“He had said he had something to do before he came, but that he would be here early. I took “early” to mean perhaps ten, perhaps eleven at the latest. But now, it was noon (by both my own clock and the strange, glowing one I had discovered on his telephone), and he had not come. Nor at one. Nor two. Mama always left me breakfast and lunch, feeding me, I now realized, as if I were a pet. I had been too excited to eat breakfast, and now, I was too excited for lunch. I longed to go, to leave my tower, to find him. But, though I might shimmy down my hair rope without him, how would I pull myself back up? Did it matter? Did it honestly matter? I had lived half my life, now, atop this tower, if you could call it a life, sitting here, reading, waiting for Mama. The only thing that had kept me alive, kept me sane all these years, was the thought that, someday, I would leave. Someday, I would be released or, if not, escape. I realized that that was why I had woven the rope in the first place, w...hy I had hidden my ability to do so from Mama.MoreLessShow More Show Less
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