face softly and turns
my rigid head to face him. I can't see his face. The light behind him ensures
that. It stings my eyes still.
"Such
a pretty girl. I'd hate for you to not be pretty anymore." He laughs,
standing back up.
His
footsteps slap back across the floor.
I
hear a scratching sound. A hand shoves a tray of something in as he leaves the
room.
The
door is closed.
It's
dark again.
I
don’t wait. The smell of the food invades my space. I scramble across the floor
to the tray. I reach out, savagely. There are no utensils. No napkins. I lift the
small tray off the larger one. It's a hot dinner. Maybe a TV dinner. I lick
from the tray, without using my hands. The weight of it makes my arms tremble.
The first taste is gravy. It's divine and salty.
I
don’t think. I revert to my old ways so quickly. I lap at the food like a dog.
Like before. Mashed potatoes and gravy. I get a piece of meat in my mouth. I
chew the grizzled meat and choke a bit when I swallow before I'm ready.
I
get a mushy pea in my mouth. I almost gag but I force it down. I force it all
down. Mushy peas and meat and gravy. I lick the tray until there is nothing
left.
I
reach out into the dark for the drink I swear I saw. I knock something with my
hand. It sloshes. I grab it and gulp back the liquid inside of it. It's stale
and funny tasting, but it is amazing. It's fluid. I finish the drink and
realize what it was. Iced tea. Unsweetened iced tea. I shiver from the flavor.
I place it back at the door and scramble back to the corner.
I
can't help but wonder what it is all about?
Is
it Emalyn Spicer they're looking for?
I
sit there and wonder, how? How he knew I wasn’t Emalyn Spicer. No one but
Emalyn and me knew that little secret.
It
dawns on me he wasn’t asking me about my life before. He was asking about my
life, before Emalyn Spicer.
I
close my eyes and try desperately to remember the memories I have blocked out.
There
is nothing but blue eyes peeking from a hole where tiny fingers reach. Sunlight
glinting off blonde hair. Everything else is shut down.
I
know I told them I was Emalyn Spicer. I know who she is, I know who she isn’t
as well. I can see her face staring at me. Her blank stare haunts me. She is
me.
I've
lived for her. I had to. I owed her that. I remember the gunshot. I remember
the debt but I don't remember the cause of it.
I
look down at the floor and laugh. It's hysterical and demented. It takes away
so many things. It's the kind of laugh I have never had. I laugh harder. Tears
form in my eyes. They don’t come out. They never come out. I won't even cry for
me, or Emalyn.
I
think it's days before I get a tray again. I'm starved and sick. The smell of
my own urine and shit in the other corner is making me sick. I'm dying from the
phobias and the nervous ticks the nuns gave me.
They
bring a tray, but when I reach it I discover the food is in a bowl. My hands
are filthy. I can't eat with them.
I
heave dry sobs and hold the bowl. I try tilting it but the food is thick. It
won't come out.
Finally
I put it on the floor and hold my long greasy, stringy hair back. I eat from
the dish like a dog would. My nose rubs in the food. It doesn’t smell good.
It's a stew but it smells gross. Like it's old and freezer burnt.
My
body doesn’t care. I eat. I gobble. I gag from swallowing too much and not
taking my time. I stretch my tongue as hard as I can, to reach the bottom of
the bowl. The bowl is too deep.
I
grab for the glass of tea and dump some in the bowl. I swirl it around and
drink the last of the stew mixed with the tea. It makes me gag but I do it. I
need the food. I drink the tea down and wipe my face off with my shirt.
My
tattered and filthy t-shirt. The lock in the door turns. I turn my head like a
feral cat. I scramble back to the corner. My old ways are all back. They were
always there, hiding under the surface. I just never knew it. I never knew I
could go back so easily. I'm in dirty pants and a filthy
my rigid head to face him. I can't see his face. The light behind him ensures
that. It stings my eyes still.
"Such
a pretty girl. I'd hate for you to not be pretty anymore." He laughs,
standing back up.
His
footsteps slap back across the floor.
I
hear a scratching sound. A hand shoves a tray of something in as he leaves the
room.
The
door is closed.
It's
dark again.
I
don’t wait. The smell of the food invades my space. I scramble across the floor
to the tray. I reach out, savagely. There are no utensils. No napkins. I lift the
small tray off the larger one. It's a hot dinner. Maybe a TV dinner. I lick
from the tray, without using my hands. The weight of it makes my arms tremble.
The first taste is gravy. It's divine and salty.
I
don’t think. I revert to my old ways so quickly. I lap at the food like a dog.
Like before. Mashed potatoes and gravy. I get a piece of meat in my mouth. I
chew the grizzled meat and choke a bit when I swallow before I'm ready.
I
get a mushy pea in my mouth. I almost gag but I force it down. I force it all
down. Mushy peas and meat and gravy. I lick the tray until there is nothing
left.
I
reach out into the dark for the drink I swear I saw. I knock something with my
hand. It sloshes. I grab it and gulp back the liquid inside of it. It's stale
and funny tasting, but it is amazing. It's fluid. I finish the drink and
realize what it was. Iced tea. Unsweetened iced tea. I shiver from the flavor.
I place it back at the door and scramble back to the corner.
I
can't help but wonder what it is all about?
Is
it Emalyn Spicer they're looking for?
I
sit there and wonder, how? How he knew I wasn’t Emalyn Spicer. No one but
Emalyn and me knew that little secret.
It
dawns on me he wasn’t asking me about my life before. He was asking about my
life, before Emalyn Spicer.
I
close my eyes and try desperately to remember the memories I have blocked out.
There
is nothing but blue eyes peeking from a hole where tiny fingers reach. Sunlight
glinting off blonde hair. Everything else is shut down.
I
know I told them I was Emalyn Spicer. I know who she is, I know who she isn’t
as well. I can see her face staring at me. Her blank stare haunts me. She is
me.
I've
lived for her. I had to. I owed her that. I remember the gunshot. I remember
the debt but I don't remember the cause of it.
I
look down at the floor and laugh. It's hysterical and demented. It takes away
so many things. It's the kind of laugh I have never had. I laugh harder. Tears
form in my eyes. They don’t come out. They never come out. I won't even cry for
me, or Emalyn.
I
think it's days before I get a tray again. I'm starved and sick. The smell of
my own urine and shit in the other corner is making me sick. I'm dying from the
phobias and the nervous ticks the nuns gave me.
They
bring a tray, but when I reach it I discover the food is in a bowl. My hands
are filthy. I can't eat with them.
I
heave dry sobs and hold the bowl. I try tilting it but the food is thick. It
won't come out.
Finally
I put it on the floor and hold my long greasy, stringy hair back. I eat from
the dish like a dog would. My nose rubs in the food. It doesn’t smell good.
It's a stew but it smells gross. Like it's old and freezer burnt.
My
body doesn’t care. I eat. I gobble. I gag from swallowing too much and not
taking my time. I stretch my tongue as hard as I can, to reach the bottom of
the bowl. The bowl is too deep.
I
grab for the glass of tea and dump some in the bowl. I swirl it around and
drink the last of the stew mixed with the tea. It makes me gag but I do it. I
need the food. I drink the tea down and wipe my face off with my shirt.
My
tattered and filthy t-shirt. The lock in the door turns. I turn my head like a
feral cat. I scramble back to the corner. My old ways are all back. They were
always there, hiding under the surface. I just never knew it. I never knew I
could go back so easily. I'm in dirty pants and a filthy
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