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I pause and listen. When I hear their muffled voices I push upward, angling my shoulders and jutting my head through the opening while straining to pull my weight up. Pushing up on my tiptoes I scrape one shoulder through, biting back a yelp as something sharp tears at my skin.
I’m jerking and wincing, using every muscle to try to compel my body to fit through the opening. Gathering my thoughts, I remember that this could be life or death. I pretend my effort isn’t just for me but that I need to get myself free in order to save some imaginary wide-eyed orphan on the verge of certain doom.
The adrenaline rush I’m hoping for from that image evades me, but I get something else in return.
I’m stuck.
Stuck here in this window in my donkey pajamas. Too bad I can’t take a picture because this is a Kodak moment if ever there was one.
My feet are a few inches off the connection to the commode and the sink now, one arm and shoulder through the opening and the balance of my weight pressing down on my diaphragm, making it difficult to draw a full breath. Gravity is not my friend, and the pressure amplifies the formerly diminished feeling of nausea.
In this moment, my thoughts are that at least if I do hurl, my head is out the window.
“Dang it.” I grimace, even in this situation finding it difficult to break Daddy’s rule about no cursing.
I’m twisting and flailing with the hand that’s out the window for something to give me leverage, but the side of the cabin is smooth worn wood with no handholds. “So perfect.”
It feels like a metaphor for my life. Can’t move forward and can’t go back. Stuck in discomfort but not enough to kill me. Unable to push through the barrier to get myself free.
The voices in the cabin go quiet and I know it’s a matter of moments before I’m found out.
This will be a story for the grandkids one day. If I live that long.
I point my toes and blow out all the air left in my lungs, thinking it may help make my chest just the bit smaller needed to retreat.
Because at this point, forward isn’t an option. Plan A has failed and I’m pretty foggy on what Plan B could be. But until I unravel the mess of Plan A, that’s a secondary concern at best.
“Come on.” I breathe in and do everything I can to shimmy and lift myself off the window frame, kicking my feet like a toddler having a fit as I hear footsteps moving outside the door.
In one huge exhale I collapse, falling the few inches it takes for my feet to touch the back of the toilet.
From there, I plop down, jerking down my pajama bottoms and taking a seat just as the door opens.
I’m out of breath as I glare at the madman looking in.
“Um, little privacy? I’m sort of having some digestive issues here.” I manage and I see the flicker of discomfort in his eyes. “You into some freaky shit, huh, watching me? No pun intended.” I add, poking at the flush of embarrassment I see, forgiving myself this time for the swear word, knowing Daddy would probably approve given the circumstances.
And the amazing pun.
With a muttered apology he shuts the door and I drop my forehead to my knees, fighting for breath.
I pull myself together and decide Plan B does not involve the bathroom. So reluctantly I put myself back together and move to the door, pulling it open an inch, when I hear Stas’s name.
“He’s giving me everything as it should be. He’s as dirty as the next one, his high and mighty act didn’t last. He gave her up easier than I expected. You don’t mingle in the mud and stay clean. He’s played his time in the sandbox with the little girl, he’s ready to go back to whatever his life was before. I did him a favor I think.”
“Will he come after her?” My grandmother asks.
I’m chilled to the bone when I hear what comes next.
“No. I left him with a clear understanding if he shows up, she doesn’t get to live. Seems he’s got half a heart, he doesn’t want her dead. That fits with the terms of the estate as well. As long as you have her back in the fold, you get your money. Win, win.”
“Stas will never stop looking for me.” I march out into the small room and place myself carefully in the chair next to the pipe. I hold out my hand for them to re-shackle me, spouting at them, “Well? Aren’t you going to put the handcuffs back on? Clearly I’m dangerous.”. My ploy works, they don’t move right away to replace my restraint.
