Caitriona sprang onto the bed and eagerly watched the clock. 8:56am. Around the room: clothes away, toys stored, bed made. Check. Check. Check. She nibbled her lip. Four minutes to go.
The hallway loudspeaker squelched and popped. An old woman’s voice squawked, “Today’s outdoor playtime for D wing is cancelled due to rain storms. All children will remain in their rooms for the day.” Clanks followed as the woman knocked random items into the mic trying to disconnect. Caitriona raced to the window: clouds but no storm.
“What?!”
Her grip around the security bars tightened and she clenched her teeth watching the children from C wing jostle and play while being corralled back inside. She mumbled, “They’re just clouds,” before slumping to the floor.
Still optimistic, she channeled her inner spy and stealthily cracked her door, leaning her head out to assess the danger level. It would—“Get back in your room, Caitriona,” Mary Beth, the wing attendant, scolded.
Caitriona slammed the door and slunk onto her bed, defeated. She kicked off her shoes, wishing her stowed toys brought the same comfort to her as they did Lorenzo, squealing in the next room with his Lego X-wing, or Miguel and Halle, playing bounce ball jacks on their connecting wall.
“Not today, Giuseppe,” she remarked at the peculiar face shadow created by the tree branch cluster outside her window. She lifted her chest to continue speaking then chose silence, her imagination unable to break her torpor.
In the recesses of her mind she began to hear singing. A little girl played in a beautiful room with a golden teddy bear that led her about in a waltz. The image made her smile but her eyes reached for the door, wanting the comfort of honest company.
But the door would not open for her so she let the singing rise, and as the spark in her eyes faded she lowered herself into the room.
“We have a new guest!”
Mary Beth passed the little girl’s door and peered inside. She couldn’t see her dancing, her little feet atop the bear’s paws. There was no music and cheering friends; only a blank stare and motionless child in the corner, all by herself.