The Evanescent

He doesn’t disappear. I can still feel his arm resting on my stomach. “Go away,” I repeat, fiercer now.

“…I came for a reason this time, Phoebe.” I gaze up at my ceiling, black and undistinguishable, illuminated in a certain rectangle with the pattern of the street lamp light filtering through my lace curtains. “Our king has sent me,” he whispers. My fingers clutch at my blue blanket and I turn to look at my wall. Supposedly the same, bumpy cream color of my ceiling, and yet much, much darker in the night. “He asked for me to bring you back to your rightful home.”

“I’m not going home yet, Robin.”

“Why? It’s so horrible here, living with the iron and these despicable, oblivious humans. They ignore you, too. I can feel it, Phoebe. You’re—,”

“Quiet,” I snap angrily. “You know nothing. It is because you knew nothing that I came here in the first place.”

“Oh, but I do know. I do…” His voice fades away and the last of his fingers drag across my stomach, leaving lingering coldness where they trailed away. It isn’t until I am greeted by the sudden, stoic silence that I know he has finally left in defeat. I breathe in, shuddering with relief, and pull the covers over my head, close my eyes and sigh.



I grind my teeth in annoyance as the birds that have made a nest in the tree in front of my window begin to twitter and sing. I’ve forgotten their language now, but oh, I remember how much of a gossip these feathered pests once were. With an angry swing, I shove my blanket off of me and sit up. Susanne has left already, living my bed as a jumble of fluff and fabric.

“Get up!” Theodore shouts as he slams the door open, his hair dripping water onto my carpet.

“I’m up!” I snap.

“Good,” he mutters as he turns around and stomps down the short hallway. I sigh and fall back onto the bed, then think about the consequences and grab my towel before making my way into the bathroom.

Downstairs, my father clicks away at the computer and Theodore, along with Samson, stares dully at the TV. How I hate Ninja Turtles. The old table is topped with greasy bacon and a few microwave-baked potatoes. Susanne stuffs some burnt bread into her mouth and I grimace, tasting the charcoal taste in my mouth. Steam pours out of the kitchen opening and I choke as the smell races to my lungs. With a few feeble waves, I fight my way in and grab a spoon. I peer into the wok as my mother rummages through a box of plastic bags. Something’s in there—the wok, I mean. I just don’t know if it’s edible.

I grab a bar of butter straight from the fridge and set it down on the table.

“Phoebe.” My body spins around, and yet I stare at empty air. “It’s almost spring, Phoebe. It’s almost in-between.” Robin. I gulp and hastily put the spoon down.

“Come,” I whisper urgently. I open the glass sliding door to our veranda and close the door after a few seconds. Leading Robin away from my family’s view, I pick up a piece of string laying on the grass and hand it to him. He ties it somewhere. “Where is it tied?”

“My neck. Now, Phoebe, you must come back or our whole world shall be jeopardized by your insolence,” he says harshly.

“Shush. Don’t talk to me like that,” I growl. I can’t see him at all, though, which makes me wary, but safe at the same time, because I can’t see his eyes either. “I will not, cannot, shall not go back to those people. And you should know this by now!” A wind rushes through, ruffling the edges of my hair and alighting my crazed desire to stay where I am.

“Oh, don’t lie,” Robin scoffed, “you are miserable here, aren’t you?”

I pause. Of course I am. These people, these humans have ruined me from the day I first settled into their minds a picture of me. The daughter they never had. They have given me baggy eyes and a raging, hormonal face. They have honored me with angry words of spite and fights that last the whole night through. Everything I needn’t worry about when I was once something different. But at the same, they have blessed me by showing me what it is I once never knew. A true love, not between a man and a woman, but between a person and a person. A green, thick vine that wraps around someone so tightly, it becomes comforting to carry it around. So comforting, you may as well go mad when you lose it.

“Yes. I am miserable, but I don’t regret it, and that’s what counts,” I assure him.

The grass suddenly flattens and I know he’s sitting down.

“But you don’t understand, Robin. The thrill and the joy of being so loved and accepted,” I continue fervently.

“You were loved in our kingdom, Phoebe. You always were.”

“Oh, but not like this. Not this beautiful, aching love.” I sigh and sit down from what I assume is across from him. “If only you would join me, then you would understand.”

“Never!” he remarks. “What fun is it to cry and work hard when in our realm you can simply sit back and watch the years pass away slowly. We have no work, no worries, everything a human would dream of!”

I shake my head solemnly. “You don’t understand, Robin, how it is to cry and work hard and always have someone there to cry and work hard with you. To have your heart shine when your little brother smiles or when your parents have that rare peck on the cheek.”

“Oh, but where you once lived, everybody’s smiling and everybody’s kissing.”

“But not like this. There they smile because they are drunk and horny. There they kiss because they have all the time in the world and don’t need to worry about their chosen one. Here, we have a limit, and our goal is to enjoy every second that was given to us.”

"And in the end? What happens then?" I sit silently, an answer struggling to make its way to my addled brain, but blocked by an iron wall. "See, Phoebe, you're simply being silly and naive. Let's go, let's go home," he pleads.

"You just don't understand," I whisper.

I wait for Robin to respond, but he's too baffled by my stobborness. Instead I watch as the string unravels and a whoosh of air hitting my face alerts me to the fact that he’s gone again.

I sit silently, basking under the sun, wondering…if I should have told him the truth. That my brothers barely smile as the years drag on and that I don’t remember seeing my parents show any affection for each other since forever.

“Phoebe! What are you doing! Stop being lazy and come vacuum the carpet. It’s a mess!” I stand up and listen to the brief sound of my father shouting maniacally at my brothers before the door slams shut. The glass shakes and I fear that it’ll shatter and fall to the ground. Samson comes up to the door and pounds on it, beckoning me in.