#59 I, Isabel Scheherazade sit in my dormer window seat and watch the giant Hunter’s Moon. Over on the Moon’s southernmost “limb” me and my Earth have moved between the set-sun and full Moon and I can see the outer part of the Earth’s shadow–our Penumbra! Sort of like how I’m beginning to see myself and where I am in this whole life without Mom and Dad.
Before Pop and Mimi yanked me out of the courthouse, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Smith in a shadowy alcove in the dark corridor beyond the metal detectors. He was lit from above by a missing-light-bulb chandelier. I’m thinking about him while I watch the Penumbral Lunar Eclipse. Mom had told me it would happen this month. We’ll watch it together, Isabel is what she promised. Hey, who knows? Maybe she IS watching it. I kinda like this idea: Mom’s gone but we’re both watching the same thing.
With this kind of eclipse the outer edge of the Earth’s shadow–the penumbra–slowly darkens part of the full moon. Deep shadows all ’round with our Earth’s edge imprinted on the Hunter’s Moon.
Hmmm. With Mr. Smith and me: Which of us would be the Earth and the Moon?
Here’s the glimpse I got: Mr. Smith hunches over, like he’s carrying a load on his back. Burdened down as they say in books. Too pooped to pop as Mom used to say when she got tired. Another man–his lawyer?–supports him on one side. On the other is this tiny old lady dressed all in black except for a bright blue scarf over her hair. Her black stockings are rolled to her knees, and she’s wearing these old fashioned lace-up heels, like you see in pictures of your great-grandmother. She pats his back as they walk.
His suit is strange. I think it’s too small for him–like he might have gotten it for his wedding years ago and then grown up. You can see his white socks and all of his wrists. His hands shake–just like the time in the coffee shop. They shake so much he sticks them in his pockets.
This eclipse is getting hard to see, so I crawl into bed. I punch pillows and pull covers. I’m not ACTIVELY mad anymore. All the court drama pushed my anger to the back rooms of my heart so I have energy to spare now. I’m going to use it on my letter to the judge.
No matter what Pop and Mimi say about there being different laws and shades of meaning, blah blah blah–no disrespect to Mimi and Pop–but Mom and Dad are DEAD because of this guy.
I want the judge to put him in jail and throw away the key.
Darn. The problem with thinking about this now is that it riles me and I can’t sleep.
Hmmmmm. Might as well get up and put THAT in the letter.
–Isabel Scheherazade, eclipse-watcher