Maya (Part II)

Later:

The monitor on Maya's computer displays a sentence that reads: "Once upon a time there was a mouse who fell in love with the scent of a human woman's hair." This is all the work Maya has done today. Jessie will not mind, Maya knows, that this week, again, there will be no check from the publisher, no money for the "extras" Maya's pittance occaisionally bought for them. It has been months since she sold a story. She fears dependence, fears needing Jessie, and fights against the realization that she already does.
She leaves the computer and pulls the shades in the bedroom making it hot and close, tomblike. She plays her lost woman music on the stereo and curls on the bed. This music is pain, the pain that is the soul's stepsister, that you hug close to your heart and cry over at three in the morning. It is nurtured like a child because when you can no longer feel this pain, you can no longer feel anything at all. You become empty, like a sieve. She lies there making love to her pain in the darkness.

Night:

Jessie is a shallow lover, dry and quick to climax. She acts as though sex is a necessary indignity that should be finished quickly and with as little fuss as possible. She often makes Maya ashamed of her exuberance. Maya is almost lost inside the sensations of her body. She feels the caress of Jessie's breath and tongue down through the soles of her feet. Her muscles clench, legs straining farther apart, heels digging into the mattress, slipping on the sheets. Maya tangles her fingers in Jessie's hair, scratching her nails gently across Jessie's scalp. Her fingers clench around the silky brown curls. Shudders rip through her body as she convulses with a gasp. She drops back against the pillows, drawing slow, deep breaths through her lungs. Jessie worms her way up the mattress and rests with her arm across Maya's body, her breath hot against Maya's neck. Maya holds her close, combing her fingers through Jessie's hair. Jessie dozes into a light slumber on Maya's shoulder.

Evening, Day 2:

Maya is sitting in the field behind the house. She is listening to man and nature make war with sound. To the east and south, police sirens sing echoingly across the lawns and gardens. To the north, thunder booms and crashes like a giant trying to find its way in the dark. Lightning strobes, bright like a camera flash. Maya sits on the grass with the comforting smoothness of white paper with blue lines. On the page she writes: "There once was a mouse who fell in love with the scent of a human woman's hair. She would crawl out on the pillow and sniff it in the darkness. The mouse was very careful, knowing she could only stay minutes, in case the woman was to wake and be frightened."
Jessie watches from the window. She wishes she remembered the statistics on the likelihood of being struck by lightning in one's own back yard. She wants Maya to come inside before the rains come, before Maya catches a chill. Maya is five feet tall. In the field, she seems small and fragile.
Fat drops of rain fall on Maya's head and the page. She ignores them. When they begin to blur the ink, she returns to the house.

Night, Day 2:

Maya dreams. She floats weightless. Far off she hears two voices raised in argument. She thinks they do not know she can hear them.
"It is too soon," says the first voice, young and sweet even though it is hard with anger. "She is not ready yet."
"Now," says the second voice coldly. "It must be now. No more arguments and excuses." The second voice is brittle with shiny edges, metallic.
Maya sees hazel eyes in the darkness.
"Come with us," says the young voice. "You know it is time to go." Maya feels her will being tugged gently toward the hazel eyes. When she resists her brain is filled with images of fire, blood, and death. When she surrenders, these images are replaced with the cool depths of the sea.

Morning, Day 3:

When Jessie wakes in the morning, Maya is gone. Her possessions are all neatly arranged; books in an orderly procession on the shelves, dresser drawers closed, dresser top straightened, mirror cleaned of dust and fingerprints.
Jessie searches the house and the field, calling Maya's name as though she is searching for an errant child. Next to the computer, Jessie finds a completed manuscript. The title page reads: "A String of Mouse Teeth. by M. S. Brough." Jessie sits down on the edge of the bed to read. To finish the story, Maya has stolen images from her dreams.

Later, Day 3:

Maya makes witch's castles at the edge of the ocean. She drips wet sand through her fingers creating a melted, lopsided village of towers around her feet. She wonders about witches and princesses and what she will do now that she has escaped her tower. She strips off her shirt and lies with her feet in the waves, coating her back with gritty sand.
In the afternoon, the sea is the same color as Maya's eyes.