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The point is that I too have a story about him.
An anecdote.
About how I met him on the night of my twelfth birthday and he set the sky on fire. How he turned night into day.
But I haven’t told anyone about it.
Because I don’t indulge in gossip or judgement. But mostly because he hasn’t told anyone about it either.
About how I lied to him.
How I spun stories the night we met.
I’ve wondered about that, actually.
Once the shock of the night wore off, the enormity of what I had done set in. The wickedness, the awfulness, the horror and depravity of my lie had started to sink in.
And I got so worried.
I kept waiting and waiting for my parents to call me downstairs from my room and ask me about the bad thing that I’d done. About sneaking out and wandering in the woods at midnight. About the lie that I’d told and how that lie had gotten them fired.
I essentially pretended to be the daughter of the king when in reality, I’m the daughter of the king’s groundskeeper and the cook, didn’t I? Of course they would’ve gotten fired for it.
And oh my God, that would’ve been such a disaster.
Especially given my dad’s condition. He used to work construction back in Brooklyn, but an accident made it so that he can’t work long hours anymore. Meaning he not only got fired – on a mere technicality to justify it – but also couldn’t find a job for the longest time. So my mom had to work two different jobs to pick up the slack.
Their jobs at the Davidson manor came as a blessing.
My reckless lie could’ve ruined all that.
But nothing happened.
No one found out about what I did, and I knew it was because of him.
Because he never told on me.
He kept my secret, didn’t he?
He didn’t have to but he did.
And I’m not going to repay that by gossiping about him.
So whenever they talk and speculate, all I do is be quiet and simply listen. And well, listen carefully.
Which is how I know that he’s back.
After a whole entire year, he’s back from Connecticut for a few days. And that’s why I’m here.
Wandering in the same woods.
Coincidentally, also on the same day as last year, while another party goes on in the back yard.
Again, this one’s in honor of Homer Davidson; his parents throw a lot of parties for him. His parents throw a lot of parties in general but again, that’s not the point.
The point is that I know this is crazy. What I’m doing doesn’t make sense.
There’s no logic to it.
