Solitary Confinement
The night sky was overwhelming. I understood stars are massive fiery gas balls but I never felt the unending vastness they offered for consideration, a beautiful testament to our place in the universe. How lucky I was to be oblivious of it so I couldn’t mourn its absence in the cellar.
Tearing my gaze from the sky, I began my trek again. Thick ears of corn scratched my arms and legs. Unbothered by the stinging cuts, the smell of blood was diluted in fresh air. Stench and dirt was well ingrained into my pores and my skin must have had a sickly tone as I hadn’t seen the sun for so long. Even at the moment of my freedom, twilight bloomed all around me.
Lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t notice the soft rustling of corn husks, startled by the fierce passing of vehicles. I plundered on, unaware I would soon find myself running through the edge of the field and into traffic, stumbling so close behind a passing car I could taste the exhaust on my tongue.
Collapsing, I witnessed the skew of oncoming headlights trying not to crush my sunken body. A woman rushed from the driver side towards me. Her seat belt fell in slow motion along with the door as it swung out harshly and then trembled back and forth.
“Oh my god, are you okay swee-,” was all I heard before I submersed in the blackness of my eyelids.
Several beeps and low stirrings caught my attention. Odd machines sat awkwardly next to me. I followed the tubings back and forth, a few to the wall, and one to my forearm. My pulse quickened to think what could be injected in me this time.
“Calm down, it’s just fluids.”
Whipping my head to the right, a man sat in a chair behind my peripheral view. Tall and young, his brown hair curled once neatly on his hairline. A mole on his upper lip danced as he spoke.
“I’m with the local police department. Name’s Deputy Lenor. Doctor says you were incredibly malnourished and abused.” He stopped to allow me a moment to digest the diagnosis.
After leaning forward to examine the machines, he pulled his chair farther forward so we could look at one another comfortably. “I consider myself a helpful person,” he offered as the friction made the floor squeak, “so when a kid comes barreling into traffic from the largest cornfield in the whole goddamn country, looking like utter death, I wonder what the hell happened to her.” The back of the chair faced the door and he sat with a leg on either side.
Watching his casual demeanor, I smiled. It struck me odd how he comfortably draped himself about. Confused by my expression, his brows furrowed as the rest of his face fell into solemn contemplation. The situation shouldn’t be funny.
“Do you speak English?”
I considered his question and shook my head for no.
“But you understand me,” he pressed.
I nodded yes.
“So you don’t speak English... Do you speak at all? Español?”
No.
“Can you write?”
Yes, yes, y-!
“Alright, slow your roll. Before I give you anything, I need you to answer honestly. Do you understand?”
I agreed.
Swiftly, he pulled a legal pad and ballpoint pen from a bag I couldn’t see. Giving me a long look, he handed me both.
Several easy questions later, I thought he’d be thrilled with my compliance.
“Whew, okay,” he commented with a sorrowful face. “This one might be harder... Answer it the best you can.” I had caught on that I was supposed to be hesitant but I had waited so long to be found. Carefully he asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”
His eyes were fixed on the broken, bruised patches of skin all the way around my wrists, up and down my arms, and along my face. I focused hard on making my fingers form an explanation.
Not a what. A who.
Looking up from my note he asked for clarification. Taking back the pad, I wrote with a steady hand.
“Someone with... four arms,” he repeated slowly after I passed the pad again.
Yes. Four arms and no face.
“Did they have a name?”
How do I put a name to the grandparents who say they love me but don’t show it, the boyfriend that shows it but refuses to say it, and the father I cannot cure with all the love in the world? Who names-
I lost myself in the horror but the door creaked open suddenly to reveal a woman in a police uniform. She motioned for him to join her in the corner.
“Please tell me you haven’t bought a single thing she’s selling!” She didn’t seem to mind I was present so I adjusted myself on the bed to watch the sunshine from the window, tossing the notepad to my thigh.
“What are you getting at, Liz,” he responded tiredly.
“We found a cellar a few miles from the road she wandered into. Looked like someone had been squattin’ there for months. Not multiple people though. Not a prisoner,” she spat. “One person. It was like a room from those horror movies! The little freak scratched nonsense all o’er the place. I th-,” and with that I stopped following, disappointed my work was nonsense again-still an attribute of the insanity.
Tearing my gaze from the sky, I began my trek again. Thick ears of corn scratched my arms and legs. Unbothered by the stinging cuts, the smell of blood was diluted in fresh air. Stench and dirt was well ingrained into my pores and my skin must have had a sickly tone as I hadn’t seen the sun for so long. Even at the moment of my freedom, twilight bloomed all around me.
Lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t notice the soft rustling of corn husks, startled by the fierce passing of vehicles. I plundered on, unaware I would soon find myself running through the edge of the field and into traffic, stumbling so close behind a passing car I could taste the exhaust on my tongue.
Collapsing, I witnessed the skew of oncoming headlights trying not to crush my sunken body. A woman rushed from the driver side towards me. Her seat belt fell in slow motion along with the door as it swung out harshly and then trembled back and forth.
“Oh my god, are you okay swee-,” was all I heard before I submersed in the blackness of my eyelids.
****
Groggier than ever, I awoke in a sterile room. Perhaps trying to avoid the stereotype, the walls were a pastel yellow, complimenting the pink curtains well. Sunshine cascaded from the sheer fabric covering a window on my left side, signaling I missed my first sun rise. The coarse sheets, however, failed to present any notion of comfort.Several beeps and low stirrings caught my attention. Odd machines sat awkwardly next to me. I followed the tubings back and forth, a few to the wall, and one to my forearm. My pulse quickened to think what could be injected in me this time.
“Calm down, it’s just fluids.”
Whipping my head to the right, a man sat in a chair behind my peripheral view. Tall and young, his brown hair curled once neatly on his hairline. A mole on his upper lip danced as he spoke.
“I’m with the local police department. Name’s Deputy Lenor. Doctor says you were incredibly malnourished and abused.” He stopped to allow me a moment to digest the diagnosis.
After leaning forward to examine the machines, he pulled his chair farther forward so we could look at one another comfortably. “I consider myself a helpful person,” he offered as the friction made the floor squeak, “so when a kid comes barreling into traffic from the largest cornfield in the whole goddamn country, looking like utter death, I wonder what the hell happened to her.” The back of the chair faced the door and he sat with a leg on either side.
Watching his casual demeanor, I smiled. It struck me odd how he comfortably draped himself about. Confused by my expression, his brows furrowed as the rest of his face fell into solemn contemplation. The situation shouldn’t be funny.
“Do you speak English?”
I considered his question and shook my head for no.
“But you understand me,” he pressed.
I nodded yes.
“So you don’t speak English... Do you speak at all? Español?”
No.
“Can you write?”
Yes, yes, y-!
“Alright, slow your roll. Before I give you anything, I need you to answer honestly. Do you understand?”
I agreed.
Swiftly, he pulled a legal pad and ballpoint pen from a bag I couldn’t see. Giving me a long look, he handed me both.
Several easy questions later, I thought he’d be thrilled with my compliance.
“Whew, okay,” he commented with a sorrowful face. “This one might be harder... Answer it the best you can.” I had caught on that I was supposed to be hesitant but I had waited so long to be found. Carefully he asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”
His eyes were fixed on the broken, bruised patches of skin all the way around my wrists, up and down my arms, and along my face. I focused hard on making my fingers form an explanation.
Not a what. A who.
Looking up from my note he asked for clarification. Taking back the pad, I wrote with a steady hand.
“Someone with... four arms,” he repeated slowly after I passed the pad again.
Yes. Four arms and no face.
“Did they have a name?”
How do I put a name to the grandparents who say they love me but don’t show it, the boyfriend that shows it but refuses to say it, and the father I cannot cure with all the love in the world? Who names-
I lost myself in the horror but the door creaked open suddenly to reveal a woman in a police uniform. She motioned for him to join her in the corner.
“Please tell me you haven’t bought a single thing she’s selling!” She didn’t seem to mind I was present so I adjusted myself on the bed to watch the sunshine from the window, tossing the notepad to my thigh.
“What are you getting at, Liz,” he responded tiredly.
“We found a cellar a few miles from the road she wandered into. Looked like someone had been squattin’ there for months. Not multiple people though. Not a prisoner,” she spat. “One person. It was like a room from those horror movies! The little freak scratched nonsense all o’er the place. I th-,” and with that I stopped following, disappointed my work was nonsense again-still an attribute of the insanity.
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