A Sliver of Glass by Anne Mazer

Author:Anne Mazer
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781453293492
Publisher: Open Road Media Teen & Tween

7

STUCK

I’m stuck between two worlds. You might think this is rather a tight place to be, but actually I have room to maneuver. And on certain days I can see both worlds quite clearly, though never at the same time.

Where I am—it seems to be some kind of resting place—is a small room. The walls are a yellowish color. There is a stove where I can cook and a bed that I lie down on when I’m tired.

There are two windows on opposite sides of the room. Through one I see a grassy meadow; through the other, city streets thronged with people.

There is no one in this room but me.

In the morning I get up and make my bed. I take milk and eggs out of the refrigerator and cook a little breakfast. There is always food in the refrigerator—not much, it’s true, and always the same—but I’m never very hungry.

When breakfast is done, I do my exercises. I clean the room—though it never seems to get dirty—and it’s time for lunch. A sandwich, a glass of juice, a biscuit. Then I nap.

When I wake up, I go to one window and then I go to the other one. Depending on what I see, I may spend hours or minutes at each one. Sometimes I run from one window to the other, back and forth, almost madly. Exhausted, I lie down until supper and think about what I have seen.

How long have I been here? Forever, I think. I don’t remember anything that came before. Occasionally I get out. Not all of me, of course. Sometimes I press my hand against the window and feel it giving way, slowly dissolving under my touch. With a little more pressure I can wiggle a finger free, or even shove an elbow or a foot into one world or another for a few minutes.

Once I put my hand through the green window and felt the sun warming my skin. A breeze came into my room, and I heard birds chirping and the sound of lawn mowers cutting grass.

For the rest of the day I felt the sunlight, as though a bright room had opened up inside me.

Another time I thrust my head out the city window. The air was a sooty gray. Pigeons circled a marble building with busts of men and women on it. People rushed past me. I tried to talk to them, but they didn’t hear me. One person saw me—an old woman with a chalk-white face who was brushing her teeth over the gutter. She muttered something to herself and then turned away.

Years ago the room was different. It was plainer. The bed was a mattress on the floor. The table was smaller. There were no windows in the walls.

One day I began to scratch and scrape at the walls. At first I used my fingernails, then a piece of wood, then a knife. Paint chips fell to the floor as I scraped off layer after layer of paint. The chips clung to my skin, embedded themselves in my scalp, worked their way under my fingernails.

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