MoonSong

MoonSong

13-15 August 2003

33 years old

What I loved best about my bedroom in Forest Glen was its big picture window that opened out onto a little balcony. It faced southwest, and I could crawl through the open pane to sit on the sill, or stand at the rail, and watch the full moon pace her way across the sky. When I lay in bed in the dark, she peeked in on me, covering me with her soft light like a whisper. “Tell me,” she murmured in my ear. “Tell me what you most desire. Tell me your deepest dream.”

There were always new things to want: I wish Robby Dewey in Algebra liked me. I wish Laurie Kirkpatrick would invite me to her paint ball birthday party. I wish I had a deck of tarot cards. But I never said any of these things; there was only one wish I really wanted.

I would close my eyes and feel the cool silver breath of the moon caress my skin though the open window. I would make myself lie still, until I felt my one desire flow through me to the very tips of my fingers and toes. “I wish,” I would say in the darkness, “I wish I had a family.”

***

“Melissa!” Janice’s voice drifted up the stairs to the attic bedroom, stirring the young girl awake. “Melissa, breakfast is on! You’ll be late for school!”

Melissa rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed, peering around the tiny room, taking inventory. There was the desk with her books and school bag piled on top, pushed under the wide-open picture window. The battered brown dresser against the far wall, and the small mirror nailed above it. The oval rag rug in the middle of the floor. The white-painted nightstand by the side of her bed, and its small reading lamp with the frilly, age-tinted shade. Everything was the same as it had been the day before. It was a good way to start out.

Melissa hopped out of bed and got dressed. She stood on tiptoe before the mirror above the dresser, and pushed her brown curly hair into a barrette. When she walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, Janice was standing at the stove, stirring eggs in a pan. Joe was helping their son, Mickey, tie his shoes. Melissa ruffled his hair and settled in at the table when Janice brought her a plate of scrambled eggs and toast.

“There you are, kiddo,” Janice said, smiling at her.

“I didn’t hear my alarm.”

Janice looked at her closely. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Janice fingered the old silver barrette in Melissa’s hair. “You know,” she said, “I have that green rhinestone clip in my room, if you want to wear it today. It’d look really nice with your sweater, and your pretty hair.”

Melissa tilted her head, considering. She really liked that green clip and had wanted to wear it since she’d first seen it in Janice’s hair three months ago, when she’d come to live with them. “Okay. Thanks.” She forked egg into her mouth and chewed. “Need some help, Mick?”

“Nope. Done!” Sitting on the floor, Mickey held his feet out for everyone to see, the laces on his shoes a loose jumble of loops and knots. “I did it all by myself!”

“Way to go!” Melissa said.

She liked Mickey, and was fond of Janice and Joe, too. She didn’t understand why they would want to sponsor a foster child. They were a close family, while most of her foster families were older couples that wanted a child to nurture, but without the commitment. The Watsons were different. They genuinely seemed to like her, and Melissa liked them, too. Perhaps too much. But being fostered out was a way of life for her, and she had come to expect little else. Melissa’s father had left when she was three. Her mother disappeared when she was eight, and Melissa had been floating through foster care ever since.

She was eleven years old, and her birthday was next month.

When Melissa was done eating, she helped Janice clear the table and went to her room to get her backpack. On the way down again, she stopped in Janice and Joe’s room to look for the barrette. She found it on Janice’s bureau and pulled her own clip out of her hair, setting it down on the worn antique dresser. As she refastened her curls with Janice’s green clip, she noticed the corner of a letter poking out from under the jewelry box. The PCFS seal glowed like a beacon through the paper. Curious, she slid it out, casting a furtive glance toward the half-closed bedroom door. The sounds of dishes going into the dishwasher and Joe and Mickey laughing drifted up the stairs. Melissa unfolded the paper and read.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Watson,

I’ve reviewed the file pertaining to your ward, Melissa Anderson, and agree with you that a course of action needs to be taken regarding her foster care. Please contact me at your earliest convenience so we may discuss the possibilities and make arrangements as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Martha Smith-Masters

Case Director

Pennsylvania Child and Family Services

Melissa frowned. She had seen letters similar to this one before, and they always spelled the end of her tenure with a family. She pulled the green rhinestone barrette out of her hair and set it down on the bureau, tears filling her eyes. It hadn’t affected her much, moving from one family to another. She hadn’t liked, or even spent enough time, with most of them to form a bond. But this was different. She’d liked the Watsons immediately, and she thought they liked her too. She didn’t want to leave them, and the realization that she soon would was a serious blow.

Melissa swallowed her tears and returned downstairs. Joe beamed at her from the front door. “Well, Sport. Ready to go? We’re almost late. And Janice and I have an appointment at nine.” He looked meaningfully at his wife, who smiled tightly and avoided Melissa’s gaze.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Melissa muttered, and followed him out the door.

Melissa was distracted at school, that day. She’d failed a pop quiz in Algebra; had forgotten her history paper at home and was forced to take an incomplete for the day; and had tripped going up the stairs between classes, causing her classmates to laugh and point. She couldn’t bear the thought of staying with Janice and Joe anymore, knowing they didn’t want her. By the time she returned to the house, her spirits were lower than ever, and half-hoped someone from PCFS would be waiting for her when she arrived, bags ready by the door.

When she returned to the house at the end of the day, Janice and Joe were waiting for her at the kitchen table. And so was her case worker. Melissa swallowed. She knew the woman well, and that she was there to take Melissa away.

“Hello, Melissa,” the woman said.

“Hi Theresa,” said Melissa. Tears pushed from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. “I’ll go get my things,” she said and started toward the staircase.

“Wait, Mel,” Theresa said, “there’s no need. But we do need to talk.” She gestured toward an empty chair. “Have a seat?”

Melissa slouched to a chair, scrunching down as far as she could into the hard wood. Janice reached for her hand, but Melissa pulled it away.

“This isn’t what you think,” Janice started. “I know you found the letter. You left it open on the dresser. We thought you’ve been happy here… We wanted to wait for your birthday, but…”

“What we’re trying to say, Mel,” said Joe, “is that we want you to stay. We want to adopt you. That is, if you’ll have us. We know you’ve only been here for three months…”

Melissa stared at them, then gaped at Theresa, who nodded. “All the paperwork is done. Janice and Joe wanted your consent before they signed. Do you want to stay?”

 “YES!” she said, running to Theresa to hug her, then to Janice and Joe. Then Mickey came home from school, and Melissa grabbed him, twirling him around in a circle. “I’m staying! I’m staying!”

Mickey looked at her like she’d gone crazy. “I know that. Everybody knows that.”

That night, when the waning moon shone through the big picture window of her little attic room, Melissa stood at balcony rail and gave thanks, hugging herself tightly. “Now I have a real family,” she whispered.

***

I’ve always thought the moon possessed powerful magic. Now, when I lie awake at night and the moon shines through the bedroom window of my apartment, she doesn’t beg my deepest desire, anymore. “I have one more gift to bestow,” she murmurs, her ephemeral arms wrapping around my swelling belly. I feel the quickening there and reach across the bed to my husband. I fall asleep with my head on his chest, giving thanks.