A Jail with Feathers

The tree smells earthy and woodsy. The inside walls are smooth. It hugs against me, trembling, like it’s just as scared as I am. Soon, I can see red and blue and white lights flashing on the concrete walls surrounding the center and roll up into a tighter ball. But that’s not all I see. I see a girl hiding in the bushes!

She presses a thin finger to her lips and looks at me with such pleading eyes that I almost have to look away. I now she’s scared I might rat on her, but I know just where she’s at. Sara and I hid like that behind a Dumpster, hoping the police wouldn’t see us. The girl pulls her head down and hides her face, but it’s not her they’re looking for.

All around, branches snap and the ground crunches, sounding like one giant cat munching on dry food. But it’s not a cat that suddenly pokes a cold nose around the hole in the tree. It’s a big dog.

I yelp. The dog howls. And my great escape plan snaps in two.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Got her!” a policeman shouts into a little box hooked onto his shoulder, and something sinks inside me. I think disappointment’s pulling at me from inside out. He bends down. My jaw quivers like it does right before I’m going to bite someone.

“Come on out of there. Let’s get you inside.”

When I don’t move, he reaches in. Big mistake.

His skin tastes different from other skin. Not salty. Not coconutty or lotiony. Not flowery. The taste is more like a penny, not that I go around tasting pennies, but I did put the one Ben gave me in my mouth once to hide it. The policeman’s next moves are fast, and all I can feel is pain in my cheeks as he pinches them together hard, forcing my mouth to open. My stomach tightens. It’s the same thing Terrible Ted did after he burned me then let that hot piece of ash land on my mouth to remind me to keep it shut and not let anyone know what he did.

Blood trickles from the holes in his hand.

“Oh, Lord. I was just coming over to tell you not to reach for her,” a familiar voice says. I can’t look up. I know the voice, and if the tone matches the look on his face, I don’t want to see it.

“I’ve pulled cats from trees, even rescued a bear or two, but this is the first time I’ve tried to get a girl out of a maple tree and got bit,” the policeman says, making room for Bart to get to me.

“Anna!” Bart’s voice is heavy and dark with disappointment. “You broke your promise. That hurts worse than any bite you might have sunk into me,” he adds, dropping his voice even lower, before adding, “and you gave me your word.”

“Words break!” I shout. Mama’s words broke. Daddy’s words broke. Even Sara’s words broke. So why wouldn’t my words break?

“What were you thinkin’?” Bart’s voice is down to a wheezy whisper. He helps me out of the tree.

“Free spider,” I whisper back, but he just looks at me like I’m speaking Russian, Greek, or some other foreign language.

“You put my job on the line.”

I frown, wondering how I could have put a job on a line. What line? Sometimes what he says doesn’t make sense, but right now, what he means does.

“That little stunt you pulled could get me fired, Anna.”

“Fire?” I freeze up.

“Fired,” he repeats, emphasizing the “d” at the end. “As in lose-my-job.” He separates the words out for emphasis and motions for me to sit in the wheelchair he must have wheeled out with him.

“Walk!” I shout.

Bart doesn’t answer. He wheels the chair behind me and pulls me back by my shoulders. It’s sit or fall, so I plunk down in the chair, good and mad. But then, so is he, and he tips the chair back and starts rolling it across the stones and grass and onto the sidewalk toward the door, with purpose. I can only imagine the grim look on his face. I bounce around and look back one last time to see if the girl is still in the bushes, but if she is, nobody would know. Why couldn’t she have been Sara? A sinking feeling weighs me down. I’m just fooling myself. Sara isn’t coming. Nobody’s coming. I swallow against that painful truth, but swallowing doesn’t make the hurt go away.

“We’ll need you to fill out a report,” the policeman, who’s out of breath from speed-walking to keep up with Bart, tells him.

I steal a glance at Bart. He nods one sharp nod at the cop, then sucks in his bottom lip. A thin, dark line marks where his lips used to be.

After he pushes the chair and me to lockdown, he turns to leave. This time maybe for good. The wall hums and clicks and Bart turns back and maneuvers the chair to the bed, helps me out of it, still saying nothing, and again turns to leave, this time with the chair. It’s no surprise to me that I’m in lockdown for real this time.

I look around. All that’s in the room is a bolted down chair and bed if you can even call it that. More like a cot. No windows. Just a door, four walls, a ceiling and floor, and a toilet in the corner by a small sink. My eyes well up. I don’t like this room. Why can’t I go to the cool-down room?

“Cool down? Not this time.” Bart answers, reading my thoughts. He pulls a towel off the chair and drapes it over his arm.

“Sorry, Bart.”

“Well, sorry doesn’t always fix it, Anna. You got to learn that sometimes what you do affects other people. If I don’t come by tomorrow, you’ll know why,” he adds, and everything in me lets go, including the pee I can no longer hold in.