Page 10 of Lotus

“Can you bring me books to read? I’m learning to read in school, and it’s really boring down here.”

All I have is a cupboard with snacks, two buckets, a flashlight, and my sleeping bag.

He nods. “Yes. I have supplies in my bunker—lots of books and games. There’s electricity down here, so I’ll install a television and some better lighting.”

My heart skips a beat at the prospect of new things to do.

Bradford pauses to look my way, his dark eyes softening, a flash of sadness filling them. “It’s gonna be all right, kid. You’re safe down here.”

He puts his mask back on and makes his way up the ladder, leaving me all alone once again.

Safe.

I may be safe, but I don’t feel happy. I want to go home.

Hopefully, it won’t be too much longer because I miss my family.

I miss sunshine.

I miss her.

Three hours later, Gabe returns to the bedroom with a warm plate of food, and he finds me in the exact same place he left me, staring at the wall.

A day has passed, and I still have not moved from my perch beneath the window. My bladder feels heavy, and my throat is parched, but finding the will to move is an exhausting process. Gabe has come and gone, his attempts at conversation and hospitality ignored. I’m not trying to be rude or ungrateful—I am just lost.

When I finally gather the strength to pull myself to my feet, I stagger to the bathroom, pausing briefly to glance at Gabe resting across from me in the living room. He’s sprawled out on the sofa, the back of his arm draped over his eyes, and a television flickering on the far wall. The mounted screen is much larger, more vivid and compelling, than the one I had in my underground cell. I squint my eyes at it, overwhelmed by the realistic images. It resembles the one I saw in Bradford’s bedroom, as well as at the hospital.

Gabe doesn’t hear my footsteps in the hallway, and I’m grateful he’s asleep with a wire spilling from each ear, muted noise filtering through. Music, perhaps.

I pull my gaze from the monitor and make my way into the bathroom. I have a vague recollection of toilets, even though my living arrangements were not equipped for proper plumbing. Forgotten memories seeped inside me when I observed the lavatory at the hospital for the first time.

I was assaulted with flashes, recalling an ivory sink adorned with colorful toothbrushes.

A floral shower curtain.

The image of a little girl standing beneath the shower jets in mud-covered clothes and pigtails, squealing when I forced the temperature colder.

All I had in my hole in the ground were buckets that Bradford would wash and collect regularly—one for waste and one for bathing with a soapy sponge. The shower I was introduced to at the hospital felt uncomfortable at first, the hard jets of water biting my skin like barbed wire. But it soon became an enjoyable occurrence, cathartic even, and I realize now it’s only one of the many experiences I’ve been missing out on.

I shake my head through a swallow, flipping on the lights, then wincing when I’m blinded by the harsh fluorescents. Everything is so bright in this new world.

As I case my surroundings, more fractured visions sweep through me, causing my knees to quiver. The ivory sink is still there, chipped and tarnished. The floral shower curtain has been replaced by one that is gray and sterile, and the little girl is long gone, but I can almost still hear her laughter echoing in my ears.

I do my business, then glance in the mirror before I exit.

I went twenty-two years without a mirror.

No reflection. No concept of my physical appearance. No knowledge of my eye color or bone structure or the curve of my mouth. I had my name, though. I carved it into the cement wall, so I’d never forget it.

I blink at the reflection staring back at me. This imposter. This unfamiliar man with irises like cinnamon and tawny hair falling over his forehead in chaotic waves.

A jaw encased in rough bristles, growing longer by the day.

Pale skin from lack of sun exposure.

Long, thick eyelashes and defined cheekbones.

A hollow, withdrawn look in his eyes, not even disguised by the dancing, golden flecks.

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