Trapped

I’m just as lonely now as I was when I was alone. Only it’s worse now because there’s someone else there. And that someone is you. It’s horrible what we’ve become. It’s horrible what our home is becoming.

This place used to breathe joy and light and warmth. We used to share laughter that wouldn’t stop. Laughter that went on so long that it hurt. The pain like nothing else, feeling like you might implode, all the while, gasping for breath through painful, guttural laughter.

Now, I am truly alone here. Waiting for you to return. Not wanting you to be here. Wanting for conversation. Not wanting to hear a word from you. My emotions are a tangled mess. Love being strangled by hate.

Our child needs me. Our child needs you too. Our child needs a lot of care. He has special needs, he requires a lot. You are off at work, earning money for us. It’s important, but you could come home after work once in a while. Yet you never do. You go out to have your “much needed recreation time.” I suppose my time has no value. I don’t work in the sense that I punch a clock in and out, I don’t fill out a timesheet, I don’t do budget reports, I don’t send emails to clients. But I take care of our child. The government recognizes this as nothing. But it is work. It is work I love to do. I love our child. But this is not recreation time, most days.

You’re forcing me to be here, never leaving, trapped in my home. I swear, the walls are growing more dull and more gray by the day. These were glass windows I used to stare out. Now, there are bars. I reach out and I am feeling cold steel in my hands. No. These bars couldn’t possibly be here. This isn’t right.

Last night I cooked dinner, purposely cooked an enormous portion so we would have leftovers. Spaghetti, tomato sauce, veggies. I packed it away in containers. In fact, there is still leftover cous-cous from a couple nights ago. And stir fry from days before that. I have filled the refrigerator with food, yet when I open it, nothing but cafeteria trays of slop. Food that has no shape or name or identity. Gray mush that keeps the form it was in as it fell from a crusty ladle. The same color as these walls. These walls we once painted deep, comforting blues and clean whites. It is all gray now.

I wore a button-up shirt when I dressed this morning. The buttons have vanished. My shirt is now a continuation of my pants. With a collar on top and a serial number over my left breast. Why is this happening? Why is my home becoming a prison?

Our son is gone. Where he sat, now is a table. Atop that table, a pile of books. Books I once enjoyed, books I once loved. Books that I now need to organize and put away.

I’m not sure how many years have passed since you last left. You were heading out to your job, I thought. But that was years ago, wasn’t it? It felt like a very long day because I haven’t yet slept since you left. But it’s been years that I’ve been in this prison. I must have done something and forgotten. Something so rotten that it landed me here. This is my punishment for something so terrible, so terrible I spend my days here and you don’t visit me anymore.

I wish I could remember what I did.

The books on my table begin to cry. Even my books are sad. Sad for me? Sad to be in this place? Sad I don’t read them anymore? I put the books on the cot that is my new sleeping space. I will get to them later.

I grasp the cold steel bars again. I peer out. Who else is locked away with me? Walking the halls are old ladies, young ladies, they all have smiles you couldn’t wipe off if you held them down and pressed at them with all the might you could muster. What are they so happy about? They must not have been here long. Or they don’t have much longer. I, on the other hand, have no idea what either of those times are. Am I to be here forever? Will they release me next week? Will anyone tell me?

Why is this place so sad? Is it on purpose? They put a refrigerator in my cell. That seems like a nicer act than needed to be done for me. But everything else about this place is depressing. They must want you to spiral into sadness into madness into definitely-not-gladness.

The floor isn’t inviting, but I need to sit somewhere. It is foul. Both in look and feel. It’s grungy, slimy, it’s never seen a mop. And it never will. I push myself along the filth and press myself into the corner. It feels safest here but it also feels saddest here. I am safe with my back against the walls. But I can see this whole room and I don’t like it. It’s all in front of me. It is simultaneously too small, too close, smothering me, and also expanding to vast unreachable, overwhelming sizes. This cell room has no square footage. It is pulsing between infinite to negative space. The room stretches away from me and stretches almost out of sight. And then it comes back in fast like a snapped rubber band, too close. Like it is going to suffocate me. If I were to move a muscle I would get myself stuck in this room. And then it stretches back out again, making me feel so small, so insignificant. And then back in, so close, suffocating, making me feel like the world is going to crumble on top of me.

A song came on that spoke to my sadness. I just sat and listened. I’d never heard it before but it was like I had heard it a thousand times. Where is this music coming from? Do I have a cellmate with a radio? There is no one in sight. Someone on the other side of the wall?

Where are you? I miss seeing you. I am sad thinking of when I used to see you, because it feels right now, like I will never see you again. It feels like you won’t ever show yourself to me again. Not in any form. Not in your work clothes that suit you so well, not in your comfy sweats that you love to lounge in, not in anything in between. Are you purposely hiding yourself from my sight? And who is taking care of our child? Are you handling this task? Or did you get someone to take over the duties? If you hired someone, maybe you’ve found out the difficulties of that job. Maybe you’ll appreciate what I did.

A screeching noise is going off now. Whoever this other inmate is, she needs to check her radio. It’s a sharp whistling, it’s horrid. Someone needs to stop it! It is accompanied by heat. Fiery heat. And it’s screaming on and on, it won’t stop. And now my books are crying again. They are screaming in sadness.

This is it. I am escaping this place. This is no place for me. I don’t know how much time I have left. Even if it were one more day I couldn’t stand spending another waking moment in this place. This place that I have been awake in for what feels like forever. I’ve never slept in this place. I can’t sleep again until I am home. My eyes are heavy, my corneas are ablaze with fire, they ache for sleep. The screeching continues from the radio and the books continue to scream. I have to leave now!

There is a door. I have not the slightest clue what to do with it. I don’t know if it pushes open, pulls open, I don’t know where the handle is, and if the handle is locked. Either a fog or a haze is creeping in right now. This cell is indoors but has the weather of an outdoor space. This is Hell in a cell. The fog is surrounding me and making my already hazy vision even hazier. My senses are dulling more and more by the second. And they haven’t been sharp since I arrived to this hellhole. Everything is a blur and it always has been since you left me. The longer I contemplate anything, the worse this is getting. It is time to stop with the thinking. It is time to stop with the waiting. The sitting around, allowing myself to be trapped. It is time to act. I need to just push and push until I force myself away from all of this.

And so I push! I push the door with all my might. I summon from deep down below any bit of strength, any ounce of power I could ever hope to possibly have and redirect it to my palms. And push! And the door bursts open. I never slow down. I push through into the hallway. Cells all around, vertical bars every which way. I don’t think. I pick one direction and start moving. The fog creeps into the hall, it follows me. The screeching and the screaming both grow more and more faint. Eventually, things clear up. The fog is dissipating. I am moving through the hall. The hall is so much colder than my cell. Perhaps they have a fan on in this hall. I feel cool air blowing past me as I push on through the hall. I still see no one. No guards. No inmates. Just bars and bars, all vertical, all parallel.

I push past them, every bar I pass is left behind me. I never look back. The farther I walk, the freer I feel, yet the colder it gets. The harder air blows at me. Air begins to whoosh past in violent bursts. Air roars past loudly. The air is pushing past me in spurts, large bursts, flying past me like gigantic bullets. Each one is so forceful. Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

And there is a door. A new door. A glowing red light above it. It must be the ‘Exit’ sign. I can’t make it out, but my eyes hurt too much to read. I know it’s the exit sign. And the bursts of air were coming from this direction, so I must be going the right way. The air has stopped pushing past me for now. But I hear it ahead. Pushing on in a new direction. Repeatedly. I head towards it. The door and the air will save me. Screeching and screaming so distant and so far behind me, it is just a distant memory.

And I no longer hear the sounds of my cell. Just the sounds of the air, whooshing past with force, just ahead. Growing louder and louder. It must be just behind this door. I reach the door. I see no more cold steel bars. They’re all behind me. I have reached the edge of this horrendous place. I am about to be free.

I push through the door and am instantly greeted with a heavy wind that pushes so fast it takes me away with it. This heavy wind is not cold like the others. It is fantastically warm. An immediate comfort that numbs my body. This wind feels like it is a liquid, coating my body and returning me to life. Nourishing me. Spreading over my entire body.

My sight seems to be failing me. I am stuck on one image, which isn’t so horrible. Something like a painting. The top half of this image is blue, I don’t know what kind of blue. A lighter color. Maybe periwinkle? It’s pleasing to look at. It has been painted with inexperienced brushstrokes. But brushstrokes of someone who tried at the very least.

And then spots of red and streaks of green on the bottom half of the image decorate a bland, brown rectangular object. Like a table? Something hard. Anyway, the image doesn’t move. For now this is what I see.

But I still hear everything, feel everything, smell everything. I even taste something. An herby flavor.

Clamoring of voices and feet shuffling on pavement surrounds me. I cannot make out what any of the voices are saying. But then a thousand fingers are placed on me. Pressing, touching, fingers that are determined, fingers that are curious.

Five fingers rest on the side of my face. “Is she okay?”

Someone sees me!

I am lifted into the air by all the fingers, placed on a hard surface. I hear a rumbling and voices continue to clamor. The image I see stays the same, but I have now just noticed it is somewhat transparent, as I make out flashing red and blue lights behind it. And the clamoring voices get shut out, closed behind something.

Now, I am in a space with few noises. Much comforting silence. In fact, the only noises I hear become more clear. Uninterrupted by all the rest of the chaos. I feel myself being jostled around slightly and then I return to calmness. I feel the presence of someone with me. Is it you? Have you come back to me? Why can I not see you?

“We’re bringing her in now.” You say to someone. Where are you bringing me? Is it actually you?

“Send someone to check on her residence. Neighbor said she left the kid alone with the door wide open, food cooking on the stove.”

“Who left a kid alone?” I manage to ask.

“No, she’s really out of it. Glazed look. Definitely one broken leg, the other one might be too. Cuts and abrasions, heart rate is okay. Guy said she walked right in front of him. He couldn’t stop. Yeah, on the way.”

I wonder who this poor soul is that they’re talking about. I feel badly. She must be in pain. But they should introduce her to the wind. This wind did me wonders. I feel so amazing right now. This warmth is all over, so comforting, so relaxing. I need this warmth. It set me free.

And now that I am free, I can come to you. I can finally come see you again.