The Originators

CHAPTER 6: MOON BABY...MAYBE? (LAURA)

I.

You know how sometimes your parents don't know anything about you; you in turn, know nothing about them. It works.

Right now, I don't know I'm actually moving up and out of my bed.

Tiptoeing over a maple syrup lake of wood flooring, I stubbly skate towards the front room with sticky baby toes. I find myself sitting on the couch. My toes twitch, trying to discard my imaginary sappy evidence.

The big people are asleep. My father snores, my mother is a dead quiet sleeper, although I know she'd be first up if she heard me.

Settled all the way back into the couch, my baby fingers pluck the cotton of my nightdress to fan around me. I'm queen for the evening; queen for every evening until they figure it out.

Dust sparkles the floor. I can barely bend, but I blow, my breath makes it dance. I chuckle, softly as I don't want to wake anyone. I sit back up, trying to be serious, back straight against the couch, eyes wide looking out our huge front window. What will appear?

I think I pluck at myself because when I come out here, so late, I'm both dead and alive. The dead part of me accepts; the alive part of me is scared with wondering. This seems to have happened before, but every time the Moon appears in front of me I can't quite remember if this is the first time. You can't expect much from a five-year old.

In the gloom, the dust begins to move slightly, my eyes are wet and starry. Through our picture window, everything is black, but the trees across the street are surprised, in the spotlight of an approaching source of light. Their branch hands have their fingers splayed to the left to welcome the Moon as it sloppily rolls in. I think I'm always frightened at this particular moment. When it sits, lazily in the background, behind the trees I stop my moist, husky breathing. It settles down to a less panicked state, barely a watery wheeze. Hope twitches into the possibility I'm not really here.

Still seated, toes no longer pointed outward, I think I can tiptoe back to bed, and watch my little sister sucking her thumb in her sleep. My father will still be snoring, my mother loggish. I could pull the covers up around me and wait for morning.

"Laura? Laura, can you hear us? Laura..."

It's a voice I hear as round, moaning, but clear with knife-chopping undertones. My mother cuts food, to create consistently miserable meals. I recognize the chopping sound. I'm not sure I want to move from the couch.

"Laura, you know us. We want to remind you of a slight matter, a slightly important matter, not critical, not an emergency exactly, how shall I unroll this information..."

Laura hears someone mutter, "Get on with it, you muddler, you."

"All right, I will. Quiet!" the voice yells at someone else.

The voice orders, "Laura, come closer. We have something to tell you."

This round Moon is right in front of me as I have now risen and find I'm poking the glass. The Moon is trying to swallow me.

"Hold out your hand Laura. Just hold out your hand."

My mouth is dry. I lick my lips and whisper, "Why?"

"Because we know you will save our world."

Laura heard someone mumble, "Tell her, 'your world.'''

"Hello Laura, I'm back. Yes, you will save your world."

Mouth again so dry with those creepy pin prickly things popping up, I lick my lips, "Why?"