Some days were just like that, for Lilith. Days when you just might as well go lie down. "I am so lucky ", she thought to herself. How her friends had situated her, this way.
That they felt this way about her. That she had room to be the courageous, powerful, maimed individual she was . The best friend of Mira , as a child; Mira who had thought and planned and got her away from her family to Mira's boisterous loving parents and protective big brothers, to finish her growing up in love and laughter and peace .
Some days, she would emerge from her small cottage, tucked to the side of Mira and Gemma's house. Where the fence enclosed the whole property, made by Forest. To look decorative, but in truth, to make Lilith feel protected. Even as she was learning that she did not need protection.
Her front door had a large dog door, and a small dog door. For the families' dogs to come and go, as they wished. Dog doors in the main house too. So that the dogs at times would wander in, in the middle of the night, and crawl into bed with her. Sleeping with her. Cats too. No fishercats here. The dogs keeping the coyote away. So the cats seemed safe. Back from the road.
And they would wander from one house to another.
So she had her place here, on Mira and Gemma's land, up close to the house, built by Forest. Her own tiny cottage, enclosed by the hearts of her friends. Family, now, really.
And somehow, over the years, over the number of times that Mira showed her ,truly. And Forest. And Gemma. And the children. That there was a place for her here. Simply because there was. That she owed no one. But they had enough, and they had chosen to do this.
Just because it felt true, over time, she found peace with this. Not as a weak person. But rather, as a particular sort of being on the earth. In need of space. Time. To spend her days in the dance and the consequence and the needs of unwinding injuries. As she slowly rebuilt herself.
When it was a distressed day ,when everything was spinning about , she would put up a deep blue flag. On the inside glass window of her front door.
And the children would understand. They'd been taught.
Maybe they would come and knock on her door, and leave Chamomile tea and coffeecake, from Gemma. Or a sachet that they created from the dried flowers of the gardens. Or a drawing of something vibrant and hopeful. Or a salt clay sculpture, warm from the oven, of two hands , holding each other. With their initials and hers on perspective fingers.
On days with ease and resilience, she put up a yellow flag. And then maybe she would have no visitors, or maybe Forest would've come by to do one thing or another with house or kids or Mira , or Gemma ; and, catching sight of the door, would come wandering over. To start fixing up something on her small front porch. He was so subtle.
She would smile to herself, and go out, offering him some cool well water. Sit in the swing he had attached to the roof of her porch. The porch of the house he had built for her. Saying to her "Why not?" And "We all need your wise self here, with us, in our family."
And eventually he would perch upon the stairs, and talk casually about one thing or another
Or Mira would show up, taking a break from writing, the two-year-old and three-year-old and five-year-old and seven-year-old and 11-year-old with her, in unpredictable combinations.
All of them playing an hysterical, raucous game of kickball in the yard between her cottage and the house, the dogs underfoot. And she could not contain her laughter, spilling out of her one magnificent room cottage, running into the fray with them.
On good days, she would make up a vegetable bean loaf, with gravy, big, and bring it over in the late afternoon; then sit down at the long kitchen counter with Gemma, drinking cafix or tea , sitting quietly, or talking about simple things, as they folded laundry, took care of kids, or mended things, as Mira finished writing upstairs.
Sharing dinner with the whole lot of them. Helping to clean up, folding a few more stacks of clothing, meandering off in the labyrinthian home, to put things away, dropping in on kids here, stroking curled cats there, in all the nooks and crannies of the home.
One day she looked out, and saw all of them getting on their hands and knees in the herb garden, which was shaped like a maze, and scooting about, each one making a different silly noise.
Bumping into each other and making a big crashing noise! Turning about, like a robotic vacuum cleaner, heading off in a different direction. until she would laugh, having had too much of it, and go crawling out of her door too- both dogs coming up to her with delight, bumping her with their muzzles, lick licking her face, as she laughed, playfully grabbing one paw , and then the other ,to tease them. And then slinking through the maze, until she went around the corner and surprised one or the other of them. Both screeching!
It was then that they would all sit up, and suddenly you could see everyone's heads. All ages. So many hues. Sizes. Then they would all laugh and laugh. And then the kids would cry "Again! Again!", and they would all slink down once more, and start all over .
So often she would be listening and soothing upset teenagers. Helping 11-year-olds with their most frustrating math homework. Playing board games with the 5 year old, as he explained in blazing detail how one machine or animal or mathematical dynamic worked, laughing like a sweet nutso , cat in lap , as he prepared to win! Holding the two and three-year-olds on her lap, (who by-the-way entered and exited through the dogs doors if the welcome flag was up)
She would hold them while they sobbed about one thing or another, taking their small turns, interrupting and filling in for each other, telling the story all over again.
Forest or Mira or Gemma sitting quietly on her porch swing, glad that the children had someone to go be with , at times like this .
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