My clothes were in the way, so I lowered them and sat. Water ran out, a release of the jittery feeling.
I stayed sitting on the toilet, not sure if the water would come again. I peered down at the words on my belly.
The next line read,Remember your life.
But I did remember. The rolling bed. Nurses. Mom. This bathroom.
There was one more line.
Read the shower curtain.
I glanced over at the sheet of plastic that separated the shower from the rest of the bathroom. It had no words on it, only a long fall of bright white.
What did the words mean?
I picked up some of the toilet paper and dried my body. It took a moment to work the zipper, but I discovered if I didn’t look, my hands knew what to do.
I turned and pushed a lever on the toilet, then jumped back at the loud noise. The water and paper moved down. I had known to do that. Parts of me remembered.Flush.
I looked around to see what else I could learn. The room had a sink and a mirror.
I walked up to the shiny glass. I knew this was me. The body wore the clothes I could see when I looked down. It moved when I did.
But I had never seen my face before.
Long dark hair swirled on my shoulders, disappearing into the white wrapping on my head. My eyes were blue with little brown specks. I leaned in and stared until my breath changed part of the mirror into fog.
A noise on the door made me jump.
“Ava?” It was Mom.
“I’m here,” I said, not sure what else to say.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
I approached the shower. I had to hurry, or she mightcome in.
I ran my hand along the length of the curtain. The white was unbroken. There were no notes. No handwriting. I examined it closely and found a small tag. It read, “Do not remove.”
Was that my message?
I walked inside and pulled the curtain closed. I liked the feeling. Safe. Alone. I leaned against the cold wall.
Was this what the note meant? Do not remove myself?
I slid to the floor. My feet were bare, and I wiggled my toes. I worked my way up, naming every part of my body. Ankle. Knees. Legs. The words piled up and comforted me, something for my thoughts to rest on.
Then I spotted it. A group of letters on the bottom corner of the shower curtain.
A word!
I snatched it close. More words ran up the side, written small.
Open the bookHistory of the World. Do not let Mother see the notes inside. If no book, find the paper flowers at home. Trust no one.
I read it again and again and again.History of the World. Paper flowers.
