The Wind in the Willows

Joran awoke to the late morning sun shining softly across his face. He labored into the bathroom and set his palms on the sink to stare at his reflection. His eyes habitually veered away but he kept bringing them back to look. He did this because he started entertaining the idea of her attraction to him again, hoping she could somehow find it in his shadowy, disproportionate features.

He dressed himself and prepared breakfast. The butter was spoiled so he used olive oil to fry the eggs and scooped a dollop of peanut butter into a small dish for the toast. He felt sick as he cracked the eggs into the pan and laid the raw bacon next to them. Arranging everything on a tray, he carried it down to the basement and set it by the door to take his balaclava from the hook and slip it over his head. He turned on the light, set the tray in the middle of the floor, sat down, and waited patiently.

May slowly sat up from her bed in the corner and smoothed her hair from her face. She took the quilt folded neatly at the end of the mattress and wrapped it over her shoulders before joining Joran on the floor. Her thin hand grabbed the fork and wandered over the plate, undecided on what to eat first. Joran pushed the tray closer to her.

“The butter went bad.”

“It’s ok,” May muttered, puncturing the egg yolk.

She ate the eggs and bacon, spread the peanut butter over the toast, and saved the strawberries for last. Her bony fingers gingerly pinched one and hovered in front of him. He shook his head and denied the offer, the sickness in his stomach rising to his throat.

They repeated this same mealtime ritual in the same way every day for the past six months. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were served in that basement on that tray, every day. Joran used to instruct her to place her hands beneath her thighs as he fed her. But as she followed his rules, participated in conversation, read the books he gave, and showed him small affectionate gestures, she was permitted to feed herself. She was still unable to dictate when she would eat and was seldom allowed to skip a meal without some other privilege being taken away, like bathing, eating, drinking, reading, or talking. But it had been a while since May faced any punishment.

“It’s spring now, right?” she asked, chewing slowly on a strawberry.

The red juice filled the corners of her lips. Joran had his eyes on her the whole time, not even missing when she swiped the snot from her nose. He studied her hollow, pale face and dark eyes. Six months ago, her skin was red and puffy from crying every day for weeks, but back then it was plump and healthy.

“Yes.”

“Let me kiss you and then take me outside today,” she wiped her mouth.

They stared at one another for a while, both holding still expressions. Joran’s eyes fell away first. It was the first time he rejected her affection. He pushed the tray to the side, stood up, and held out his hand.

“You don’t need to show me anymore. I will take you outside today.”

May remained seated and stared up at him. She glanced between both of his narrow, sleepy brown eyes and saw a reflection. She grabbed his hand to hoist herself up. Usually, when he accompanied her out of the room, they always took a left down the hall and into the bathroom—as that was the only place she could ever go outside. Her body turned left, accustomed to the regularity of their schedule. But Joran stopped her with a gentle tug. It was as if her brain couldn’t comprehend taking two steps to the right to the staircase. Even as he guided her there and waited for her to climb up first, it seemed she had forgotten how to lift her feet. Every time she stepped up, she threw her head around her shoulder to look at him for confirmation. He would just stare and wait.

They made it little by little to the door and he said it was unlocked. She hesitated as she placed her hand on the nob, slowly turned it, and carefully pushed it open to reveal the first floor. He placed a gentle hand on her back and encouraged her to enter and when she did, her eyes burned from the natural light pouring in from all the windows. He continued to guide her to the front door and placed a hand over her forehead to shield her until they adjusted. She wouldn’t take a step further, so he opened the door himself. May couldn’t see but she could feel the warm breeze flooding into the house and brushing up her legs. It swayed her T-shirt and played with her hair. Softly pulling his hand away, she beheld the beauty of rebirth. Green and yellow exploded outside the front door. Trees were full of leaves and the grass was tall. The green swayed with the warm wind and pleasant smells filled her nostrils.

Joran took her hand and led her onto the wide porch. The wood planks beneath her bare feet were warm and sent comforting shivers up her spine. Her chest filled with satisfaction so sweet she held her arms to her torso, desperately trying to keep it all in. She took a step forward and reached for Joran’s hand and pulled him into the front yard. Looking back, she realized her prison was in the basement of an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by forest.

The grass was soft, and she kept walking, still holding Joran’s hand tightly in hers until they stopped at a willow tree. She let go and laid herself under it and stared up through the spindly soft leaves swaying overhead. A robin flew onto the branch of a nearby maple tree and sang. The willow tree swayed, and she heaved. She jolted forward and heaved. Her face filled with heat and her mouth flew open. She howled and heaved, desperate to catch air. Tears spilled and made her hair stick to her face. Joran sat next to her and watched. Her nails dug into the earth beneath them, and she cried miserably. Yellow light flashed across their bodies as clouds moved over the face of the sun.

Joran pulled his mask off and set it on the dirt. The breeze cooled the hot tears on his face, and he looked up at the willow tree swaying above them. He watched the robin sing and flap away. It had been six months since he stole her from the presence of light. He didn’t know what to do next. He didn’t know how to atone. Regret was something he couldn’t fathom in October of last year, but now it was suddenly washing through him.

Closing her eyes, lifting her chin in the air, and letting the tears spill into her ears, May calmed herself. She listened to the leaves softly brush against one another and Joran weep beside her. For six months, she had been so eager to know his face and begged him to show her many times. But now she was afraid to turn her head and look. Maybe it was because he was crying. She could hear his breath shudder and see his form fold in the corner of her eye. She had never even seen her own father cry before and imagined it would be too pitiful to bear.