by Abby Bardi
When I was lying down in bed, Alice came in and sat next to me. She brushed my hair away from my face and said how glad they all were to see me, and that I could stay there as long as I wanted to, hopefully forever, though she understood if I felt I needed to be with my other family. I noticed that she didn't say “real” family, and I was glad about that, because at that moment, though it surprised me to realize it, Alice and Roy and Heather felt just as real to me as anyone.
“I don't know what's going to happen with Mama,” I told her. I could hardly think straight, but it did seem pretty clear that this business with Cyrus and the Bunker was not going to do Mama any good in trying to get the Littles back, and I might have a better chance of seeing them on my own. And the truth was, now that I was sure Mama was okay, and that she was out of the Bunker, I found myself looking back on the whole thing in a different way. I wasn't sure that if I were someone's mama, I would let them go into a big concrete place with a lot of guns, or that I would let them go alone to some old man with a braided ponytail, no matter who he said he was. It wasn't like I was mad at Mama—I understood why she did those things. But it seemed clear to me that I was going to have to start taking care of myself in a new way, that I was going to have to stop relying on people for things as if I was still a child.
When I looked at Alice sitting next to me, her face was kind, and she was looking at me with that hopeful way she had, her eyes all soft and out of focus because she wasn't wearing her glasses, looking like she wanted to give me whatever I needed, at least if she could. But I didn't know what I needed. I suddenly didn't even feel like sleeping anymore—I felt all keyed-up, just lying there thinking about things, and I waskind of afraid to shut my eyes for fear that I'd see myself back in that dark tunnel again. I found myself telling Alice that I would definitely be here for a while. I told her that I wanted to be a doctor like Dr. Greenberg and asked her if she thought I could do that.
“You could do anything you want to, Mary Fred,” she said, and I could tell she really believed that.
“Is he—are you—”
“We've been seeing a lot of each other.” Her cheeks got a little-bit pink, and that made her look younger. “It's all because of you, Mary Fred. When I think back on all the things that have happened because of you, it just amazes me.”
“Why, what else?”
“Well, there's Roy.”
“What about Uncle Roy? Did he like that camp he went to?”
“I don't know if he liked it, really. Let's just say it did him a lot of good. Doesn't he seem well?”
“He seems really different. He doesn't look so sleepy anymore.”
“Did you like Marcy?”
“She seemed nice.” Marcy was the dark-haired woman, and I guessed that she was Uncle Roy's new girlfriend. “Did he meet her at camp?”
“That's right.”
“So everyone's happy.”
“I guess so, Mary Fred. I guess we are. Puffin's still a bit affected by the accident—she has nightmares sometimes, but she's much better. How about you, honey—how are you? I mean really?”
“I'm happy to be here, ma'am.” Then I laughed and said, “Alice.”
“But how was it where you were?”
“Oh. . . .” I tried to think of a way to tell her about it, but I couldn't think of any words. “Alice, I sort of realized something while I was there.”
“What's that?”
“I don't really know. Alls I know is there was this moment when I had to decide if I was going to stay or go. And I decided to go.”
“That's called voting with your feet,” Alice said. She held my hand and patted it.
“So I guess I did that. And here I am.”
“I'm so glad you're here, Mary Fred,” she said. She leaned over and kissed my forehead, then stood up. “Get some rest, honey. You've had a rough day.”
Alice didn't know the half of it, I thought. I said good night to her, and thanked her, but she laughed and said I didn't need to thank her, that this was home. Then she said thank you to me, and we laughed a little bit, and then she turned out the light and left.
For a while, I lay there in the dark, trying to sleep, but I still didn't feel the least bit tired. When I'd close my eyes, I'd see Cyrus at the front of the room with his cell phone, or next to me with the naked blond girl, or else I'd see Mama and the way she looked at me just before I said good-bye to her. Then I saw myself running through the woods, and at first I felt scared again, but suddenly the Littles were skipping alongside me, playing, and then Alice and Heather and Roy were there too, and all of them were laughing together. Then, just as suddenly, I was back in the tunnel, with Ozma of Oz, and Dorothy, and Billina the chicken, and they were all groping in the darkness with me, trying to get away from the Bunker, holding little matches that burned brightly for about two seconds before going out. The darkness of the room, or maybe itwas the tunnel, seemed to sparkle around me, as if it was full of little magic things that I had never seen before, all the things that connected me to the people I knew, as if all around us were fine webs, everywhere we went, threads of gold and silver that flashed in the darkness and showed us where we came from and where we had to go.
ABBY BARDI, born and raised in Chicago, has worked as a singing waitress in Washington, D.C.; an English teacher in Japan and England; a performer on England's country-andwestern circuit; and, most recently, as a professor at Prince George's Community College. Author of a column called “Sin of the Month” for the Takoma Voice, she is married with two children and lives in Ellicott City, Maryland.
