I really envy your ability to stay home and not have to ever lift a finger. You must please your husband in all the right ways to get him on board.
Ha, I really do. Peter falls asleep with a smile on his face every night. But I must say, I envy your ability to eat half a gallon of ice cream every day…and your toilet is immaculate. Almost like you clean it every day. What do you use?
My toilet is clean because we are clean people, Sheryl. We eat clean, we don’t let the yellow mellow. Now your house is positively spotless. So much energy you have! I can only imagine your husband let’s you get a good night sleep every night.
I married a good man, Donna. There’s still a few good ones out there that’ll agree with your interesting lifestyle. I know a woman who found a man that took in both her AND her mother.
I’m just grateful that my mother still wants to see me every day. The joy she takes in making me breakfast every morning…well I’m sure when you finally got into those jeans you’ve been hanging onto, yours will come around and enjoy you too.
Oh my lanta, Donna, aren’t you just a peach.
With every passing hour I have ticked off in my head, the day I was taken fades further into distant memory and lines blur rapidly into blobs of color leaving distinct shapes to imagination.
58, 59, 60…noon…1, 2, 3…I scratch another line into the metal beneath my feet. It’s been 11 years, 5 months and 13 days.
For almost 12 years I have spent every day praying for my cage to be unlocked. I have swindled with the idea of standing upright amongst the crowd, looking into the faces of the familiar and expressing my thoughts out loud to those willing to listen.
I’m not even sure what I would sound like. I haven’t heard my voice in…well I’m not sure how long it’s been. What would I say? How would I say it?
I huddle against the bars at the back of my box and look straight in front of me. All I can hear is my heart throwing itself against the inside of my chest rapidly it tries to check itself and skips an occasional beat.
Im starving. I reach over to check my calendar etched into the ceiling of my metal hut. It’s been 4 days since my keeper unlocked the door to my cage and fled down the hallway.
58, 59…1300…1, 2, 3…I make another small mark and look over to my bowl. I have just enough water to make it another few hours.
Then what? Where’s my keeper? What will happen if I leave and am caught? I’ll be beaten and ignored.
I can take the beating. It’s being ignored that makes me fall deep into the folds of my mind. It’s scary in there. Sometimes I can’t get back out.
No. I can’t risk it. I look at my bowl again.
I have to. It’s been silent for too long. No one is left.
As I slowly make my way to the open door, I feel a tinge of guilt crawl over me. My cage is my safe place. It’s been my safe place for almost 12 years. Every hour I have spent of this planet is etched into its surface. I feel bad that I want to leave as if I’m leaving my mother an empty nester.
I’m sorry, I whisper over my shoulder and I crawl through the opening.
Still on my hands and knees I make my way down the dark hallway. I make sure to press my right side against the wall. It makes me feel smaller. I need to remain as invincible as possible in the Keeper comes around the corner and catches my abomination.
It’s almost 1400 hours. I need to mark it down but I can’t stand the thought of turning around now.
At the end of the hallway a light shines brightly through the crack of the door.
Freedom! I listen for sounds of moment. Nothing. Not a peep. Not even the snores of the Keepers pet. It feel suspicious. I feel brave. I feel alive. I feel awake for the first time in years.
I stand in front of the door and a white smudge catches my eye. It seems familiar. I’ve seen it before but can’t think of where. I reach out to touch it. It feels like home. It feels masculine. It’s soothing. I push on it. The door opens.
Hope drains from my face as reality stomps on my fantasy of running. I’m not in some remote location hidden in the jungles of Brazil. Or in some basement hidden beneath a house behind some hidden door.
I’m on a different floating space rock all together. I take a deep breath and watch my chest expand in front of me. I can no longer see my toes and I explode. I’m alarmed that I’m somehow still conscious and I watch my bits float all around me. Pieces of me absorb into the ground beneath me while others bounce off and turn black in the air. Where am I if I’m still here but not anywhere?
I see the Keeper. He walks up to me, peers down and plucks me off of a blade of grass like a sticky penny, shakes his head and sticks me in his pocket.
1500…1, 2, 3…
I have roamed every inch of this neighborhood for the last 17 years but today I find myself lost as fuck in an eerie, abandoned and endless alley way, covered in buildings I’ve never seen before, standing in front of a door, staring at a white smudge I can’t take my eyes off of.
Ahh, you’re finally snapping. I knew this day would come.
I swear this smudge was put here for me. I take my hands out of my pocket, zip up my coat and throw my hood over my head.
I feel ridiculous.
I look to my left and then to my right. I’m alone but I feel like someone is standing beside me. I don’t want anyone to see me do what I’m about to do. I reach out and touch the smudge. The door is warm and it surprises me. I quickly step back and put my hand behind my. I look up. Not even a single window. I’m compelled to go in. It feels familiar.
I’ve been here before but I have no idea where I am.
I grab the handle and push it open with my shoulder cautiously. I gasp. The door closes behind me. I’m confused that I no longer seem to be on the ground floor. I find myself staring across a white stone enclosed bridge leading to an extravagant purple door on the other side. Where in the world am I? I should be scared. Terrified. But I’m not. I’m warm. I’m unusually comfortable. I have that feeling that I’ve just turned on the street leading to my childhood home and I haven’t been beck in 100 years.
I’m so close but close to what? I’m almost home.
I gently tip toe to a window a look out. I have to be 30 stories above the ground below.
How is that possible?
For some reason it makes sense somewhere inside of me. I can’t pinpoint where it is nor can I explain it out loud. I make my way towards the monstrosity of a door painted the brightest most vibrant shade of purple I can recall ever seeing. It bursts open. A woman about my size flames out of the darkness behind her stamping her way toward me across the bridge. The door smacks the wall and bounces back, close to taking out her backside as it slams shut. She looks straight through me, eyes glowing with anger. Her glare makes me feel stark naked and begin to back up. I trip over my feet, fall backwards and melt down against the wall until I hit my heels.
I thought I wasn’t a pussy until the devil burned a hole through my soul. That’s not going to heal well.
She blazes past me muttering the word bullshit several times and yelled over her shoulder at the door that it was a son of a bitch.
What in the hell is behind this door?
I look back at the door. Still. Quiet. Suspiciously unsuspecting yet it seems to scream my name in a rather demanding way. I doubt myself. I’m just crazy. I need to turn around and go home. Put this behind me. But I don’t. I laugh nervously at myself. My knees are shaking as I press forward. I begin to sweat and unzip my coat. I’m here. I knock awkwardly. No answer. I push the door open. It’s shockingly light for as large and heavy as it looks. Such a tiny room for such a grand entrance. I’m the corner sits a shady little man. He looks up. I feel like I’m in the presence of someone I’ve know for all of my lifetimes. He calls me by my name. I freeze. It’s my familiar name. My actual name. The original sound given to my soul at the very moment of my creation. I had forgotten this sound. It’s like a thousands angels playing the most euphoric music I’ve ever heard.
And it belongs to me.
I feel instant guilt and I lower my head in shame. He says my name again. The sound reaches in and wraps itself around my energy. I fall to my knees and look up to meet his stare.
Stoic.
I ask why the girl was so mad. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t blink. But I hear the answer in my ‘self’. She couldn’t see this place. It wasn’t for her.
I know where I am.
Each syllable of the words spoken to my heart seem to fill me up. Every cell feels full. Complete. My ‘self’ expands and my body feels tight. I have the sensation of needing to take off my clothes but bigger. Grander. I suddenly feel like I’ve outgrown my body. It’s seems so small. I look down to my hands then back up at him. I become aware that my mouth is literally hanging wide open.
I didn’t know that was actually a thing. Jesus…it that really how boring my life has been??
His mouth begins to move.
Welcome. I’m your guide and will be taking care of the next stage of your journey. It’s been a heck of a ride, yeah?
The man gives me a have smile. He’s being coy. I stand up and take his hand.
Deep breath. You’re home, darling. Rest.
I walk down the stairs of an old musky, waterfront clubhouse in the heart of a Newport Beach. I can hear what sounds like 100 excited female voices and I adjust my seatbelt wrinkled shirt. I take each step carefully. I can’t breath. I haven’t seen these women in years and I didn’t show my best self the last time we interacted. I hit the bottom of the stairs and look around. All 5 of my aunts and each of their husbands has their back turned to me. A line of yachts floats by in front of them covered in Christmas lights and blaring Christmas jingles. The aunties lean in front of their husbands to grab each other’s hands when they see something they like. ‘Reminds me of dad.’ ‘Me too! Remember that one Christmas when mom dressed up as Mrs Claus and dad drove her across Ming Lake on that silly boat?’ ‘Oh my gosh yes!’ They have lent spotted me yet so I sit on a couch behind them, flooded with memories of my childhood in my grandfathers backyard with the hum of the aunties chatting away while 20 something cousins swam and played until we dropped. I would crawl into a hammock and let the chaos put me to sleep. They all still smell like sunscreen and Dior perfume. And after 7 years of fighting the hardest battle of my life and feeling alone while doing it I realize something spectacular sitting on the couch behind these women listening to the hum of this tiny little beehive. I feel a rush of relaxation within my bones and a heaviness in my eyes. I could actually fall asleep. Home is not a place, it’s within people we love, wherever they are.
