Last Time:
“What’s your name?”
“Faina. What’s yours?”
“Frankie.” And with that, he was gone again.
Of course, he returned the next day like the fly to the spider. If she still had a heart, it would have sunk with worry when he complimented her on looking drier that day.
“You know what I said about my name being Frankie?”
He stretched out on a patch of soft green river grass, too comfortable in her presence than she liked. His eyes followed the dragonflies buzzing among the reeds.
“Your name isn’t Frankie, then?”
“No. Well, yes and no. See, I was named after my grandpa. He went by Frank, so I was “little” Frank. Frankie. But now it’s almost high school and I don’t want to be a kid anymore.”
“What’s wrong with being a kid?”
“It’s different for girls. Boys tend to bully any boy that they think is weak. Frankie sounds weak. I gotta sound tough to get by in high school!”
“What does your grandpa say about it? Will he mind you being Frank too?”
“He passed away. He doesn’t have anything to say about it anymore.”
She murmured meaningless condolences while he threw pebbles in the water, his attention divided between grief and distraction. It didn’t matter if he paid no mind to her proprieties. She would behave as a proper young lady should, with or without the regard of the audience.
It was crucial to offer sympathies when someone died. Even when it was her fault. Especially then. Only it wasn’t ever really her fault. She neither set the trap nor tripped it. They did it to themselves, poor things.
But not Frankie. Not that long ago Frankie, nor this one. Still, she could only be what she was.
“He’s the reason I’m here. He asked me to bring this down here after he died. Only it was winter then. And then for a while, I didn’t want to give it up. I figure I can leave it here like he wanted and maybe come visit it. You can visit it too!”
Frankie reached into his backpack and pulled out a small metal swan sculpture made from a soda can. For a moment, he held it cupped in his hands. Then he set it under the big elm tree that shaded the pool. His grandfather had made it, he explained, for a girl he once knew. Handcrafted from the aluminum cans that he used to gather with her.
“Not a girl!” As soon as the retort slipped from her lips, she hung her head to hide the unholy glee pounding behind her eyes. The vengeance begged to be let out, but it wasn’t time. He hadn’t sinned. Not yet. For now, she could keep the vengeance at bay.
“Oh yes, a girl,” Frankie said with a burbling laugh. “A mysterious girl. He must have got over her eventually because he married grandma and all.” He reached out and she backed up so that his fingers fell shy of her sleeve.
“That part is good. Your grandfather Frankie got married. And lived happily ever after? Had a home and family, a beautiful and fruitful life?”
“Yeah, yucky girl things like that. Hey.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re all wet again. When did you get in the water?”
“I was wet when you got here. You didn’t notice.”
After he left for the day, she built the swan a little house from reeds and sticks. The next day, he showed up with fishing poles. She’d never used tackle like his. It took most of the afternoon to learn her way around casting.
Frankie had to bait her hooks for her, as every worm she touched died. Unlucky, he called it. If only he knew. The thin ghost of her better nature prayed that he never would.
The rest of summer slipped by in a beautiful idyll. It was, like all summers, a thing not destined to last. Every day, she was drier. The day she awoke with full petticoats and hair in blonde ringlets, she lay in the ripening grass and cried.
“Faina!”
Her head jerked up, tears evaporating at the sound of his voice. The summer days had stretched him up and filled him out. Incipient manhood deepened his voice and brought a hint of a shadow to his upper lip. Though part of her heart filled with dread, the vengeful purpose in her would have its way if he strayed.
“It’s my last day,” Frankie said. He settled down to throw pebbles again. “Are you sure you won’t talk to your parents about coming to school? I need someone to take to the homecoming dance, see?”
“Are you asking me to walk out the dance with you, Frank?”
“Come on. You know you want to. You don’t want to live like it’s 1898 or whatever forever. ” He gestured to her old-fashioned dress, his hand moving gracefully in the air between them..
She threw her arms around his neck. His skin was warm. She could feel his heartbeat under her clammy fingers. Though he flinched against her icy grip, he didn’t move away. His voice was husky when he finally spoke.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Noooo!”
A wailing maelstrom surged through her as she was torn away from him. The wind whipped up, bringing a sudden summer downpour. Raindrops and half-turned leaves pelted against his stunned face as she wailed.
Now, they would never kiss. He could never be hers, would never lay alongside her in her watery grave. He asked for a kiss instead of stealing one, robbing her vengeance of its newest target.
“Faina?” he cried, hands outstretched. “Faina? Where did you go?”
No, there would be no dragging him down to feed the fishes. No feeding on his sorrows and his sins. No more lovely summer days on the bank with him either. With that one moment of desire and propriety, he’d banished her from him for eternity.
When he slipped in the slick mud, she was only a gust of wind pushing him away from the river’s edge. He waded through the dying grass while she whispered suggestions for him to go. Far away. She urged him to go home and never return. As she had done for his grandfather, so she would do for him.
When he was gone, she tidied up the little swan house with a sigh. The darker side of her nature thought the day had been a lot of effort and ended as a job poorly done, but what was left of her humanity was glad for his escape.
In the twilight, she heard whistling and the rustle of a fishing pole swinging in the air. A young man headed straight for her pool, looking for a good place for some night fishing. Perhaps he would like some company. Faina very much hoped so. She was so hungry, though she no longer knew what she hungered for. Vengeance? Friendship? To rest in peace?
The young fisherman smiled up at her as she approached. It was time to begin again.
