String Lights

Part I: My name is Specter (Chapter 2)

I looked toward my sister for help, but Lia simply gave a weak shrug and looked away. I shot her an angry glare.

"Mother," I whined.

"Do I really need to explain this to you?" Mother gave a sigh. "I need some light to make our supper, I can't read the labels on the bottles otherwise. And I have some cleaning I need to finish, so no, it can't be me. Hurry and get going."

"Didn't I just go out to catch glowphids yesterday?" I mumbled.

"Well, I woke up this morning and they were dead! I wouldn't send you out for them if we still had a supply, you know." 

"What in the filthy, horrendous name of Drew Erebus—"

It was always nice to use the dictator's name as a curse when I was annoyed. Sure enough, Mother cast me a dark look, so I proceeded to changing the subject.

"I—" What to say, what to say?

"What kind of glowphids die out so quickly?" I said at last, and could hear the stupidity in my voice with each syllable.

"Why don't you go and trap some of their friends in the forest? They might be able to tell you the answer," said Mother, her nostrils flaring.

I stood, rocking on my feet and chewing the inside of my cheek as I thought of what to say next. Mother had already turned to the broom propped against the fridge door and was sweeping the floor. Lia glanced between us, no doubt questioning how a simple topic of glowphids could turn the atmosphere so icy.

"I don't need any more than two or three," Mother said, indirectly addressing me. "Just a few will suffice. Please, don't make me tell you twice," she added, as I didn't move.

But I hadn't given up yet. I'd try a little more and if that didn't work, stop pushing it then.

"Can't I just read the bottle labels for you?"

"Darling."

The way she was made to use such an affectionate term with frustration in her tone gave me some guilty amusement.

"Oh, Mother, why can't I? I have much better eyesight than you, I can read just fine in the dark," I protested.

"Cricket, just drop it," Lia said quietly.

"Or—or—" I turned toward my sister, just reminded of her presence. "You know, Lia can go instead of me. . . ."

Mother's eyes flashed. Lia blinked, surprised, then bit her lip as the words sank in. I looked at the two of them, my mouth open in what I knew was a mortified expression. Inwardly I cursed myself, my lips for opening at all, my tongue for forming the words. 

"Sorry, Lia." I said this very quietly. "Is it bad today?"

"It's fine, Cricket," she said gently, but by the way she was leaning hard onto her good foot, I knew I had caught her on one of her more painful days. "Just go and get the glowphids. We'll be getting ready for dinner," Lia said.

I nodded, grateful to have an excuse to leave. Shooting a frightened glance toward Mother, whose eyes were closed in exasperation, I snatched up the glass jar and hurried out the door, slamming it behind me and stepping out into the frigid, bitter air.

･･･⛧･･･

Not every Specter in Chronicles was nameless, like me. Most families named their second and third and fourth children anyway, even whilst knowing they wouldn't be able to get it officially registered. For a time, I'd had a name of my own, too: Adeline, the name of my late paternal grandmother, whom I was said to have taken after in many aspects. But no sooner had I accepted this name than I rejected it. Unable to stand the inconsistency of the vowel and consonant sounds, I'd begun to demand being named again. And again. And again. The names and identities I'd collected over the past years were endless. From names that took after a relative's to names that rhymed with my older sister's, I thought it was pretty safe to say that there was no name that I hadn't tried.

But each time a switch happened, I was made to let go of whatever name I'd chosen shortly after, knowing that although I had nothing against it, the word just did not define me. I couldn't find that so-called connection with anything I tried out. Others fit their names and meanings perfectly; why couldn't I?

By the time I was ten, I'd stopped naming myself, and switching those names, altogether. Naturally, I had grown tired of having to replace and choose so many names for myself. It seemed like a much better option to remain unnamed—and so I refused to be called anything.

Mother, it turned out, objected more to my decision than I expected. She constantly bombarded me with name suggestions, urging me to select one quickly. But when it became clear that I wasn't in a rush, she quickly overcame her disappointment and moved on to coming up with terms I would be able to recognize, like "daughter" and "darling." Lia had long ago decided that "sister" was too formal, and instead had taken to affectionate nicknames like "Cricket," given to me for my tiny, bony figure and the way I seemed to chirp when I spoke.

One day, I knew, a perfect name would come to me. What I needed was time.

And until the right moment came, I would just remain nameless, undecided, biding my time without a care in the world, completely and utterly, as I liked to think of it, free.