The boy was weeping all night, she said.
He is small, and sickly. His skin seems to have a shiny wetness to it, as if he’s been exerting himself. His eyes are large and dark and bottomless. He watches them for long periods of time, without blinking.
She looks at him, watching them, and thinks he is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. He moves his body as if floating through space. As though he’s never experienced the sensation of gravity. She catches him fluttering his fingers and toes, quickly, starting and stopping abruptly. She’s dressed him in clothes she found at the Salvation Army. She chose different sizes, because she wasn’t sure, at first, what would fit him. Most everything was too large, and now his tee shirt hangs off of him, and far past his waist.
She was never able to cut his hair. He became hysterical the first time she tried. It hangs long and straight, down each side of his face. It spills across his back and shoulders, like ebony waves. It only makes him more beautiful, she thinks.
His crying started suddenly, in the night, with a long deep moan. The sound rose and fell, a rhythmic melody, that at first made her gut twist with emotion and tears burn her eyes. It was so visceral and painful that she turned away, and fled to the backyard.
Outside, when the night air hit her, and she slid the glass door closed, she felt relief to have some space between her and the boy’s sobbing. Her eyes had not quite adjusted to the dark, than she quickly heard the crying again. Through the walls, it came creeping out. She had the impression that it was actually louder outside, as though it was being amplified by the night. It filled the sky, his relentless weeping. She covered her ears with her hands, but the crying pounded back. Through her hands, as she looked out into the darkness, his crying began to change. It didn’t actually sound like weeping, at all in fact. It sounded more like a song, a melodic chanting. Over and over, the same sound repeated. And as she took her hands from her ears, she noticed that it was coming from somewhere else now. Someone, out there, was answering the boy, with the same exact sobs. Out there, in the night, they had heard the boy’s cries, and answered him. Perhaps someone was looking for him. Someone, or maybe something.