She opened her mouth, started to laugh, and at that moment I shoved the door forward. It struck her lip. She yelped, grabbed her face. I stumbled past her. Climbed over the peeling leather couch. My heart was beating hard and blackness crowded my vision. Gasping, I scrambled toward the stairs. My legs were lead, but I could do it. I could make it. Once I got outside, I’d run. Up the driveway and into the circle. I’d run to Darrell’s. Run to Mrs. Spooner’s house. I’d scream and yell and someone would hear me or see me with my arms swinging around like crazy. Someone would help.

My foot caught on a box of cans. I tripped. Flew forward. My bony ribcage struck an empty toolbox. Then a slippery vice grip on my ankle. Dragging me back. I cried, “Maisy! Maaaiseeeee!”

Her hand clamped over my mouth and she lifted me right off the ground, her arm a noose around my waist. She carried me, effortlessly. I kicked backwards, but my weak legs only met air. She threw me into the bathroom again. When I hit the floor, pain shot up through my spine.

“Please, Gloria. I didn’t mean that. I’ll say whatever you want. I’ll say anything.” Her lips were pulled apart and I could see her gums. “I won’t say a word. I promise. I won’t say anything. Please just let me out. Please.” Tears poured from my eyes. Muscles shaking.

With her foot she hooked the bowl of beans. A flick of her toes, the bowl skidded out of the bathroom, flipped, the contents covered the back of the couch.

“Please.”

Her dark form filled the entire doorframe. “You stupid, stupid boy.” Then she closed the door and locked it.

—

A dull ache filled my head and my chest. The lights would not turn off. The whirring fan would not slow down. Water would not sit and wait inside the toilet. The dead centipede in the corner would not stick out its thin legs, balance on pin toes, and crawl toward me.

My skull grew woozy with flatness. With dullness. With sameness.

But most of all. With loneliness.

I pulled my arms inside the shirt Carl had given me. I closed my eyes and hugged my chest. I no longer knew where I began or where I ended. I couldn’t feel my boundaries. I was cement and I was sink and I was tape shoes and I was curling linoleum and I was pine-scented wisp of nothing.

Whenever I was awake I leaned against the black pipe in the corner and tapped and tapped. Made up a code and spelled out I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

No one answered. No one understood.

MAISY