Clair de Lune | Roberta Beary

In the sweltering heat of midsummer, in New York City’s most outer borough, 14 year-old Clair stands alone at the bus stop. She’s wearing a yellow sundress and a big, floppy straw hat. A man in a dilapidated convertible slowly pulls up along side her.  Clair’s mother, in her house across the street, watches from her window-seat. She can see her daughter’s hat bend towards the man. Clair’s mother sighs and walks to the kitchen and opens a new pack of cigarettes. At the bus stop the man begins to touch himself in the driver’s seat. Suddenly Clair moves away and turns her back to the car. The convertible drives off. Clair runs towards her house and rings the bell three times. “Can you give me a ride to the subway, Mom? The bus never came and it’s too hot out there,” Clair says in a rush, staring at her mother’s cigarette. Clair’s mother coughs as she inhales deep drags of smoke. “Can’t you see I'm not dressed? You’ll have to go back and wait for the bus. Since meeting your friends is more important than coming to the nursing home.” Clair slams the door behind her and slowly crosses back to the bus stop. The convertible drives by, this time without stopping. Clair’s mother stares out the window, smoking her cigarette, and watches the bus coming down the street. She doesn’t wait to see if Clair gets on.

***

“Mom, can you give me a ride or should I wait for the bus? I’m supposed to meet Madison at  Chevy Chase mall.” Clair stares at her daughter. “That top… where did you get it?”  Ella pouts as she adjusts the front bow on the skimpy red halter, then crosses her arms. “Mom, you are so mean and suspicious. No one ever looks at my boobs. They’re too little. Anyway, Madison gave it to me.”  There’s no sound except for the mantle clock, ticking loudly. “Ella, go change. And you can give Madison her top back after you’ve washed it.”  Ella’s feet drag up the stairs. A door slams overhead. Ella, wearing a polo shirt, stands before her mother. “Satisfied, Mom?” Clair nods. “Now remember, be careful at the mall, even though we live in a nice part of DC …” Ella holds up her hands. “I know, Mom. I know. Geez. I know it by heart. Anything can happen. And if it does, no matter what, no matter where, I’m to call you right away and you’ll come and get me. Because no matter what time it is, even 3AM, you will always come and get me.” Ella pauses to catch her breath. “Now can we go? Madison’s waiting for me.”  Clair stares past her daughter, “We can go now, but don’t forget to call me when you’re done. We’re going to visit Grandma at the nursing home. You know how much she looks forward to seeing you.”

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Roberta Beary grew up in New York and identifies as gender-fluid. Their work is featured in Atticus Review, Necessary Fiction, New York Times, Rattle Magazine, and other publications. They are the author of four poetry collections and co-author of a craft book on haibun, a form of prose poetry. They were named as joint winner of the Bridport Prize for Poetry (UK). A trauma survivor, they divide their time between USA and Ireland.