Jane left without a bite of her brilliantly golden sponge cake. We chatted late into the afternoon until she compelled herself to retire, concerned she would not make it back before sunset. When I offered to cut a half for her to bring home, she declined, intending to leave it as a gift. Only after I insisted it was not a complete gift if we did not share it, she eventually caved in.
I saw her off, watching her figure recede into the flower field and disappear behind the layers of trees. Even after all signs of her presence were gone, I continued to idly stare at the forest’s threshold, leaning against the open front door with my shoulder as I breathed. Alone once more, faced with the flower clearing, memories of the spirit returned. My solace abated, head jolting. The back of my head began to ache. I was not ready to accept new company. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, fermenting the day’s experiences. After today’s heartfelt moment with Jane, I still did not want to deal with the spirit in my life. I wondered, while I lingered, if she would appear out of the forest, on cue with my imagination. Right where I was staring, where the trees broke apart into a path. Or if I would look down, and see her right there, at the ledge of the stone steps, staring.
Turning around, I went inside without a glance. Come dinnertime, I wound down at the table with a book. It was hard to get into it, knowing someone would show up at my door at any moment. Eventually, I managed.
She did not return home until dusk. I think. I gave the back door a look as I cleaned up the table. Had I not noticed her crouched under the backdoor porch light, she would have stayed outside the whole night. I felt a little bad for not noticing earlier. It was wrong of me to expect she would knock on the door or scratch it. When I asked how long she sat there, of course she did not know how to respond.
Without too much motivation to prepare anything, I fed her porridge again. As I cooked at the stove, she stood next to me, peeking over the ledge, transfixed on the boiling pot. Her nose high, eyes wide, I suspected it was less of a fascination with the fire and more of a fervent hunger. I thought I saw glimpses of her mouth beginning to water. When it was finally ready, she bounced excitedly to the table, sitting down restlessly at her chair. Though I warned it was hot, she spooned a mouthful and immediately burned her mouth. She flinched, dropping the spoon into her bowl with a clatter, but did not spit out the porridge, forcing herself to swallow instead. I exclaimed, admittedly a little worried for her as she blew into her hands a few times, her tongue extended forward in her mouth. Still, she picked up the spoon again, grabbing it in her downward-facing palm, and continued. I saw there were tears in her eyes, which were a bit of a surprise, yet they expressed great satisfaction as she ate, occasionally stopping to blow her tongue and the porridge. I silently watched her the rest of the time, eating without once stopping to look up at me. It turned out spirits like her needed to eat after all, which made me feel even more guilty about leaving her outside for so long. What would she normally eat without me?
It was completely dark once she was done. I stared out the window as I washed her bowl, watching the orbs float through the night. When my gaze returned to her, I found her sitting with her eyes closed, head leaning to the side, still sitting straight in her chair. I stopped to silently watch her for several moments. She was perfectly still, her lips not moving, her chest motionless, her head not bobbing a bit. Drying my hands, I walked over as quietly as I could. Standing next to her, I watched for several more moments, eventually crouching down. She still did not notice me. Eventually, I spoke. It took a few words to wake her, eyes gradually opening no more than tiny slits. They idly looked around, their twinkling spirit gone. I offered to bring her upstairs, and she nodded, still not moving. Perhaps she was exhausted after all. Another surprisingly human feature of this strange character. I reached around the base of her neck and under her knees to pick her up. She shut her eyes again as I cradled her, carrying her up the stairs. Perhaps it was my imagination, but she felt a little heavier than I remembered.
After tucking her in, I decided I would go to sleep early as well.
The morning after, though I got out of bed early, she was gone once more. This time, however, I found her sitting outside on the back porch. Her back was turned, the golden hair shining brilliantly in the sun. When I slid open the door, she turned, looking up into my eyes. The inquisitive nature of her expression had returned, like not a night had passed at all. I stepped out, catching the sun in my face as I slid the door close. They stung, dazing me for some moments as I blundered out towards the steps, reflexively shielding my eyes. Squinting, I found a spot next to the girl and sat down, rubbing my eyes. A fresh breeze lifted my hair off my shoulders, bringing in a waft of the aromatic forest. I yawned, and the fog in my head cleared a little. Running my fingers through my hair, I spoke to the spirit.