Freedom

Flash of the Dead: Requiem/Wicked Shadows Press, January 2024

The last straw occurred at the book club. Millie tired of the other women choosing every book, never listening to anything she said. Loneliness and rage, her constant companions, rose up inside her throat, heated her face. Whack whack whack. She slapped her walking stick against the couch. Millie briefly reveled in the rush of the women’s dispersal, tea cups clattering to the floor.

***

Afterwards, Millie sensed a new resolve in her parents. They were separating themselves. They were, as Carol the therapist called it, “creating boundaries.” They were kicking her out, calling it freedom. They told her it was a good thing she move out, become independent.

They insisted the apartment was lovely, full of light, pointed out all the differently textured furniture, bright pillows, rugs, picture frames, all bought just for her. They didn’t see the dark humor of bright colors and picture frames in a blind person’s apartment. 

“What if you have guests?” her Mother asked.

“I won’t,” Millie said, absorbing her Mother’s silence, her father’s restraint.

Twenty-six years old, more than grown up, she finally had a home of her own.

“Sometimes the best things in life happen when you push yourself forward,” her mother said.

Or be pushed, Millie thought.

After organizing everything for Millie’s easiest navigation, her parents said Carol advised them that they should not stay the first, or any, night.

 “Please.”  Tears ran down Millie’s face.

“Time to go,” her mother said.

Millie hung on to the sound of their footsteps walking out, the door closing with a soft thud. Her outstretched hands searched for the door, guiding her as she slid to the floor.

***

Eventually, Millie pulled herself up to face a small, dark haired boy with large, ominous holes for eyes. Of course she couldn’t see him, but he was there, she knew it.

“Who are you?”

The boy’s silent gaze remained steady.

She stepped forward. He stayed with her, his empty, bottomless eyes like two wagging, searching mouths.   

Millie crept in the unknown space, disoriented by the boy. She stumbled, fell, called out in fear as her shoulder hit the floor. She grasped for her bed, her new comforter, which had an unpleasant chemical smell. She lay down in her clothes without brushing her teeth, curled into fetal position. All the while, the boy’s face lodged in her mind, fixating on her with his awful eyes.

***

Millie avoided her new home as much as possible. During the day, she hurried to the complex bus to get to her greeter job at the library, lingering there long after her shift. Afterwards, she sat in a lobby chair, listening to the elevator doors open and close, the bell dinging repeatedly. When she could wait no more, she returned to the apartment, steeling herself for the torturous boy.

***

On the fifth night, the boy would not be subdued. He pushed back at her, would not allow rest. His face shoved itself into her mind, chewing on her, consuming her, his laughter filling her ears. Then came a sobbing, a pathetic wailing. His legs and arms pummeled her.  She crawled on the floor on all-fours, dog-like. She grabbed onto the shelf holding her favorite stuffed animals and  childhood treasures - a music box given to her by a beloved grandmother. She pulled the shelf down with a crash, screaming in competition with the boy’s endless racket. Millie pounded the walls, threw plates and cups across the room, ripped apart pillows. She poured out her endless rage, the rage she had punched down, attempted to control. She destroyed her new apartment. The guard called her parents.

***

 “I knew it wouldn’t work out,” her mother said from the car’s front seat. Millie whimpered softly behind her, strapped into the backseat. Her father, silent as usual, steered them to the new place, the Upside Nursing and Social Rehabilitation Facility.

“Don’t start,” her mother said.

Millie’s gasps and tears emerged from a desperate, boundless, hopeful joy.

Ever since the guard found her covered in blood and food, shattered glass everywhere, the boy was no longer a threat.

His slack, dead face receded from her mind.

She had defeated, tamed him.

Nothing else mattered.