Page 20 (1/2)

PART ONE

THE GODS THAT ANSWER AFTER DARK

Title of Piece: Revenir

Artist: Arlo Miret

Date: 1721–22 AD

Medium: ash wood, marble

Location: On loan from the Museé d’Orsay

Description: A sculptural series of five wooden birds in various postures and stages of pre-flight, mounted on a narrow marble plinth

Background: A diligent autobiographer, Miret kept journals that provide insight into the artist’sthe inspiration for Revenir, Miret attributed the idea to a figurine found on the streets of Paris in the winter of 1715 The wooden bird, found with a broken wing, is reputedly re-created as the fifth in the sequence (albeit intact), about to take flight

Estimated Value: 175,000

New York City

March 10, 2014

I

The girl wakes up in someone else’s bed

She lies there, perfectly still, tries to hold time like a breath in her chest; as if she can keep the clock fro, keep the h sheer force of will

She knows, of course, that she can’t Knows that he’ll forget They always do

It isn’t his fault—it is never their faults

The boy is still asleep, and she watches the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the place where his dark hair curls against the nape of his neck, the scar along his ribs Details long memorized

His name is Toby

Last night, she told him hers was Jess She lied, but only because she can’t say her real name—one of the vicious little details tucked like nettles in the grass Hidden barbs designed to sting What is a person, if not the marks they leave behind? She has learned to step between the thorny weeds, but there are soraph, a name

In the last o, when she was Elle, and they were closing down a late-night café after one of his gigs, Toby said that he was in love with a girl named Jess—he simply hadn’t met her yet

So now, she is Jess

Toby begins to stir, and she feels the old familiar ache in her chest as he stretches, rolls toward her—but doesn’t wake, not yet His face is now inches fro his eyes, dark lashes against fair cheeks

Once, the darkness teased the girl as they strolled along the Seine, told her that she had a “type,” insinuating that most of the men she chose—and even a few of the women—looked an awful lot like him

The same dark hair, the same sharp eyes, the same etched features

But that wasn’t fair

After all, the darkness only looked the way he did because of her She’d given him that shape, chosen what to make of him, what to see

Don’t you re but shadow and smoke?