The Moment I Knew

starting a book

Loud music. Loud music and Papa. That is all that I can remember of Before. "Before" was when I was still free. When I wasn't strapped to a table. A strap across each of my wrists. A strap across each of my ankles. A strap across my thinning torso.

I lay back on the table. I was too tired to attempt escape again. My sweaty dress stuck to my body as I hummed to too optimistic tune from Before. I close my eyes and I am transported back. Back to Before.

Papa and I on the sidewalk, making way for the parade. The marching band. Each musician playing a different melodic tune that somehow harmonizes perfectly.

I am jolted back to the present by what the nurses like to call electro shock therapy. I start to move again, grappling at the restraints. I start to scream, too. Trying to get the message across that I am innocent and that I don't deserve this; I am innocent; I am not crazy; I am not a danger to myself, but she ignored me. The nurse checks my vitals on the monitor beside my bed, table, prison and leaves silently.

Before comes back to me as I slip into a deep, deep slumber. It is a different memory. I am a small child and my mama is still upon the earth, not in the ground. She smiles at me and tells me she is proud. She likes how I am staying strong even though she's dead and gone.

I once more am brought back to room I am encased in, but this time I am not being shocked to hopeful death, but I am crying. The tough outer shell that I have carefully created falls and I am drowning in an ocean of tears and grief. I do not want to stay here any longer. I want to, no, I need to leave.

Four days later, I have trained myself to not struggle against the restraints. I have trained myself not to scream until I am hoarse. Possibly I could gain my freedom due to good behavior. They, the nurses that is, tell me that my 'treatment' is almost complete, and that when it is, I can be excused. It takes all of my willpower not to tell them that it's not treatment but torture.

I once more close my eyes and drift back into Before. I could clearly hear the marching band's anthem. I couldn't, however, see the band. Couldn't see Papa either. I realize that I am slowly slipping away. Slowly losing Before into the aftermath of the 'treatment'. The same 'treatment' that they give to the crazy people. I am not crazy no matter what they say. I am a simple girl. I might have felt threatened. I may have lost it. I may have jumped very unladylike over a table, knife in hand, but I am not crazy. It was their fault. Nobody insults Alice or her mother.

I am awoken from my enlightening slumber. I stare longingly at the ceiling hoping that someone will come to my rescue but no one does. Days go by without any movement except for the nurses and the doctors. They feed me, the nurses do. The doctors come to give me my 'treatment'. I was a living potato, no emotions shown.