O brave new world

Untitled Part 4

I press my nose against my bedroom window, watching the sparrow hop around, gathering twigs for his nest. He’s free – he can hop around and fly from place to place. And I’m not – but the sparrow can take my mind with him, and so it isn’t too bad.

My mother will be coming out of her room again soon; I don’t dare to spend my time at my favorite widow, the one that you can see the street from, any more. So I watch my friend Mr. Sparrow. Every spring he comes and builds a nest; this year just like last year and the one before. Later on, I’ll see the fledglings hopping around. Knowing that Mr. Sparrow built a good nest, one that his kids could grow up safely in, I feel proud every time. I don’t actually know why. I mean, I certainly didn’t build the nest. But watching him painstakingly pick every twig, every bit of moss, I feel so involved I can’t help but consider it a group effort. Books tell me this makes me weird; well, so be it. You can’t be weird when you’re the only person around. You can only be weird by being compared to a group. I think.

Mr. Sparrow has found the perfect twig and flies out of my sight to add it to his nest. Bye-bye Mr. Sparrow, see you soon. I turn back to my laptop and check out the free samples of books on Amazon.

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A horrible, shrill sound brings me out of my reverie. God, what can that be? Is it the smoke detector? Do we even have one? Where’s my mother?

I rush out of my room and knock on her door. Nothing happens, as usual. The noise stops.

Well, I’m sure my mother heard the noise, as loud as it was. If it was anything to worry about, she can open her door and come out. That’s overdue, anyway. At least I’m pretty sure the noise was not the smoke detector – if it was, the sound wouldn’t have just stopped, would it?

The sudden return of the shrill noise makes me jump. It comes twice this time – a long loud noise, a short pause and another long loud noise. What on earth could it be?

Carefully, I go downstairs. The oven is off. The fridge is closed and doesn’t seem to be making those noises. Everything is fine with the microwave.

The sound returns, louder and more demanding. It stops, only to be followed by a loud bang.

I whip my head around, trying to figure out where it came from. I must be going crazy, I swear I can hear some shuffling and muted voices. Unless… I tiptoe over to the front door and press my ear against it. Yes, I can hear it more clearly now. Someone is standing at our front door. “Ring the doorbell again, Kota” I think I hear someone say. A moment later the loud, shrill sound echoes through the house once again. It clicks. The noise is the doorbell. We have a doorbell. Why on earth do we have a doorbell?

I slide down the door, sinking to floor. We have a doorbell. Someone is ringing it. I’m not supposed to go outside, and besides, you can’t open the door from the inside without a key, which I don’t have. My mother is in her room and doesn’t seem to be coming out. What should I do? What can I do? Bang on the windows until I get their attention and then hold up a sign that politely asks them to go away? No. Outside is dangerous. Everyone outside is dangerous. I shouldn’t let them know I’m here. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I will ignore them. They’ll think nobody is at home and go away. Foolproof plan. But still…

I’m curious. I mean, I’ve never actually been this close to an outside person. I can read a lot about them, I can read a lot written about themselves by themselves, I can look at videos and photos and audiocassettes, but it’s not the real thing. The real thing is behind me. On the other side of the door.

I can’t go look at them from the window – they’d see me. But I can listen, right? I press my ear to the door once again. “Fine” somebody says. “I guess we’ll have to go in the unusual way. Victor?” “I’m on it.” That was the voice from earlier. So there are two persons out there: Kota and Victor. Kota kind of sounds like a girl – might be dangerous, but probably not lethal – while Victor is most definitely a boy name. I leave my place at the door for a moment to grab a knife and tuck it into the waistband of my ancient jeans. Then I go back to listen. It’s pretty quiet out there – did they go home already? Too bad, I would have liked to find out more about them: even if it was a scary situation, it was exhilarating as well. The adrenalin-rush was like nothing I had ever felt before.