“You ought to keep your filthy hands off my skirt, Mattie! Mother wouldn’t approve if she were to discover I had soiled it not even a week since Papa had come to visit.”

     “Oh please! Mother this. Mother that. You ought not to cherish it so much! Sage, if I attended to every silly request of Mother, I’d be so nutty that all the fruitcakes in the world would be jealous.”
     And so Mattie went about meticulously wiping her hands on her own silvery white dress, making the utmost effort to ferry every last bit of grime, all the while smiling condescendingly down at Sage.

***

     Sage was born into a family of four. From before she ceased her “adorable little crawl,” as Mother ever called it, she would plop herself on that crimson rocking chair Grandmother had bestowed upon her family. And on that chair, clutching the solid wood of its handle with her delicate hand, she lost all sense of time amidst the rhythmic cadence of its chirr against the wooden porch beneath. On Saturdays, she would read intimately for hours on end, her naked little feet drawn up close to her. Only when her mother chided her that the tingly spiders in her toes would make their way up into her eyes -- that she would never be able to see the light to read again -- did Sage scuttle her tiny self through the front door and to the dinner table.

     Every morning she would nibble on Mother’s warm johnnycakes, and by the window, her friend: a yellow warbler, would nibble too on his own morning bread. Leaving for school on that bright yellow bus that arrived at 7:25, surprisingly never wavering from such a precise hour, she would receive a tender kiss from Mother, always an easy, cheerful smile.

     Her father left home two years back. Mother had told her they were having “controversies,” whatever that meant. Sage never found out exactly why Papa had to leave so abruptly, but he visited from time to time, so it was “alright, I guess,” -- for Sage knew he would be back to stay, “in a minute now.”

     Before she was born, Papa had bought the most beautiful skirt in the world just for her. It was a dainty little skirt. A soft pink with little white embroidered flowers she liked to run her fingers over. It took eight long years for its ruffled ends to finally not wilt beneath her knees. Until recently, she had kept it safe in the rightmost corner of her closet; and now that she had begun donning it, under no circumstance would she allow it to perish from its lofty state of immaculation to the likes of her sister’s filthy hands. She wore it on every opportunity she could procure. It brought her decorum on Mattie’s eleventh birthday. Faith; when they went to see Grandmother in the hospital. Good luck; when she discussed lines from Catcher in the Rye in class. “It is a peculiar little idiosyncrasy of hers,” Miss Clements would say of her fondness towards her skirt. “A blankie is to a child as her skirt is to Sage.”

***

     The weekend before her skirt’s close call with Mattie’s intruding palms, Papa came over for a visit.
     Since he had left, he had been appearing twice a month to see her (Sage never actually kept count, but that’s what Mother had told her). “Your father’s coming for dinner tomorrow night, Sage,” Mother would call from stirring leftover pasta in a tattered saucepan from their bare kitchen. And before she could turn around to heed her reply, Sage was already scurrying up the stairs to her room, her soft feet a muted thumping against the old carpet underneath.
     There she would promptly latch her door shut, rendering her room secure from the advent of yucky fingers (or any other unwanted horror for that matter). Then, with the nimblest turn of her wrist she would ever so slightly vent her closet open, so only the faintest glint of light and the corners of her tiny eyes could fit through the crevice.
     A sense of comfort, an easing of a causeless worry, broke a smile across her face. “I can’t wait to show Papa my skirt tomorrow,” she thought to herself.

     And so she did.
     The sun had set on a moonless night. The once rosy dusk engulfed by black waves. The air was moist, but in the most refreshing of manners. Candles gleamed splendidly from the windows of their house, setting it apart from the shadows and lighting the way for Papa down the old gravel path. A familiar knocking on the door: stern, but welcoming, brought Sage out from the depths of her imagination. Without even dragging her worn stool from under the sofa to poke her eye through the peephole first, as Mother always instructed, she rushed to free the door from its latch and leapt into her father's hearty arms.
     “Oh how I missed my little Princess! Still adorable as she always is, never ceasing to leave my heart devoid of what it pines for most. And look here! I’ve brought you a new doll! I think Madeline over there might be in need of a friend, don’t you?”
     Sage succumbed herself to the closeness of his grip. “I missed you too, Papa,” she replied softly. Her strawberry hair fell in lovely curls around his shoulders.

     The house filled with the eclectic smells of Mother’s cooking. Warm garlic bread, roast duck, pumpkin pie -- a myriad of lusciousness flooded her pink nose. Papa was grinning. Mother was laughing. An enthralling sense of euphoria rushed through Sage’s veins, from her core spreading to the tips of her extremities. She felt as if she were floating on a cloud of bliss. The scope of her world had been reduced to the confines of her home. Nothing could divert her mind from the state of tranquility it was frozen in.
     At the table, Papa looked up from his plate with glistening eyes and a smile: “Your skirt. It looks beautiful on you, Sage.”

***

     On weekdays, Mother would encourage Sage to stay after school and play with her friends, albeit with the contingency that she be back before dark. Of course, Sage would much rather remain in the comforts of that crimson rocking chair, delving upon her plethora of unfinished texts, but attending Mother’s requests as she always did, Sage had soon begun to enjoy time outside the house.

     Nature had gifted Sage and her friends with a pleasant day. Only a couple lingering clouds floated aimlessly above from the storm last Monday. The sun brought a satisfying warmth, and a gentle zephyr a refreshing chill. Gentle beams of light flickered amid the healthy green foliage. Sage and her friends gathered around the rusty swingset at the edge of the playground. Eagerly awaiting the arrival the rest of their company, each girl stood on her toes carrying a large woven basket -- some clasping the handle firmly with both hands, others attentively balancing it on their tiny heads, and the rest taking a seat in its wide center. The more unwieldy, they thought, the more berries they could lug back home before sunset.

     Sage, so mesmerized by the meadow ahead, where they would spend the next peaceful hours amongst the fragrant flowers and berry bushes, fell behind the others. She felt the inkling of a certain excitement from within her chest. “Hey guys, wait up! I’m coming!” she cried, clumsily racing down the grassy hill, oversized basket flailing behind her with every petite stride.

***

A fortnight later

     The night crept rapidly through the dry air. The faintest streaks of light were annihilated one by one; bare branches thrashed violently against defenseless shingles. The delicate pitter patter at Sage’s window, a syncopated intensifying and subsiding, revealed the drizzle of rain outside. Her closet was drawn wide open, garments shoved to either end -- her skirt hung dead center, a night light illuminating it from below. Her friends had concocted a devious plan to sneak out in the cover of darkness and trek all the way to the outskirts of their beloved meadow. There they would trespass into the misty woods, going through all the trouble to pick “the most delicious berries in the entire universe.” Naturally, Sage was more than reluctant to accompany her friends on such an unfathomable venture. Instead, she was curled up tightly into a ball on her bed, her chin resting on the tops of her feet. With the most fervent optimism, she hoped they wouldn’t show up at her window and “pick her up” as they said they would. She played back Mother’s remindful words in her head over and over again to calm herself. “Now, remember, Sage. You may play with your friends after school, but you will be back by sunset, won't you?” The last two syllables echoed in her ears.
     THUD!
     The sudden crash on the window startled her up from her petrified state. As she saw the menacing eyes of her friends, she began to tear up, frantically shaking her head side to side in hopes they would leave her alone. To her defeat, a barrage of thud after thud was the only sound she heard thereafter. She quickly got out of bed and, reaching into her closet, yanked the skirt off its hanging. She clutched it tightly to her chest in a final hope to awake from what she so dearly wished was a dream.

     The trip to the wooded outskirts of the meadow didn’t take nearly as long as Sage hoped it would; nevertheless, by the time she had struggled her way out the window and blundered her way through the spongy grass of the rainy night, she was already soiled from head to toe. The girls lined up next to each other at the head of the wood. The towering trees seemed to reach far above the heavens, their shadows engulfing the girls’ miniature bodies. Without warning, the other girls started to count down: “Three, two, one, GO!” And with that they were off, sprinting into the depths of the unknown.
Sage, still under the spell cast by the enormity of her surroundings, was left terrified by their sudden depart. She sprung forward with all the might her little feet would deliver her, but in an instant, she was left alone. Darting her head from side to side she tried to make out her surroundings, aching to catch even the slightest glimpse of one of her friends. “Hello!! Where did you guys go?! I think I see the berries over here!” she called.

     The moon was full, but not even its luminous rays could penetrate the thick coverings above. The deep black air had stripped her of her sense of sight, and the intensity of her panic suppressed the others. The utter blackness of the woods too great for her mind to fathom. There was not a single sign of the other girls -- only the intensifying echo of rain overwhelming her ears and the whipping of wind against her back.
     In an effort to regain her collectedness, she stood motionless, both hands gripping her skirt. She tried to recall Mother’s soothing voice, but her head failed to replay a single word. She thought of all the times she spent reading on that beloved rocking chair of hers, right outside her home, but the only scenes from stories her mind could make out were of death, violence, and murder. Thinking of Mother’s tender kisses before school brought initial comfort, but soon her cheerful smile faded and the only vision Sage could see were of the dreary droops under Mother’s eyes. The wind howled blaringly from all directions. Sage clenched her dear skirt even tighter, shut her eyes as tense as she could, and with all her might tried to think of happy thoughts. Her attempts were increasingly futile. Reflections of Papa’s warm grins when he came over for dinner brought visions of Mattie’s wry smile every time she defied Mother’s requests. And thinking of that meadow where she used to find an escape into tranquility brought her back to the present -- in the woods, alone.
     Suddenly the shadows behind her seemed to grow even larger. Limbs began to crack from trees, crashing to the ground. She began to wail in tears, screeching at the top of her lungs. Amongst the falling branches, she could make out the faintest glimpse of moonlight from above. Without another option, she ran towards the light as if it were an Angel descending from above.

***

     Following the light for what seemed an eternity, she reached the outskirts of the woods. None of other the girls were to be found. Panic continued to proliferate through her body. Her mind could focus on nothing but making it back to the comforts of her home. The shadows grew larger and larger the faster she ran, but she continued to peddle her little feet until she detected the vinyl-sided facade of her house and swiftly stormed through her window and onto her bed, taking cover under the layers of sheets.

     Amongst the shadows, the house began to settle down.  It was quieter now in the shelter of her home. Her hands lay on top of her chest, rapidly ascending and descending with every breath. Each creak of her house was comforting, but there was an also an edge that was never there before. She felt a sense of safety under her sheets, but she could do nothing to stop the tremor in her leg. Soon, everything became silent – except for her heart, fluttering frantically. Exhausted, Sage turned her head over onto her pillow.
     Her eyes widened instantly.
     She began to quiver.
     There, her beautiful, delicate skirt lay in a pool on the ground, detached from her waist.

     Its soft pink – a muted gray in the dim light – a jagged rip marring the side.