the hospital?”
The girl shakes her head. “She died about six months ago. An accident.”
Around eleven-fifteen, the “office” closed and a group of us ran laps through the hallways. Lorraine would glare at us if she was present but never said anything against it, because it was really the only exercise we got. The Gardener wouldn’t give us weights or treadmills or anything because he was worried we’d use them to injure ourselves. Then, after lunch, the afternoon was ours until dinner at eight o’clock.
That was when the boredom set in.
The cliff top became my place even more than the waterfall cave, because I was one of the few who enjoyed climbing up and sprawling close to the glass that marked the edge of our prison. Most of the girls did better pretending the sky wasn’t so close, pretending that our world was bigger than it was and that nothing waited Outside. If it helped them, I wasn’t going to argue with them. But I loved it up there. Some days I’d even climb the trees and stretch out and press my hand against the glass. I liked reminding myself that there was a world beyond my cage, even if I’d never see it again.
Early on, sometimes Lyonette, Bliss, and I would sprawl in the afternoon sun and talk, or read. Lyonette would fold her origami creations, Bliss would play with the polymer clay the Gardener bought for her, and I’d read aloud from plays and novels and poetry.
But sometimes we’d go down to the main level, where the stream bisected the almost jungle-like growth, and we’d spend time with the other girls. Sometimes we’d just read together, or talk of less sensitive things, but there were games too, when we got bored enough.
Those were the days that seemed to make the Gardener happiest. We knew there were cameras everywhere because at night you could see the winking red eyes, but on days when we played, he’d come into the Garden and watch us from the rocks by the waterfall, a soft smile on his face like this was everything he could have dreamed of.
I think it’s a tribute to just how bored we got that we didn’t all scatter to our rooms and solitary activities the minute we saw him.
Six months ago, about ten of us were playing hide-and-seek, and Danelle was It. She had to count off to a hundred while standing near the Gardener, because it was the one place none of us were likely to hide, and so the only place she wouldn’t easily hear us hiding. I’m not sure if he was aware of the logic or not, but he seemed charmed to be part of the game, even peripherally.
I nearly always climbed the tree during these games, mainly because practicing for two years on the fire escape of the apartment meant I could climb higher and faster than anyone else. They might find me pretty easily, but they couldn’t actually reach me to tag.
Evita was scared of heights, just like she was scared of enclosed spaces. Someone always stayed with her at night in case the walls came down so she wouldn’t be alone and terrified. Evita never climbed. Except that day. I don’t know why she wanted to, especially not when we could see how scared she was once she got about six feet off the ground, but even when we called across that it was okay, she could still hide somewhere else, she was determined. “I can be brave,” she said. “I can be brave like Maya.”
From beside Danelle, the Gardener watched us with worried eyes, like he did whenever one of us went against our habits.
Danelle reached ninety-nine and just stopped, giving Evita more time to hide. We all did that sometimes, if we could hear her. Danelle kept her back turned and her hands over her tattooed face, waiting for silence.
It took Evita almost ten minutes, but she pulled herself up the tree inch by inch until she was fifteen feet up and sitting on one of the branches. Tears tracked down her face, but she looked at me in a nearby tree and gave me a wavering smile. “I can be brave,” she said.
“You’re very brave, Evita,” I
The girl shakes her head. “She died about six months ago. An accident.”
Around eleven-fifteen, the “office” closed and a group of us ran laps through the hallways. Lorraine would glare at us if she was present but never said anything against it, because it was really the only exercise we got. The Gardener wouldn’t give us weights or treadmills or anything because he was worried we’d use them to injure ourselves. Then, after lunch, the afternoon was ours until dinner at eight o’clock.
That was when the boredom set in.
The cliff top became my place even more than the waterfall cave, because I was one of the few who enjoyed climbing up and sprawling close to the glass that marked the edge of our prison. Most of the girls did better pretending the sky wasn’t so close, pretending that our world was bigger than it was and that nothing waited Outside. If it helped them, I wasn’t going to argue with them. But I loved it up there. Some days I’d even climb the trees and stretch out and press my hand against the glass. I liked reminding myself that there was a world beyond my cage, even if I’d never see it again.
Early on, sometimes Lyonette, Bliss, and I would sprawl in the afternoon sun and talk, or read. Lyonette would fold her origami creations, Bliss would play with the polymer clay the Gardener bought for her, and I’d read aloud from plays and novels and poetry.
But sometimes we’d go down to the main level, where the stream bisected the almost jungle-like growth, and we’d spend time with the other girls. Sometimes we’d just read together, or talk of less sensitive things, but there were games too, when we got bored enough.
Those were the days that seemed to make the Gardener happiest. We knew there were cameras everywhere because at night you could see the winking red eyes, but on days when we played, he’d come into the Garden and watch us from the rocks by the waterfall, a soft smile on his face like this was everything he could have dreamed of.
I think it’s a tribute to just how bored we got that we didn’t all scatter to our rooms and solitary activities the minute we saw him.
Six months ago, about ten of us were playing hide-and-seek, and Danelle was It. She had to count off to a hundred while standing near the Gardener, because it was the one place none of us were likely to hide, and so the only place she wouldn’t easily hear us hiding. I’m not sure if he was aware of the logic or not, but he seemed charmed to be part of the game, even peripherally.
I nearly always climbed the tree during these games, mainly because practicing for two years on the fire escape of the apartment meant I could climb higher and faster than anyone else. They might find me pretty easily, but they couldn’t actually reach me to tag.
Evita was scared of heights, just like she was scared of enclosed spaces. Someone always stayed with her at night in case the walls came down so she wouldn’t be alone and terrified. Evita never climbed. Except that day. I don’t know why she wanted to, especially not when we could see how scared she was once she got about six feet off the ground, but even when we called across that it was okay, she could still hide somewhere else, she was determined. “I can be brave,” she said. “I can be brave like Maya.”
From beside Danelle, the Gardener watched us with worried eyes, like he did whenever one of us went against our habits.
Danelle reached ninety-nine and just stopped, giving Evita more time to hide. We all did that sometimes, if we could hear her. Danelle kept her back turned and her hands over her tattooed face, waiting for silence.
It took Evita almost ten minutes, but she pulled herself up the tree inch by inch until she was fifteen feet up and sitting on one of the branches. Tears tracked down her face, but she looked at me in a nearby tree and gave me a wavering smile. “I can be brave,” she said.
“You’re very brave, Evita,” I
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