A Collection of Mona
Mona has always been a lonely girl.
She inherited eyes the color of the Irish Sea from an uncle named Patrick who has a fondness for whiskey and a habit of women – women like the black-braided Rosa.
Rosa paints sky portraits of far away lands. Her most recent collection, the Patrick’s Heart series, is showing in Amsterdam.
Mona’s father, Kyle, was shattered by the reflective discovery of his baby’s eyes. It was the wrong mirror. His wife never denied or confirmed anything about her relationship with Patrick. She drove her ’87 Camaro over the edge of a sharp turn on Mona’s one week birthday.
Mona is a very confused little girl.
Uncle Patrick takes care of Mona. He cares for her in that way where words are not required or expressed. He reads her two stories before she goes to sleep every night.
Mona doesn’t understand.
Rosa is painting a collection of Mona; Mona’s Irish Sea eyes, Mona’s salty plum lips. Each stroke she completes pops an inquisitive gaze wider.
Rosa loves her very much.
Mona doesn’t feel like she’s been away for long. She enters the kitchen; cracked aqua paint splinters down thin walls. Uncle Patrick is saying, “It’s like I can still feel her in my arms.”
Patrick is in a familiar place yet still can’t seem to gain his bearings.
Mona is seven years old and knows her phone number by heart. She is a clever, witty child. Although she’s only had two schoolteachers so far, they both told Patrick and Rosa how bright she is.
Rosa stares blankly at Mona while painting. Her vision goes in and out of focus; things are blurry, like opening your eyes under water.
Mona isn’t sure if she’s meant to smile or frown.
“I went to the school,” Patrick continues, pacing counter-clockwise circles around Rosa. “I picked her up at school and the teacher said–”
“I won the spelling bee!” says Mona, abruptly and out of sorts. An unfamiliar hush snowballs in the background through a crescendoed “Shhhhhhhh!”
Why won’t either of them listen to me?
Rosa reaches for a slender brush, slides it across a shallow plate of crimson paint. Patrick usually reprimands Rosa for using salad plates as palettes, but today he doesn’t notice. Nor does he notice the red slashes Rosa is scarring across her latest portrait.
Mona never understood Rosa’s art. She walks over to the refrigerator to get a glass of water. A distant voice calls.
“Hurry quick and get your drink, sweetie! Daddy’s just saying goodbye to
Uncle Patrick and his friend!”
The water is cold on Mona’s lips and stings her teeth.
“What happened after school? What happened after school?” repeats Patrick.
Rosa’s silence beckons his breaking point. When he throws her painting the fall seems noiseless.
Outside, Kyle is dropping two bodies into a well. He remembers helping his little brother dig the well all of those years ago.
Mona doesn’t seem afraid; this comforts Kyle. He begins to daydream about a new life with his daughter.
A shriek erupts from the kitchen.
– Gretchen Cello usually refers to herself in lower case and probably has a crush on you. She tries to make sense of her existence as a writer/human at www.FollowMeToNYC.com. Her favorite things include olives, Bananafish
Magazine, and the way German people pronounce her name.
Also by Gretchen Cello: "Bloody Girl"
