Alone

Chapter 3

One of my favorite places to go to is this building a few miles away from my house. It is big and gray and has three floors. I think the walls are funny because they’re lined with these safe-looking things that I can’t open. They each have this spinny thing on them with a bunch of numbers.

         It’s pretty plain, too. The structure of each classroom is the same. They all have little tables with chairs at them. Some sort of board is in the front. In some rooms, it’s on.

         One room’s board has something that looks unfinished. It has a string of numbers: 5(6)+7–11+81÷9. Some of the numbers have loops under them. Underneath the 5(6), there’s the number 30. Under the 81÷9, there’s another 9. Then the equation was rewritten with all the other numbers – now it reads: 30+7-11+9. Then, there’s a loop under the 30+7, and the new number… is one I’ve never seen before. It looks kind of like: 3¯. After that, it just stops. Someone never got a chance to finish the equation.

         I like to sit in the chairs and stare at the board. I wonder what people used to do here. On the wall is a poster that says, “You’ll always miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” I like that poster.

         There’s another room – a really big one – downstairs. It isn’t like the others. It has a really high ceiling and the floor – a strange material – is polished. In the center is the face of a cougar.

         Another room is the library – it has a flat ceiling except for this sunroof that’s only in the middle. It’s in the shape of a pyramid.

         There’s also a theater – it has blue curtains and rows upon rows of seats. I wonder what used to happen here.

         I wonder if this used to be someone’s home. After all, they do also have a swimming pool – sounds like my kind of house. But there’s no bedroom, so I suppose it couldn’t be.

         It wouldn’t matter anyway – I couldn’t ask for a better house than my own.

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         Mars is waiting for me by the door when I get there. He hasn’t started to mew yet, but I figure it would have come soon if I hadn’t gotten here in time.

         “Hey, boy,” I say, scooping him up in my arms. In response, he paws at my face, his paws soft and warm. “Mew,” he answers.

         I laugh and put him down. He mews again, but this time, he seems to be trying to lead me somewhere. I start after him, and he continues to scamper towards the empty road. I’ve always been curious about the two yellow stripes down the middle – when I was younger, I used to hop over it to the other side and then back again – it was entertaining but tiring.

         Mars leads me to a really, really big tree to the right of the road. It looks perfect for climbing.

         Being a cat, Mars darts up the tree, his claws making little scratching sounds against the bark. I laugh as he perches himself on the highest branch – a real thick one near the top where he looks down at me expectantly until he sees a bird flutter by, which instantly captivates his attention.

         Through the leaves, I can just see him at the way top. I grab onto a br-anch within my reach and haul myself up, placing my foot on another branch. I climb swiftly – I’ve been doing this all my life – as high as I can go. I only get stuck once, and to get out, I simply just jump a little bit and hang onto the next branch with one hand before I find another handhold to pull my feet up to somewhere stable.

         I sit next to Mars – if I peer through the trees just right, I can see the sky. I love to look down below my feet at the grass, maybe twenty feet below. I’ve never been afraid of heights – instead, I love the exhilaration of it – the thrill of being so high in the sky that you feel like you were born to be there.

         I lay down on the branch on my stomach, wrapping my arms around it and closing my eyes, a smile rising to my face. Only a few seconds later do I feel Mars’s light steps on my back as he circles, kneading my shirt, and then curls up in a ball and starts to purr.

         Home! I think suddenly. I want to write in my journal – write about visit-ing the school again and the math equation I had found.

         “Hey, Mars,” I whisper, trying to get him to wake up. He falls asleep fast, that cat. “Mars, buddy, wake up.” He stirs a little. I try raising my butt up, making him slide into my neck as he wakes with a start. “Hey buddy,” I say when he stares at me in surprise. He nimbly scampers off me and back onto his own branch, where he licks his paw and rubs it to his face. The cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

         I sit up and start my climb down. Mars follows me, but he gets down faster than I do. On the way home, walking down the road with Mars at my side, I sing a lullaby I had heard one day while I was out visiting houses – it was playing on a computer.

         “I remember tears streaming down your face when I said ‘I’ll never let you go.’ When all those shadows almost killed your light. I remember you said, ‘Don’t leave me here alone.’ But all that’s dead and gone and passed tonight.

         “Just close your eyes. The sun is going down. You’ll be all right, no one can hurt you now. Come morning light. You and I’ll be safe and sound.”

         The melody is simple, its notes high, but it’s relaxing to listen to.

         “Don’t you dare look out your window, darling everything’s on fire. The war outside our door keeps raging on. Hold on to this lullaby. Even when the music’s gone.

         “Gone.

         “Just close your eyes. The sun is going down. You’ll be all right, no one can hurt you now. Come morning light. You and I’ll be safe and sound.”

         Mars mews next to me, rubbing against my legs and purring louder. I don’t know what this song is called, but I just call it “Mars’ Lullaby” because he seems to like it so much.

         “Just close your eyes.” He does. “You’ll be alright.” He is. “Come morning light, you and I’ll be safe and s—“

         The last word is cut of abruptly when we are a few yards away from the house. This noise – this odd, strange noise I’ve never heard before – stops my singing.

         It sounds sort of like this: “eeeewerngerneeeeeebl.”

         Mars stops purring and he looks up at me with fearful eyes. He doesn’t like the sound, either.

         I duck behind a bush, wondering how safe and sound we really are.