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"Do not be afraid," she said. She took my hand and closed her eves. "Repeat after me," she told me and began. "Celeste, be gone." she chanted. "Go on, repeat it."

We chanted.

The candle flames flickered.

The gray skies outside the window grew darker before they tore apart to let some light graze our house.

"Celeste. be gone.'` Mommy said and I said until I felt her spirit leave me and Noble's return.

It would be all right. I thought. It would, Mommy would not let go of my hand after all. She would not stop loving me.

Later, after we had something to eat, we returned to the old cemetery, where she helped dig this time, and we were able to make the grave as wide and deep as she wanted. Then together we carried everything she had gathered out of the house and dropped it in the dark, muddied hole.

We worked until dusk, and when it was over, we could see the stars begin to twinkle.

Mommy put her arm around my shoulders.

"Listen," she said. "Listen hard. Noble. Don't you hear them? Don't you?"

"Yes." I said quickly, maybe too quickly. She turned and looked at me.

"What are they saying?" she asked, her eyes full of hesitation, but also full of hope.

I closed my own eyes to listen hard. Speak to me. I prayed.

Speak to me. It wasn't just the wind. I heard words. Surely, I heard words.

"Celeste, be gone," I replied. That was what I thought I heard. Was I right?

When I opened my eyes. I saw she was smiling.

"You do hear them," she said. "How wonderful. How long I have waited."

She hugged me to her and held me tightly for a moment before kissing my forehead and caressing my cheek.

/> "Now, my darling. I am sure it will all begin for you."

With her arm still around my shoulders, we walked back to the house. where Daddy's spirit surely waited in his favorite chair.

I might even see him. I thought, and envisioned him smiling up at me. How I wished I could run into his arms again. I would do anything for that.

I would even bury Celeste a thousand times.

11

A Boy Next Door

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As I grew older and my breasts matured even

more. I took to unstrapping myself at night so I could be more comfortable. Mommy knew it, but said nothing as long as I was sure to strap myself down well enough every morning to flatten my breasts sufficiently, but it was getting more and more difficult to do that enough to please her. One morning she came into my room before I had woken and risen. She had an old corset she had trimmed. It was something that had belonged to one of our ancestors.

"Sit up," she ordered, and then she fit it around me, keeping it so that the strings that tightened it were in front.

"You can do this yourself every morning," she said. "Tighten it as you need to,"

I was having some trouble breathing, so she loosened it a bit, but only a bit.