The Wall

The girl sits on the wall. She takes a photo of the bag between her feet. The button on her phone clicks a hiss of confirmation that the moment is recorded. She likes the bag. It is green and yellow. The young girl in the shop gave it to her to put her wet umbrella in even though she didn’t buy anything. The girl likes that. When she is bouncing around the beige room they try to take the bag away from her. She shouts for it. She would not put that bag over her head. It was full of somebody being kind.

In the bag are the girl’s calculations. She remembers when she miscalculated and the clock went backwards. She saw her body from above stuck like lead-weight in the corner bed watching the moment over and over again. She would not like to be stuck on the ceiling again. The thought of it makes her heart pound.

The girl bought two bottles of apple juice. She gave the exact money to the cashier. As if being perfect would absolve her. Water makes her gag. If she has to drink it she moves her feet when she swallows. That stops her throat from convulsing.

On the wall she looks at the bridge. Always in the hope that it might lead somewhere. She wonders how things would look from the other side. If she would still be stuck no matter which way she was looking.

The girl looks at the photo of her feet and her bag and thinks this is ridiculous. I am ridiculous. Who carries a tiny carrier bag full of the unbearable weight of Wednesday morning.

She thinks of how they will ridicule her when they strip off her shoes and clothes. The shame makes her go behind the brick wall and snap the lid off the first juice. She retches thinking ‘now I will hate apple juice.’

A man in a green T-shirt walks by with a red dog. She has lost her place. She smiles but feels like crying. He walks by but looks back. As unsure of the picture as she is.

The girl would have liked to have told the man in the green T-shirt that she was in trouble. But she didn’t have the right to do that. She didn’t have the right to ask anyone for help.

The girl runs out of juice. Next time I will need three bottles she thinks.

The story has become as inevitable as sitting on the steps waiting to disappear. Expecting the concrete and strangers to hold you.

As she tells the story she realises. The green and yellow bag. The man in the green T-shirt. It is the colour of an ambulance.