lit, with chimpanzees and apes and howler monkeys forming a pattern on the
wallpaper. A bright light from the next room spills into the hallway, accompanied
by jazz music. Mr. Blink puts his hand on my shoulder and turns me around to
face him. His eyes are green.
“Beaver,” he says, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, but I want
you to promise me that you’ll behave yourself when we get into the other room.”
My breath catches as I attempt to nod.
We round the corner and enter the room with the bright light. There’s a
dining room table, set with plates and glasses and forks and knives and cloth
napkins and a large bouquet of fake flowers. Six chairs sit around the table,
three of them already filled; a girl and a boy, both about my age, sit with another
girl, much younger than all of us. From the next room a woman enters with a
steaming ham between her oven-mitted hands. Upon seeing Mr. Blink she sets
the ham down and plants a kiss on his lips.
“You came home just in time,” she chirps, smoothing her apron. “I was
beginning to get worried!”
He pulls the woman to him and whispers in her ear.
Then, leaning away from her, he says, “You get the kids settled while I
wash up,” and drifts out of the room.
“You better,” she teases. “You smell like cigar smoke again!” She turns
to me. “Beaver, would you get the salad bowls?” I stand, dumbstruck. “And shut
your mouth, dear.”
The boy stands. “I got it, Beaver.” He makes his way to the cabinet and
removes the bowls. The girl my age looks at me, her face filled with freckles,
her ribbony lips bowing up to create dimples. I take the seat beside her and find
myself faced with one of the windows that I’ve become so used to seeing from
the other side. I’m now one of those bright spots.
The boy starts to set the bowls, and it’s clear that besides his golden hair
and muddy eyes, we share all the same features - from our thick lips, to our broad
jaws and sharp noses. Between him and the girl, I suddenly feel like I’m home.
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