added to her book.  She decided to go home and come back tomorrow.  She would sell the book tomorrow.  She would ask one hundred and one dollars and some change.  She hadn’t counted the change but she knew how it felt in her hand, and she wouldn’t take any less.  She stood, and began her walk home.  She had her memories.  She had them in a book all tied with ribbons.  Red ribbons, silver ribbons – Christmas ribbons.

 

II.    She goes through the alphabet once a week and recites the names.  It’s her litany.  A name for each letter and for each name a face.  There is no fantasy or lying to this litany.

 

A – Alice  B – Beth  C – Charles  D – David  E – Eric  F – Frank  G – Grace  H – Hector  I – no name for I, no face,  J – John  K – Kevin  L – Lawrence  M – Mary  N – Nancy  O – Olivia  P – Pedro  Q – no name, no face  R – Richard  S – Sarah  T – Thomas  U – no name for you, no face  V – Victoria  W – Walter  X – nothing, nothing, nothing  Y – Yolanda  Z – no name, no face, nothing.

 

Five spaces in the litany – IQUXZ, and this she also repeats.  She asks, “Where are the names, the faces, IQUXZ?”  She thinks that in the world they are there, but she will not lie, will not cheat, will not make names she has not met, faces she has not seen.  The five spaces are the mystery that keeps her tied to earth.  She knows that when she has the names and faces and can complete the alphabet her work will be finished, and she will die.  She neither desires death, nor desires the work.  Work and death are facts, and she knows this is true of everyone.  The hard work of faces and names, names and faces.  Once a week she goes through the alphabet and recites the names, remembers the faces, and says the letters that are her litany and the mystery that keeps her tied to earth.

 

III.    She wanted to count the white and blue in all the clouds and sky, but every time she had a number something changed.  Whoever made the sky was treating it like ink and water in a glass.  The glass was moved, or ink was added before she could register the picture in her way of numbers.  She was afraid the hand that held the glass would tip it over, and ink and water would spill around her.  She knew the name for this, but could not believe what other people thought; that it was a thing of earth and sky uncontrolled by someone’s hand.  

 

That day she watched the colors fall like a song she could barely hear.

 

She was soaking wet and cold when she got home, and as she dried herself and changed her clothes she cried.  When she was warm, and finished with her crying, she whispered to herself,  “I must learn to be more careful.  I’ve spilled the glass inside of me and my song is much too small.”  She cried again, and hid herself in bed because she felt so clumsy.

 

IV.    She slept and dreamt.  In her dream she was very much older.  Stooped and dressed in rags, crow-like, she hopped down cobble stones in the dingy light of  some street she didn’t recognize, in some city she had never visited.  She came to a grimy little square where children were playing crack-the-whip.  The leader of the line circled the children around her.  Eight or ten of them, she couldn’t count quickly enough, boys and girls together.  They held hands and danced around her, and as they danced they sang, “Twenty-six, twenty-six, don’t say your name ‘cause she’s a witch!  Twenty-six, twenty-six, don’t say your name ‘cause she’s a witch!”  She reached out and grabbed an arm, and pulled a little girl toward her.  The other children disappeared.  She looked hard into the girl’s face, something familiar there, but then the girl, too, disappeared.  She was left holding a book, a large black journal.  She opened the book to the center, and in beautiful gold, green, and red relief the number, “26.”  It had wings and lifted itself from the page, followed by “25,” “24,” and all the numbers ‘til “0.”  The square was filled with numbered birds, gold, and green, and red.  She looked back to the book – blank pages.  She looked back to the square – empty.  The wind picked up, and like dry leaves an alphabet gathered around her feet.

 

That was her dream.