The Miracle Place

1.

   365 DAYS. Exactly one year since it happened. Exactly one year of being free. Alone. Lost. For Jane, being lost and alone wasn't an unfamiliar circumstance, but rather so familiar, it was almost comforting. Of course, she hadn't always been alone. She had a friend. His name was Peter. He died. At least, that's what she assumed. He was dragged out of his room, kicking and screaming because he'd broken the number one rule: Don't leave the building. That was the last time she saw him. But Peter would have loved it out there, considering Jane hated it with a passion. They were like yin and yang.

The city was a terrible place to be no matter the time of day. The feeling of constantly being watched followed her around every corner, and down every alley. Maybe being isolated her whole life had something to do with it. When you spend fourteen years conditioning yourself to enjoy being alone, it becomes difficult to adapt to a busy environment. One with rushing cars and honking horns. Busy streets and smoke from cigarettes and lord knows what else lingering in the air like fog. Breathing it in, like an invitation to corrupt your young and healthy lungs.

Over the course of twelve months and fourteen hours, Jane had learned that citizens of big cities - or maybe just New York - spoke their minds all day, every day. All day, every day, Jane heard the most obscure things from different people.

"Her dog was wild, Amy! Six toes, it had!" One man yelled over the phone. Jane didn't know dogs had toes.

"Move! I'm new in town, and I ain't got time for nobody!" Yelled another. He even went as far as to shove a middle aged man, passing by while talking on the phone. Much to her surprise, the man only brushed him off and kept walking like nothing happened. Like he'd already forgotten about it.

That was another thing she learned. Living in the city, it didn't matter what you said or did. Because by the end of each day, she'd forget those absurd phrases. What's the point in remembering when tomorrow, people will spill more absurd phrases, saying whatever comes to mind. Not Jane, though. Jane hadn't spoken in a year.

At the nineteenth hour of the day, the noise became too much and her stomach roared hungrily. So she packed up her bag, one she'd found in a dumpster one evening, and set off towards the less busy street. Her bag was light, considering she only had three items to her name: a flashlight, a notebook, and a stuffed bear. Jane had learned that carrying around stuffed animals at fourteen years old was something to laugh about. She disagreed. Teddy was her best friend. Second to Peter.

The sidewalks were dotted with puddles as a result of the rainy day. It was always raining in New York, especially in April. She splashed in every single one of them, moving quickly and smoothly to avoid being stopped by anyone. The key to getting by in a busy city was to walk with purpose so you look like you have someplace to be. Like someone is waiting for you. That wasn't the case for Jane. But Jane was good at pretending.

Besides, what would someone want with a ratty kid like her? She'd repeat it over and over in her head before fixing it. What would someone want with what looks like a ratty kid?

It wasn't that Jane wasn't ratty looking. She did wear the same clothes every day, and eventually, the fabric began to fray. Her white t-shirt was now a gray colour, having been on the dirty grounds of New York City. Her black and white vans were rusted, despite being washed many times by Molly.

Molly was the owner of a small cafe called Beans & Barley. Jane visited the cafe quite often, in fact, that's where she was headed. Molly was a cute elderly lady who wore bright colours and always had something inspirational to say. She wore a smile on her face and talked a lot, which Jane liked. Molly didn't care that Jane never talked; she was half deaf, anyway. Because of that, she talked very loudly, unable to hear herself. Jane used to flinch, but had grown used to noise, and didn't mind it so much anymore.

Molly was like family. Jane didn't understand the concept of family, but one evening, when the two of them were enjoying tea after closing, Molly said she thought of Jane like a granddaughter. She said she would be honored to be Jane's grandmother, and Jane liked seeing Molly happy, so she nodded. For Jane, having a grandmother just meant having someone to give you food and clothes.

Jane didn't live with Molly, mainly because there wasn't enough space. Molly lived in a small attic area above the cafe. There was a bed, and a bathroom, both very tiny. Occasionally, Jane would bathe, while Molly sent her clothes to a laundromat down the street. She liked baths. They were warm and comforting, and she came out feeling brand new.

Molly would bring her clothes back, straight out of the drier. Jane had never received a hug from anyone - not even Molly. However, from seeing other people hug, she imagined it felt like putting on a shirt, fresh out of the drier.

Her clothes were never warm back at The Miracle Place. Nothing about that place was warm. Don't be fooled by the name. No miracle had any relation with that building. Jane was anything but a miracle. Ask the people who created her. Ask Peter. If they didn't kill Peter that day, she definitely did.

"Jane! There you are, Doll!" Molly reached out to pinch her cheeks. "How are you? Keeping warm, I hope. Come in!" Molly led her through the back of her cafe. The lights were dimmed low, letting hopeful customers know they're closed. The employees had all gone home by now, and it was just the two of them. No one else knew about Jane. Molly liked to keep her a secret. Jane liked being kept a secret.

She grabbed a seat at the bar and plopped her bag down as Molly waddled into the kitchen. Jane took this time to breathe deeply, flushing out the stressful day from her lungs. "You must be starving!" Molly squawked, already emerging from the kitchen. For an elderly lady, she moved fairly quickly. "Here, eat up! Coffee?" she asked, placing a croissant and a piece of cake down in front of her. Jane nodded for a coffee and immediately dug in.

She scarfed down the croissant, hunched over in her seat, looking like a starved animal. Molly poured her a hot cup of coffee, and emptied a pack of sugar into it, adding a splash of milk to finish it off. Jane grabbed a hold of herself as it was placed on the counter, reminding herself that freshly brewed coffee is piping hot.

That was the strange thing about Jane. She was terrified of heat and pain. But heat was hard to avoid when she had gasoline coursing through her veins courtesy of The Miracle Place.

After waiting a few seconds, she reached for it slowly, and finally brought it to her lips. Coffee might not have been a great idea at eight o'clock at night, but sometimes it was better to be awake during the night, especially Jane, who was haunted by memories that played on the backs of her eyelids.

"So," Molly began. "I was thinking we could try writing your name? You want to?"

Jane did want to. If not for her own benefit, then for Molly's. It must be frustrating talking to someone who won't talk back. She couldn't even write it down on paper. She nodded.

"Wonderful!" Molly cheered, pulling out her small notepad she used to take customer's orders. "Alright, Sugar. Where should we start?"

Remember the three items in her bag? The flashlight, notebook, and bear? They were all given to her by Molly. Why would she have a notebook if she can't write? Fair question. But Jane could draw. Really well. That's where those memories come in.

Each nightmare she had was set in a specific time in her life. All terrible, obviously. Each had its own demon. Sometimes it helped to draw them. It was like breathing and bathing: wiping away the dirt and the day, and starting over. It worked very rarely for Jane.