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It feels like getting away with something, to have so much.
Silver hair, Mrs. F always says, is the medal won by wisdom.
Sophia cannot help knowing what she knows. She is standing in her beautiful open floor-plan kitchen in her perfect sprawling house holding the tip of a human finger.
She cannot understand why she lied, and for the second time in a day. Only that she has, and she cannot take either of them back, and the world is changed because of it.
she is alive and she is Sophia, alive and warm and real and in gross violation of her HOA contract.
“In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth, and the earth was without form and void and darkness was upon the face of the deep, and the spirit of God moved upon the waters. And God said: let there be light, and there was light, and He saw the light, and saw that it was good, and God divided the light from the darkness … and what was left over at the bottom of the keg was … me.”
But it feels so good to be held, it feels so good to be spoken to like she is capable and wise, to hear her life gain weight, fed by Cascavel. Fed by being seen.
Solidarity is a hell of a thing. And it did not exist before a few months ago. Because there were never two of you here at once. Like a new flower in the wall.”
If I have come this far for knowledge, why not down a staircase? Why not a little farther?
She asks a question older than day and night. “Why doesn’t He love me like He loves you?” Tears fall down her perfect face. “Why does He let you do this? Why won’t He tell you to stop?”
“I was made in His image,” the primordial man says softly. Then he giggles. “You were made from my eye!” He passes one hand over his right eye and reveals a puckered, sunken gouge beneath it. He passes his hand back the other way and his face is whole again. Two blue eyes watching her with boyish interest.
“Did you give her a name?” “Sure did. I really thought she was the one. Lilith. My Lilith. But none of that matters now. She doesn’t matter. This is about us.”
