Fog

Lilla Mae and Holly kneel on the bench and stare out the window, their breath fogging two small circles upon the glass. Holly points. "I don't like the look of those trees. They look like arms reaching out to grab us."

Lilla Mae laughs. "Trees don't grab people, silly."

Holly shivers. "What does then?"

Lilla Mae studies Holly, this woman-child who seems so much older and wiser than a typical nine-year- old. She's certainly more mature than Lilla Mae's sister, who celebrated her tenth birthday just before Lilla Mae was brought here. "A good school," her parents had reassured her, they in the front seat of their old car, she in the back, right in the middle so that she could lean her head forward and speak over the roar of the engine. "You'll get a good education--better than you could ever hope to have in the village."

"But...it must be expensive."

Her father had looked at her in the rearview mirror then. "They gave you a scholarship, sweetie."

And it's this image that has remained with her: Her father's eyes, reflected back to her, smiling yet a bit tentative. There was some emotion he'd held back. Something he was trying to hide.



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