Held

Her alarm goes off every morning at 7:00 even though she is not the one who sets it. Same time, every day. She stretches and makes her way to the door, yawning as she opens it to expectantly find a large box on her porch. She carries it inside to the kitchen, like she always does. She carefully lifts out five small cartons. Three are ready-made meals and two are extra snacks for the days she feels extra hungry. She doesn’t feel much at all, not anymore. She stacks all but one in the refrigerator and continues with her morning routine.

When she sits down at her small table and rips open her breakfast box, she cocks her head to the side. She stares down at an unrecognizable light brown square. She wonders why there are no eggs today as she lowers her head, examining what she thinks is a slice of bread but softer, lighter and with many tiny square pockets all around it, like a grid. She pokes at it to reveal it’s fluffy and harmless. Finally she slowly lifts it to her mouth and takes a cautious bite. Her eyes soften and she is relieved as she tastes the dough, sweetly melting in her mouth. She looks at it again. She didn’t question the change in routine but was genuinely curious about this funny bread. Her curiosity fleeting, she simply shrugs and savors one bite after another, gladly accepting a bit of sweetness to an otherwise dull morning.

After thoroughly enjoying her unforeseen breakfast surprise, she hums an oldie with suds barely reaching her wrists. She doesn’t know the words but the melody relaxes her. She always hums this silly old song when she washes her one dish. Wiping her barely damp hands on her orange dress, she then strolls into the living room. She sighs as she sits on the armchair, the morning sun beaming in, filling the pale pink walls. She closes her eyes as the clock ticks rhythmically, her breath rising and falling within the quiet ticking. She scrunches her face, fidgeting as she looks around the room trying to figure out what to do next.

There were the same activities to choose from every day. Sew, knit, paint. Journal, lego, origami. Garden, yoga, read. Only five books are stacked on the single shelf. One of them was worn with pages torn out and the occasional random word blacked out with a sharpie. The books came with the cottage when she arrived. There was also a small piano she had slowly taught herself to play over time. Time. She had an abundance of that. But she only knew one song, that same oldie she so often hummed. Whenever the silence became too much she would automatically move to the rhythm, feeling the beating drum, hearing the tambourines ring; the harmony of the instruments would soothe her and be her escape. Turn, Turn, Turn. Did she not ever learn the words, or had she forgotten them? Did she make the song up? She no longer questioned what had been erased. She no longer questioned anything. She just was. Living there, isolated. Every day was quiet yet peaceful and she was content with the uneventful.

She sighs. None of her regular activities invite her as they so often do. She looks out the window again. A walk outside, perhaps. A stroll in nature. She could do that. She doesn’t remember if she likes walks, but she doesn’t know why. There’s no phone or keys to grab, she was stripped of those too, doesn’t even know those kinds of things exist anymore. Having made her decision, she puts on her shoes but then freezes at the door. She stares at the handle, unclear why she’s suddenly reluctant to go outside. She only hesitates a moment longer before finally stepping out into the sun.

She walks the perimeter of the cottage. It had been a while since she last ventured out, the routine slowly coming back to her with each movement. She doesn’t wander too far, thinking it is her own choice to do so. She looks up as she takes slow steps. Clear skies, clear mind. Not even birds chirping or soft winds. Just a vast sky. She has no comprehension of how big the world actually is. Not anymore. Her world is here: the same cottage, the same food, the same games, the same walks. She is contained. She did question it all once but stopped long, long ago. Who brings the food? Who takes care of things when they break? Who decides what comes next? Who decides when it ends? She has forgotten why she is here. She herself has been forgotten. Her case erased. When she vanished, so did her world.

She continues her walk, a light crunch of dirt beneath her. She gets to the edge of the fence. She doesn’t touch it, only squints and looks beyond. She closes her eyes and takes in the scent of the air. Deep breaths. Her exhale is the only sound until she hears it. Her stillness is jolted by a sudden noise. Her eyes widen in alarm when she hears it again. A low hum, far off, unrecognizable. She flinches and she tightens. Sudden sharp visions of color dance in her head after hearing a sound that doesn’t belong.

She doesn’t immediately understand. She only notices. A long distance away. Horns are meant to carry across water after all. But she has no memories of boats, cars, trains. Anything that moves, anything that would take her from here. The horn she is not supposed to hear reminds her of something she’s not supposed to know. She drops to her knees and covers her ears in fear, trembling. The low hum of the distant horn fades away and she opens her eyes again. She slowly relaxes her muscles, remembering to breathe. Deep inhale, deep exhale. She doesn’t question anymore. She just lets it be and turns around. Turn, Turn, Turn. The guitar strums in her mind on repeat. If only she could remember the words. If only she could remember anything.

She lets out a weary sigh. She takes one step after another, slow and steady. Back to the cottage. Back to her Baker-Miller pink walls. Back to routine inside her invisible prison. She has no determination to be free, to escape her reality. She isn’t suffering, she is content, having found sane in the mundane. Here she has enough to do to fill the time she has an abundance of. Here she is stable enough not to be watched, though not truly free enough to choose. Today she does though. She could question it, but she doesn’t. Unanswered questions are left behind. She just goes back inside. Today she tells herself that she chooses this life.