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"Who told you to go up there?" she replied instead.
"I wanted to see what was up here," I said. "How am I supposed to get down?"
"Since when do you go sneaking around our home like this? Since when do you go and do something without first asking me? tell you since when, since you started with that psychotherapist and those wicked girls. You go and disobey me and go swimming and who knows what, and then you come home and go snooping. You think that's all just some coincidence? Huh? I don't. I told you this would happen. I warned you."
"Bring back the ladder," I pleaded. "How am I supposed to get down from here?"
"You wanted to be up there. Be up there," she said, turning away.
"It's scary up here. I can't stay up here. Stop it," I shouted.
She paused in the doorway to look up at me.
"You made your bed for the night. Sleep in it," she said.
"Wait," I called. "What are these things? Why didn't you ever give me these letters?"
She turned again and without replying, put out the pantry lights and walked out, closing the pantry door be hind her.
"Mother!" I shouted, and then I looked down at the letter in my hands and screamed, "Geraldine!"
I waited, but she didn't return. Opening all the cartons and crawling about up in this tiny storage space had stirred the thick dust. It made me cough and sneeze and feel dirty all over. I leaned over the little doorway and directed the flashlight through the door. It looked to be at least ten feet to the floor. I'd have to lower myself carefully, hold on with my hands and then try to drop to my feet. How stupid. What did she think I would do, stay here until morning?
I put the letters back into the carton and closed it. Then I started to position myself at the top of the crawl space doorway. It was impossible to hold onto the flashlight at the same time. I debated dropping it to the floor below, but imagined it would break, so I decided to stuff it into my blouse. After I did that, I began to lower myself through the now very dark opening. My heart was thumping so hard, I thought I might lose my breath and fall. My fingers didn't seem strong enough to grip the sides. This is so crazy, I kept telling myself. Why did she do this?
I turned my body and with my legs shaking, continued to lower myself through the opening. With the full weight of my body on my hands and wrists, my fingers slipped badly and I felt splinters gouge into my skin I lost hold with my left hand, and my right just seemed to fly off the wood. Screaming, I fell downward and hit the floor awkwardly, my left foot hitting first, twisting under my body and getting caught under me. I actually heard the bone snap.
My head hit the floor hard enough to roll stars through my eyes and send a sharp ache down the back of neck and shoulders. I lost my breath, gasped, and pulled my left leg out from under me but I was so full of pain, I couldn't breathe fast enough. I must have blacked out for a few seconds or even a full minute. When my eyes opened again, I saw only darkness. My ankle seemed to have a mouth of its own and screamed pain up my leg.
"Mother!" I cried. "Help me!"
Crying, I pulled myself forward. I tried, but it wasn't possible to stand on my ankle I reached into my blouse and pulled out the flashlight. Then I dragged myself toward the door. Practically crawling and sliding through it, I braced myself on the kitchen counter and screamed again and again for her. The pain filled my eyes with hot tears that streaked down my cheeks.
Finally, the lights went on in the hallway. I heard her footsteps on the stairs and moments later, she appeared in the kitchen doorway, her hands on her hips, scowling.
"What are you howling about?"
"I fell," I cried. "I fell and I think I broke my ankles" She gazed down at my foot quickly.
"Nonsense," she said.
"No, it's not nonsense. I heard it crack. Why did you take away the ladder?" I shouted at her. "How could you do that? My foot feels like it's blowing up like a balloon."
She shook her head and went to the refrigerator.
"All you need is some ice on it," she said, without even looking at my foot.
She scooped out some cubes and put them in a plastic bag.
"Here," she said, thrusting it at me. "Put this on it and go to sleep. This is what comes of being disobedient. Maybe now you'll listen and stay away from those nasty girls who poisoned you."
She turned and started away.
"It's not just swollen, I tell you. It's broken. I heard it snap."
She didn't turn back.
"Let's see how it looks in the morning," I heard her say. "If you can't get upstairs, sleep on the sofa in the living room."
