Sinking into an old, brown beanbag chair that I had placed inside the child's bedroom, I started daydreaming about my family.
My father was strong and caring. I was a lot like him and we shared a common bond, a common spirituality. Though busy a lot, he always made time for me. I saw my mother, a haughty business woman who knew more about fax machines and the internet than pots and pans. She was a kind woman from the memories I had of her as a child. They remained memories as I began to see less and less of her in my daily life. She always came home late at night, cursing and complaining about what had happened that day. It was Nanna who cared for me. She was the one who tucked me in at night when my mother was typing up reviews. I didn't feel lonely or neglected without my mom; Nanna was always there when I needed her. I told her stories of when I would become a princess or live in the country. She always had this twinkle in her eyes when I said something like that. She knew that God had gifted me to be a dreamer. If only my mother ever knew...I woke up with a start. When had I fallen asleep? I was just thinking... Oh well, I guess it's too late now. I checked my watch. 4:30. Good. I still had an hour before I had to head back "home". Home, to that steel-cold jail pictured in my mind. No, it was not my home, my refuge, it was my stay. Here, in this house, in this room, in this comfort... This is my home. This is where I could actually get a breath of fresh air away from the stark, air-conditioned atmosphere that choked my senses. In actuality, I was planning on bringing my belongings here to stay. I didn't really need that place anyways. To find my freedom I needed to get away from there.
Remembering that I was still searching for something, I sat up and looked around again. These walls were colored in a pale shade of blue, the kind you see in babies rooms. There were dust marks lingering on them from the outlines of where old picture frames had been and also a large object which was probably a bed. There were long, heavy, blue velvet curtains still hanging from the single window. This prompted me to think that the room must have not belonged to a baby, but a teenager. I could almost picture a girl running into this very room and throwing herself at a plush bed. She smiles a broad smile from the exhileration while throwing hers arms up in front of her. Picking herself up, she slowly leans to the right. As she turns around, her smile fades. Standing in the doorway is her mother.
The frozen memory gave a couple beats of silence. I tried to hold in my pain of broken memories, but it was too hard. On the verge of tears, I slowly laid down on the wooden floor with my face down. The coldness of the ground cooled my warm cheeks and I took a deep sigh. This can't keep going on, Autumn. You need more control. After a minute of closing my eyes and praying for calm, I looked up from my buried head. I noticed that there was a small crack in the wall near the floor. I moved closer to inspect the crack more clearly. It was perfectly vertical. How strange. I touched it with my fingertips and a chalky residue came off, showing a cut in the wall. When I dusted off the rest of the filler, I saw a square-shaped marking, precisely cut and carefully hidden. On the right, there was a tiny, silver knob that had been pushed in to blend in with the plane of the wall. I took a black hair pin out of my pocket and slid the knob out.
Using my thumb and index finger, I yanked open the little door.
