Stopping at the bottom of the steps, she hung the menacing leather strap in her hand on its usual spot on the hook just outside the doorway. My eyes drifted to the strap for the briefest of moments. That would have been my fate had she walked in and caught me still lying in bed. At least I had managed to avoid its sting first thing in the morning. If I was good the rest of the day, maybe I wouldn’t have to endure it at all. I was already on the longest stretch I could remember without an incident. Of course, now I’d probably tempted fate and jinxed myself.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, giving me the once-over before heading to the dumbwaiter she kept padlocked except during mealtimes.
“Yes,” I answered, pulling the blanket up on my bed and smoothing it out with my hand.
She paused, staring me down with a dead-eyed sternness. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Mother,” I answered.
“Do we need to cover manners again?” She made her point by indicating the leather strap hanging within her reach.
I shook my head, keeping my eyes purposely averted from hers. Any display of defiance would only elicit severe punishment. It was better to ignore the taunting reminder of my weakened will. “No, Mother,” I said, casting my eyes to the ground in obedience. It had taken me a long time and countless beatings to get to this point.
In the beginning, I wept for my family, begging to be returned to them, but my captor’s anger was swift. I fought the foreignness of my surroundings until eventually I lost every speck of my former identity. The monster who punished me time and time again slowly transitioned until she became Mother. When the flesh-eating leather strap didn’t stop my tears, she would retaliate by giving me a shot in the arm. I spent most of my first few months in a dark slumber. Wonderful blissful darkness that allowed me to escape my harsh reality. She thought she was punishing me, but I grew to love the darkness. I coveted it.
“Very well. You can set the table,” Mother finally said with pursed lips. “Did you sleep well?”
Obviously I had been forgiven for my faux pas. At least the day remained on the right track. “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, reaching into the tiny cupboard above a single sink that sat against the wall near our dining table. I pulled out two plates and two glasses and sat them on the table. Our utensils were kept in the small drawer beside the sink. Mother unlocked the dumbwaiter and extracted the serving tray she used for our food. I then carried the tray to the table while she relocked the dumbwaiter door, giving the lock two tugs to make sure it was fastened. It was the same regimented routine day after day, unless of course I did something that deserved punishment.
The dumbwaiter had a lock for my benefit. When I was nine, I shimmied up the rope. My arms shook from exertion, but I finally made it to the top. I don’t know what my plan was if I made it to the kitchen. Maybe just a glimpse out the window at the sun or a blue sky filled with cottonlike clouds. The issue was Mother never allowed me to go outside. She said I suffered from a severe case of photosensitivity, an allergic reaction to the sun that would affect my immune system. At the time I guess I didn’t care. I slid the dumbwaiter door open to find Mother waiting for me with a shot in hand. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, other than when I woke up the dumbwaiter door had the new lock installed.
“You may use the bathroom,” Mother said once the table was set and the food was in place.
“Thank you, Mother,” I murmured, walking sedately to the bathroom though my bladder was screaming for release. The bathroom had no door, but was separated from the room with a single curtain. It offered little privacy, but I was always thankful for anything.
Once my bladder was empty, I stood at the sink and squirted a liberal amount of industrial soap in my hands. Mother was a nurse who had seen her share of unnecessary sicknesses brought on by a lack of cleanliness. She was fanatical about germs. Hands were to be washed and scrubbed thoroughly on the front and back sides, making sure to get under the nails. I went through the motions without a second thought. I’d done it thousands of times before.
Our meal was simple. Eggs, toast, one slice of bacon, and a glass of orange juice. Obesity claimed over a hundred thousand lives per year. Even though I had a slight figure, Mother wasn’t willing to take any chances. Over the years I had learned to eat my food slowly, savoring each bite. My lunch would be a sandwich and a piece of fruit that already sat in a brown paper bag on the counter. It was my choice when to eat it, but it was all I got until Mother joined me for dinner. Patience was a virtue forced on me.
“Before I go to sleep I want to check over your schoolwork from yesterday,” Mother said as I finished the last sip of my orange juice. “Did you complete your algebra equations?”
“Yes, ma’am. They were easy,” I said, beaming with pride when she smiled at me.
“That’s good. Math is an important skill. What about science? Did you finish your gravity formulas?”
I nodded, standing up to clear our empty plates from the table. With a little dish soap and the washrag, I cleaned and dried our dishes, handing over any of the items that belonged upstairs.
I joined Mother on the small couch where she was going over my class work. I knew everything was right. The answers came to me easily.
“Everything looks good,” Mother said, closing up the file. “You will continue on conjugating verbs today in English, and I want you to finish your paper on the Civil War.” She stood up. A small kernel of relief blossomed like a flower in my chest. Mother had always stressed the importance of education and it was one of the ways I could always please her. “I will see you at dinnertime. You may shower today, but no longer than five minutes. I will know if it is longer.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, standing with her.
She pulled me in for a brief hug. “You’re a good girl.”
I obediently returned the gesture. “Thank you,” I said, readily accepting the praise. Hugs from Mother were a treat and few and far between. A warm tingle spread throughout my body. Making her happy was my one and only goal. I treasured these moments. They were my reward for being good.
As if she could read my thoughts, Mother stiffened and abruptly dropped her arms. The mood of the room changed to dread, like storm clouds moving in before a thunderstorm. I panicked, quickly going over the events of the morning in my mind in a dire search for any mistakes I had made. I knew I only had moments to figure it out and apologize for my transgression.
She stepped back, reaching for the strap I knew all too well. My time was up.
What did I do? What did I do? I racked my brain for an answer, but came up empty. What was I missing? It must have been something really bad. Mother hated to punish me. She had told me time and again that she only did it for my own good.
“Leah, what is that on your ceiling?” she asked, looking toward my bed with the strap in hand.
“My sun,” I whispered, suddenly realizing the mistake I’d made. How could I forget to take it down? It was a weak sun anyway, hardly worth the price I would have to pay. I drew it in lemon-yellow crayon like a little kid and cut it out in a perfect circle with my plastic scissors that were useless for anything more than the thinnest piece of paper. It hung over my bed using two thumbtacks I had found years ago and kept hidden. I only wanted it to shine down on me while I slept.
“Your sun?” Mother asked in a shrill voice. “Do you miss the sun?” she shrieked, making me flinch. “Do I need to remind you of what the sun does to you? Or the fact that your own parents abandoned you because of your illness?”