Body of Stars Laura Walter (chrome ebook reader .txt) 📖

any other. This future he described unfolded before me as clearly as if our mother was reading it to us as part of a bedtime story: There I was, an older version of myself, working side by side with Julia. There I was, handing out textbooks and teaching a class. There I was, making the same predictions my brother had once made. I was a teacher, an interpreter, someone who earned the respect and trust of girls the nation over. I moved, I married, I taught girls, I watched as the abduction predictions dwindled over time, until they stretched so thin they started to disappear.

In that wavering mirage of the future, Miles was by my side. Then he was not. Throughout the whole of my womanhood, I would carry not just my brother’s life but his death. The slick patch of winter-made ground, the fall, the hematoma. The end of him, despite it all.

I came to with a start. The sun had moved in the sky. Miles was lying on his hip, glassy-eyed, watching me.

“What just happened?” I asked him.

His expression was serene. “I think you know.”

I didn’t. Or if I did, I refused it. Everyone knew the only true way to predict the future was through a woman’s markings. The tarot, crystal balls, astrology, palm reading—all of that was a scam. Bloodflower was a drug for the past. It made girls remember. It couldn’t tell the future, that was impossible, it just couldn’t.

But I saw the future spreading before me regardless. I watched the unspooling vision of girl after girl lining up outside Julia’s townhouse, each more beautiful and true-skinned than the last. Miles was not there save for a strobing flash in my memory, the energy in my hands as I carried out our work. The taste of strawberry. The markings spelling life and the markings spelling death.

I lifted my arm tentatively into the air. The grass below my body prickled. I was of the world and I was beyond it. Girls were being born all over, their cries beating a protest into the air. The vision was clear. I grew older, grew settled, grew skilled. Girls lined up to see me. In those young bodies I found the same thing, which is to say a lack, so many times that soon I was barely looking for anything at all. Instead I pressed my fingers to the markings on the girl before me and thought, with wonder and intention: You are free. You are wild. You are, now and in the future, entirely your own.

Acknowledgments

Thanks first and forever to my literary lifelines: Huda Al-Marashi, Jennifer Marie Donahue, Liz Breazeale, and Jackie Delano Cummins. Jennifer and Huda have been there from this novel’s beginnings and are, to steal Huda’s term, my literary soul mates. Liz and Jackie made my years in the MFA rich in feminist energy, which surely infused the pages of this book, and their continuing friendship sustains me both creatively and personally. Each of these brilliant women lent her time, attention, and critical vision to help me become a better writer, and I’ll remain forever grateful.

Huge thanks to so many other writers who helped me along the way. Charlie Oberndorf read parts of this novel in various early iterations, and Kathy Ewing, Mary Grimm, Lynda Montgomery, Mara Purnhagen, Tricia Springstubb, Sam Thomas, Susan Grimm, Bill Johnson, Amy Kesegich, Mary Norris, Jeff Gundy, Donna Jarrell, Susan Carpenter, Sherry Stanfa-Stanley, John Frank, Lawrence Coates, the late Wendell Mayo, and my cohort at Bowling Green State University’s MFA program contributed advice, insight, and writerly camaraderie over the years. Thanks also to Bob Mooney and Kathy Wagner, who encouraged me in earlier days when I needed it most, and to Washington College for the gift of the Sophie Kerr Prize.

My eternal appreciation and respect to Erin Harris, my outstanding literary agent. I knew from the start that she’d make me work harder than any other agent, and because of that, she got the best book out of me. Erin, you were right: it was worth the wait.

I could not have dreamed up a better editor than Stephanie Kelly, who has been an enthusiastic advocate for this novel from the moment she read it. Her sharp editorial eye helped me see this fictional world more clearly and inspired me to bring renewed energy to its pages. All my thanks to Lexy Cassola, Natalie Church, Caroline Payne, Sarah Thegeby, Alice Dalrymple, Chris Lin, Kaitlin Kall, Erin Byrne, Tiffany Estreicher, and the rest of the Dutton team, as well as Alexis Seabrook and Mary Beth Constant, for putting such care into this book.

The Corporation of Yaddo, Art Omi: Writers, the Tin House Summer Workshop, and the former Writers in the Heartland offered invaluable support related to this novel. Thanks to Ramona Ausubel for teaching the craft class at the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference that sparked the genesis of this story back in 2012. I also extend my gratitude to the good people of Cleveland Public Library for giving me a flexible job that helped support my own writing, with special thanks to Tim Diamond.

My late mother, June Lois Walter, always believed in my writing, and I’ll never stop being grateful for her support and influence. Thank you to Craig Walter and Scott Walter for the sibling experiences; to Emily Garver and Jenny Benson for embracing me as family from the start; to Kelly Moore for always championing my efforts to make the writing life a priority; to Megan Doyle, Amy Mescia, Adrienne Murry, Bethany Schrum, and Erin Snell for the long-standing friendships; to Matt Weinkam for all he does for local writers; and to the many writers, teachers, students, organizers, librarians, and booksellers who make Cleveland’s literary scene what it is and for welcoming me into it.

Finally, to Peter Garver: thank you for challenging me, for supporting me, and for always encouraging me to pursue what matters most.

About the Author

Laura Maylene Walter is