The Stone Garden, Page 2

Other Titles by J.A. Pak

  Seal Skin

  I had told myself that I would not cry. That I would hold on to my anger so tightly, there would be no space for pity. And I did not cry, until the plane was in the air, and I was alone, and he was with her.

  It was just a single tear, dropped because of a second of distraction—the remembrance of how much he had loved me.

  And then there was another tear, and another, and another, and the man sitting next to me told me it was not an uncommon thing. People often cried on planes. Human migration tended to coincide with physical and emotional turmoil. It is not an uncommon thing, broken hearts, he said. His voice was like the waters surrounding a sacred temple, ancient, primordial; his voice was that ancient thing inside of me. I needed to hold him.

  He asked me my name. Lily. He laughed because he could have guessed it, it was so natural to me, and for the first time, I felt it was my name and I was glad.

  His name was Brenn. There was so much of him that seemed old, so much of him that seemed young, I could not guess his age. He was a beautiful listener and he listened to every part of me so that I was telling him my entire story.

  I was all brittle fragments: