Her Rebel

My shift is twelve hours long and afterward I feel worn to the bone. I’m thankful for the busy day because I didn’t have to think about the marriage issue. I know that’s going to be pressed on me until I cave or run. Running doesn’t seem like an option—I have nowhere to go.

I retreat to the weekend dormitory I always stay in when I’ve got long weekends at the hospital. The wing of the hospital is brand new, and I take advantage of the warm shower, clean towels, and comfortable bed.

The administrators strongly encourage weekend nurses from outside of the elite district to stay in these secure suites rather than walk home at night. I have the option to sleep here Sunday night and return home Monday morning, but I always go home Sunday nights after the last 12-hour shift. My apartment isn’t as nice as these suites, but it’s home and it’s all mine. I don’t feel like an outsider there. And deep down I don’t like the guilt that comes with staying any more than I have to. Nobody outside the gates has hot showers, so what makes me so special? It’s enough that I get to indulge in this life for a short period of time.

Once I’m clean and in my pajamas, I dry my hair and look out the window. Beyond the razor wire and guard tower, I can see the shape of the old brewery on the other side as the sun sets behind it. The light is flickering again, but maybe it’s been flickering since this morning.

I can’t put my finger on why I’m drawn to it, but somehow I know from the strange outline that the light is an old oil lamp. The kind a teacher would use. They give off signs, and sometimes the signs are as small as a flickering light in a grimy window.

In troubled times, look for a light that won’t be overtaken by the darkness.

My mother said that to me many times before she was taken.

I watched her live by that idea. She lit candles in the window, and over time people gravitated to the light and to my mother. She was the light.

Childhood memories swirl through my thoughts as I tuck myself in for the night. My mother, in her small way, attempted to lead by enlightenment. People came to our shabby little apartment to talk, to comfort each other, or to leave their sad lives behind, if only for a few hours. She played music, and some of the people who came tried teaching me to play instruments. I loved the music as a little girl. We might not have had a lot, but I remember being happy and not feeling so alone.

While some people revolted with their fists, their anger overpowering everything, that wasn’t my mother’s way. She wanted peaceful gatherings to share ideas and talk about change. At the time I didn’t understand it, but my mother explained it was her way to work through the hard times.

I’m exhausted by the time I lie down on the bed, and I fall asleep almost immediately, the light in the window at the forefront of my thoughts.

I’m playing with a boy who’s kind to me. I don’t know his name, but I’m so young there’s no way I can remember it. We’re running through the streets and he’s holding my hand so tightly, like he’ll never let it go. He’s looking after me while we chase sparrows. I laugh and smile at my protector. We run together for blocks, away from buildings and going past the area my mother told me not to go beyond. I want to chase the birds so bad, and I know he’ll keep me safe. We pretend to be monsters as we chase them, raising our arms high and scaring them. Laughing and playing. When the sparrows fly away from us, they disappear over the wall. The wall that’s meant to keep us out. I watch them disappear and feel the boy squeeze my hand again.

“Don’t cry. We’ll fly out of here, too.” His dark eyes are locked on me.

I wake up with a start, feeling wetness on my cheeks. The echoes of the dream still linger in my mind as I wipe the tears away. I close my eyes to see how it ends.

“But where will we go?” I ask him.

“Anywhere we want. I’d take you anywhere you asked,” he answers and smiles at me.

Chapter Two

Minnie

My Sunday shift was thankfully uneventful and by the time I clock out, I’m tired in my bones, but my mind keeps wandering back to the brewery. Back to the light. I walk alone just as the sun begins to set. I follow its path westward toward the checkpoint. By the time I make it through and scan my pass, it’s dusk and getting darker by the minute. I feel eyes on me once again and I know where they are coming from.