came back.
Here I am,
I thought.
At the factory. Whistle if you dare.
But the whistle remained stubbornly silent and I realized, now that I was here, that I hadnât the first clue which building the whistle sounded from.
Funny thing about being Livvie Owen. Sometimes the more difficult thoughts, the ones like âI know the way to the paper mill, I might as well walk it,â occurred to me long before the simple ones. Here in the darkness, for the first time, it occurred to me that for a whistle to blow, a button had to be pushed or a chain pulled.
That meant a hand, which belonged to a person.
Tighter and tighter down into the bench I pressed myself. Closer and closer the dark pressed in around. Pressure started to build in my chest, in my stomach. Pressure and fear as I started to rock gently. My hands found their way into my hair and began to tug.
âThis was a stupid idea, Livvie Owen,â I whispered.âDonât you dare leave the house alone, young lady.â
Another thing, though, about being Livvie Owen. She rarely ever listened when I spoke to her. Usually when she did, it was already too late.
I rocked and tugged until the rain began to lessen, till the clouds began to go their separate ways. The shaggy fabric of my slippers was clumped together from the wet, and the backs of the slipper heels were muddy. My own heels were muddy and the feeling was cold and yuck and slime. My skin felt crawly, my muscles clenching over and over as I tried to release the pressure.
I wanted to go home, but walking here was such a bad idea that I did not want to walk anymore. âIâve learned,â I said out loud. Miss Mandy was always telling me to stop and take stock of what Iâd learned, and, once in a long while, I thought to obey. âIâve learned something today.â Sitting firmly on the bench as the rain blew away and the light started to come, I remained planted like the trees overgrowing themselves along the fence line. My fists rolled up, pinkies wrapping around my ring fingers, thumbs pressing on my middle knuckles. I pressed my thumb knuckles into the spaces behind my ears so my hum got louder inside my head. âHmmmm. Hmmmm.âFurious G notes, one after another. If I could stop the pressure, I could get this situation under control. If I sat long enough, someone would come and get me, like the bus that day. They were going to have to do it. I simply could not do it for myself.
Chapter 5
Orange Cat found me one day when I was lost in Walmart, and that was how he joined us. He was chasing a moth, quite unconcerned, through the lawn and garden section when I saw him, and the minute I did, I knew he was for me. He was only a little scrap of a thing then, and so tiny it was almost difficult to imagine him getting as fat as he later would. He was striped and his baby kitty belly was tight and bloated with worms. His meow sounded like sandpaper on rusty metal. I picked him up that first day, his stubby little legs sticking out in all directions, and he immediately bumped his face against me to claim me. Somehow, with Orange Cat cuddled up under my chin, his baby claws kneading, I was able to focus and find my way back to the toy department.
The entire three years Orange Cat was in my life, I felt calmer and happier than I ever did before and certainly since. Touching him was like touching my mud mug or sliding my feet into my slippers. He was pure comfort, like my nine blankets or my real estate book. He also happened to be my best friend.
The little collar around my wrist, his very first, was all I had left of him and I rubbed it and rubbed it, but it didnât feel the same as petting him. I sat on the bench while the sun came up, and by then the sky thought the rain had never been. Maroon and dark purple worked up from the horizon first, followed by streaks of ice blue that shattered the blackness all the way up to the stars.
âDumb stars,â I said to no one.
Here I am,
I thought.
At the factory. Whistle if you dare.
But the whistle remained stubbornly silent and I realized, now that I was here, that I hadnât the first clue which building the whistle sounded from.
Funny thing about being Livvie Owen. Sometimes the more difficult thoughts, the ones like âI know the way to the paper mill, I might as well walk it,â occurred to me long before the simple ones. Here in the darkness, for the first time, it occurred to me that for a whistle to blow, a button had to be pushed or a chain pulled.
That meant a hand, which belonged to a person.
Tighter and tighter down into the bench I pressed myself. Closer and closer the dark pressed in around. Pressure started to build in my chest, in my stomach. Pressure and fear as I started to rock gently. My hands found their way into my hair and began to tug.
âThis was a stupid idea, Livvie Owen,â I whispered.âDonât you dare leave the house alone, young lady.â
Another thing, though, about being Livvie Owen. She rarely ever listened when I spoke to her. Usually when she did, it was already too late.
I rocked and tugged until the rain began to lessen, till the clouds began to go their separate ways. The shaggy fabric of my slippers was clumped together from the wet, and the backs of the slipper heels were muddy. My own heels were muddy and the feeling was cold and yuck and slime. My skin felt crawly, my muscles clenching over and over as I tried to release the pressure.
I wanted to go home, but walking here was such a bad idea that I did not want to walk anymore. âIâve learned,â I said out loud. Miss Mandy was always telling me to stop and take stock of what Iâd learned, and, once in a long while, I thought to obey. âIâve learned something today.â Sitting firmly on the bench as the rain blew away and the light started to come, I remained planted like the trees overgrowing themselves along the fence line. My fists rolled up, pinkies wrapping around my ring fingers, thumbs pressing on my middle knuckles. I pressed my thumb knuckles into the spaces behind my ears so my hum got louder inside my head. âHmmmm. Hmmmm.âFurious G notes, one after another. If I could stop the pressure, I could get this situation under control. If I sat long enough, someone would come and get me, like the bus that day. They were going to have to do it. I simply could not do it for myself.
Chapter 5
Orange Cat found me one day when I was lost in Walmart, and that was how he joined us. He was chasing a moth, quite unconcerned, through the lawn and garden section when I saw him, and the minute I did, I knew he was for me. He was only a little scrap of a thing then, and so tiny it was almost difficult to imagine him getting as fat as he later would. He was striped and his baby kitty belly was tight and bloated with worms. His meow sounded like sandpaper on rusty metal. I picked him up that first day, his stubby little legs sticking out in all directions, and he immediately bumped his face against me to claim me. Somehow, with Orange Cat cuddled up under my chin, his baby claws kneading, I was able to focus and find my way back to the toy department.
The entire three years Orange Cat was in my life, I felt calmer and happier than I ever did before and certainly since. Touching him was like touching my mud mug or sliding my feet into my slippers. He was pure comfort, like my nine blankets or my real estate book. He also happened to be my best friend.
The little collar around my wrist, his very first, was all I had left of him and I rubbed it and rubbed it, but it didnât feel the same as petting him. I sat on the bench while the sun came up, and by then the sky thought the rain had never been. Maroon and dark purple worked up from the horizon first, followed by streaks of ice blue that shattered the blackness all the way up to the stars.
âDumb stars,â I said to no one.
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