String Lights

Part I: My name is Specter (Chapter 2)

Lulu stood at the window of the spacecraft, gazing out at the marvelous world which had just unraveled before her eyes. She was given the sudden, fleeting impression that she was looking at a painting, only she'd never seen art take form on a canvas quite so vast. To think that Lulu would be landing there in two days' time, on that strange blue and green planet in front of her which was rumored to inhabit human beings outside of Premus . . . She could hardly believe any of it, could hardly even believe she'd crossed the whole universe with her father just for this opportunity—

"Darling, can you come down for a minute?"

I was startled back into reality. It was Mother's voice, calling from two floors below but as loud and clear as it would have been if she'd spoken standing right next to me. I paused for a moment before turning back to the book I had been reading, choosing to assume that of her two daughters, Mother was calling not for my help but for the help of her eldest, my older sister Lia.

It had been a particularly quiet Onesday. I had been lying on my stomach in bed all day, propped up on my elbows as I made my way through the irresistible stack of new books I'd picked up that morning while running errands. They now lay in a heap on my bedside table, each waiting for its turn. Such rare mornings of privacy and leisure hardly ever found its place into my typical five-day week, and so as much as I was willing to assist my mother normally—given that it was me she was calling for—today I wasn't as eager. Turning back to the book in my hands, I scanned the page with my eyes and found the line where I'd left off.

Lulu imagined her mother at home in Chronicles, who would probably be waiting with both anticipation and anxiety for their return. The thought of arriving back in Premus, ready with fascinating stories about the blue and green planet—or as everyone back home called it, Finis—was nearly enough to make Lulu forget about the guilt about having to leave her mother behind. But guilt put aside, there were still lots of things on her mind, worries that hadn't simply subsided with the mere arrival of her curiosity.

"Darling!" came Mother's voice again.

I suppressed a groan and closed my book, knowing there was no denying that she was calling me. Lia, the obedient and dutiful daughter she was, would have already been downstairs by this time had it been she Mother was asking for. What exactly were the matters and worries on Lulu's mind, I would have to wait till later to learn. I got up and walked to the end of my attic bedroom, where an open doorway stood waiting to admit me.

"Sweetie, did you hear me? Sweetheart—darling—oh goodness, this is getting repetitive. Darling, we're in the kitchen, Lia and I. Come down!"

"On my way," I yelled down the ladder. As I descended, the voices of my sister and mother conversing downstairs grew more and more distinct, so that I could recognize instantly what the topic of their little argument was about: me.

"Honestly, Mother," said Lia's voice, "seeing how she's not getting used to responding to such vague terms, I really think it would be better if you found a specific name to use."

"Well, she doesn't seem to want it," said Mother with a sigh. "I'm not forcing her to do anything she doesn't want to, this included."

"I'm telling you, a nickname would be best, like the one I use to call her. . . ."

"'Cricket' is not a proper name for a human child, Lia!" said Mother indignantly.

I started down the last flight of rickety steps, snorting with silent laughter, just in time to hear my sister reply, "She's not a child. And besides, it's affectionate, Mother. As long as she doesn't mind being called by it, there's no problem, is there?"

"Of course not," I said as I strode into the kitchen, stepping from the swept wooden floors onto clean kitchen tile. Instantly their voices ceased.

Feeling the weight of their eyes, I looked up and glanced back and forth between the two disputants. One, my mother, was tall and lean, with graceful features resembling a swan's and a face that would have radiated beauty and youth had it not been for the lines, wrinkles, and grimaces of disapproval which had so often dug thin cracks into her clear skin. The other, standing next to her, was my sister; with an alluring beauty that could be recognized even in the dark and a soft and gentle approach to everything, she and I had been born with complete opposite personalities and appearances. Lia had inherited Mother's good looks, and I many of Mother's characteristics, such as her determination, her passion, and, of course, her obstinacy.