She was horribly naked. All she had left was her shadow, which she gathered up like tulle. She slipped her head through an opening in the shadow and pulled it down over her body until it covered the tops of her thighs.
It was her own fault. She chose to follow the others out of town to the wildflower field. After setting up camp, they had a long celebration. The last thing she remembered was lying on a rumpled purple duvet in a grit of cracker crumbs with empty beer cans scattered at her head.
When she woke in the morning, it was all gone except for the field and her own shadow, which she’d found shivering on the ragged grass. She’d been wearing her second favorite dress, and they’d stolen it.
Dressed in her shadow, she made her way back to the road home. They’d taken her shoes, but she used her teeth to rip out pieces of the shadow to make herself a pair of slippers.
Walking across the field and to the road where red and yellow sedans sped from one oblivion to the next, she noticed that a freckle was crawling around the knuckle of her right thumb. It could have been a tick. Whatever it was, she couldn’t wipe it away. The spot clung stubbornly. She grabbed a corner of shadow fabric from her makeshift sleeve and brushed at the spot. One touch with the shadow, and it was gone.
“I never knew how practical this shadow was,” she said to herself. “It’s an outfit, and it gets rid of bugs.”
As she emerged from the tall grass to the side of the road, a yellow car stopped for her. A woman with curly hair stuck her head out of the window and offered her a ride.
She accepted her place in the passenger seat, the sun-warmed leather, the faint scent of grape-flavored candy lingering in the air. The radio played an anti-war song titled “Even the Score.” Instead of getting even, as in taking revenge, the song advised forgetting everything, even the score. They’d played it at the party in the field the night before. They’d played a lot of humanistic tunes.
“Do you need to go to the hospital?” the curly-haired woman asked.
“Why do you say that?”
The woman cleared her throat and looked away. She clung tighter to her steering wheel.
“I’m fine. I’m in no distress. If you’re going by Albertville, you can drop me off there. That’s where I live.”
“I don’t know where that is.”
“It’s just down the road. Probably half an hour’s drive.”
“What’s your name? How did you get out here?” the curly-haired woman asked.
She was about to answer “Heather” since that had been her name, but the answer shifted before she could speak. She felt cooler than that name. She thought of inventing a new name for the occasion, but she couldn’t think of one fast enough.
“It was Heather,” she said, which sounded more ominous than she intended. “I attended a party out here, and I guess I overslept.”
“You look like you’re due any minute. I have to take you to the hospital right away.”
“Due for what?” Heather said.
“A baby.”
“I’m not pregnant! You know, it’s rude to assume that kind of thing.”
“If you were wearing any clothes, I wouldn’t be so sure. But I can see you all the way around. Anyone can see you’re pregnant. Right at the end, too.”
“I’m not naked. I’m wearing this.” She gestured down at her shadow, adjusting it to make sure it covered her thighs.
“What?”
“My shadow.”
“I guess we’re all wearing our shadows. But I can see right through yours. I
see everything.”
Heather wanted to be angry at the curly-haired woman, but she had been so helpful.
“Please, if we turn up ahead, we can make a quick visit to the hospital. I’ll pay for it. Then I’ll take you home,” the curly-haired woman promised.
“Sure.” At the hospital, they gave her a paper gown to wear, and the curly-haired woman stayed behind in the waiting room. She asked the nurse if she should take off her shadow, but he ignored the question.
A sonogram revealed a strange mass inside her.
“A baby?” she asked.
The nurse brought in the doctor, and they talked to each other about it.
“A baby?” the nurse said.
“Too fluid,” the doctor said.
“A tumor?”
“Too pretty.”
“A growth?”
The doctor didn’t answer that question. Instead, he proposed exploratory surgery.
She was curious, too, so she agreed to be cut open.
They found nothing, but when she woke, her dress was longer than before. Down to her knees.
She knew what had happened. Since she had to wear her shadow, her body sensed it needed more. It grew more shadow. It was so beautiful, soft as an animal and light as breath. If the doctors hadn’t cut her open, the extra shadow would have found a way out.
“Your stomach is distended for unknown reasons. Some sort of inflammation,” the nurse said. There was nothing they could do for her, so they let her go.
The curly-haired woman drove her home, disappointed that there was no baby.
Heather wore the hospital gown in the car to appease everyone.
At home, she examined herself in the mirror. The shadow clung to her body, and it was her body. She showered without taking off her shadow, then put a bathrobe over it.
A salesman knocked on the door. When she greeted him, he asked when she was due.
“It’s a growth,” she told him. She bought a set of knives from him.
He went away confused.
The next time a party passed to lead her out of town, it would be fun to follow along. They probably couldn’t steal her shadow. Anyway, the shadow was a self-renewing resource. With it, there was no threat of nakedness or spots or bugs. When she went outside, her shadow kept her cool, and the sun shone around her.
Ivy Grimes has stories in The Baffler, ergot., hex, and elsewhere. Her collection Glass Stories is out with Grimscribe Press. Feel free to visit her at www.ivyivyivyivy.com.