Chapter Three

Chapter Three
Caged Birds Sing


My eyes were still shut, trying to remember what those other words written on the unnamed world were, when Margaret returned. The plate in front of me was scraped clean, so she began clearing the table. She was making such a ruckus with the clinking dishes I really couldn’t concentrate on conjuring up this memory. There were some mountains and a word was forming—
“Bertha told me to remind you to finish cleaning your room.”
I turned to face her. She froze with a cup and saucer in her hands. Was her interjection really necessary? Did she think my memory was so poor I couldn’t keep track of the one thing that incessant housekeeper told me again and again? What was wrong with her? She looked as though a phantom had sprung up. Had one? I checked behind me, but I saw no one. I waved my hand in the air, but I felt nothing. The clinking continued though more rushed than before. Margaret walked briskly to the door, shut it, and could be heard taking the steps three at a time. But something calmed my rage, something was missing.
I hesitantly approached the door, my hand hovering over the knob. I couldn’t bring myself to touch it so I fell to my knees, trying with all my might to peer through the keyhole. The opening was far too small to see through. I sat back against the door. I’m being delusional. That’s right, I’m crazy, as crazy as Warner, a psychiatric patient in Might of Times. That was one of the few non-adventure books I owned. He heard peculiar noises and I was not hearing it. What other explanation could there be? I stood up and faced the door again. I tried to move my arm forward, but it kept wrenching back like a pendulum, swinging wherever the center of gravity took it. My life had always been like that. I have always been at the mercy of an external force. I’ve been crying inside ever since Tommy abandoned me, but he was unhappy, too. I remembered the somber look in his eyes when he would lose focus while playing with me. I didn’t understand it at the time being six years younger. Now I know he was also tired of being commanded daily. He left to take control of his life. Now it was time for me to do the same. I shot out a trembling hand and took hold of the door handle. As my arm was wrenching back, I turned the knob, and the door swung open.
Impossible. They’ve never forgotten to keep it locked, but there it was, open before me. I caressed this new air with my outstretched fingers, breathing in the delectable aroma of the cooking downstairs. I wanted to follow it so I took a step out, but then a fear struck me. This is not right. This is not allowed. I am forbidden to leave my room. But it had been so, so long since I’d been confined to this space. Here it was—freedom. I could take it. Couldn’t I? And like a caged bird presented with a fruitful opportunity, I stepped out of my room.