It was the sound of birds singing that woke her up. Birds a little too close for comfort.
No, it was the smell of recently cut grass drenched in morning dew. And damp dirt.
No, it was the increasing warmth of the sun, bathing her in its morning glow. Burning her pale skin, no doubt.
Slowly, her mind climbed out of the fog of sleep, registering each sound, each smell, each sensation. The birds sounded excited, social. But they definitely seemed to be too close — had she left a window open? The damp grass smelled of summer, at first triggering the familiar relaxation that comes with blue skies and trips to the beach … then anxiety. The dirt smelled wet enough to be messy, and she envisioned mud stains on clothes. The sun felt so warm, so welcoming, so comforting. But her skin was bare, she fretted, and her freckles would no doubt emerge by day’s end.
In fact, she realized, her bare feet were resting in the grass, damp. And suddenly cold. She sat upright, startled. Where the hell am I? her mind screamed at her, as her eyes took in the unexpected — the large manicured lawn on which she had slept, an expanse of green so vivid that it made her wish she had sunglasses on. How did I get here? Panic set in, her heart racing and her stomach churning.
Her dreams had been vivid also, full of the colors, sounds and smells of the outdoors. In one, she remembered, she was riding a horse, something she hadn’t done since childhood. Closing her eyes, she recalled the sound of hooves pounding on the ground, the smell of horse sweat — and no doubt her own sweat, she thought, given the burning morning sun — mixed with wet grass and damp earth, and the sight of budding yellow-green leaves on trees along the path she was riding. The memory calmed her panic. In another dream, birds pecked at her arms and legs while she picked wildflowers. The wildflowers smelled sweet and sunny, a mixture of yellow, orange and white brilliance, but the bird “bites” stung. Ouch!
She sighed. Back to reality. She opened her eyes and squinted into the sun, her soon-to-be-freckled nose scrunching up in annoyance. This is your fault, she mentally scolded the sun. You’re too bright today — go away! There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, she noted, which meant the sun wasn’t going into hiding anytime soon. This is YOUR fault, she mentally scolded herself. You should have had more water. You’re dehydrated, dummy.
She tried to stand. Her head swam, and her back groaned. She settled for climbing onto her knees, then waited until the dizzy spell passed. Slowly, she stretched her arms up toward the sun, that welcoming but unforgiving sun. She twisted left, then right, then left again, trying to work the ache out of her back. Oh, and you’re too old for this sleeping-on-the-ground nonsense, she continued scolding herself. You should know better by now!
Feeling stronger, she stood, planting her feet firmly on the bare ground, digging her toes into the damp, cool grass. It felt good, she had to admit. She wiggled her toes more, and the grass tickled. She giggled, a quick and quiet giggle that failed to disturb the birds. Then, to further stretch her aching muscles, she slowly and deliberately swept grass clippings, allergens, insects, and all sorts of imagined pollutants from her sleep-wrinkled clothes, the same clothes she had worn yesterday. There were indeed muddy grass stains on the knees of her capris. She frowned. She contemplated running her fingers through her hair, sensing it was matted from sleep and sweat, but decided it would only make the problem worse. Time for the walk of shame, she told herself. Hopefully, no one sees me.
Slowly, she began to cross the yard toward the street. Despite her desire to hide from the public eye, she couldn’t resist cleaning up along the way. She took her first few steps tentatively, bending between them to pick up litter: a couple discarded chocolate bar packages and an empty chip bag, which served as a handy trash bag; a few cracked and sticky plastic cups; and a single dirty sock next to a broken bead necklace. The cheap plastic beads slid to the ground as she lifted the necklace; she squatted and picked up each one individually, focusing more than necessary on the simple task. She noticed that, to her left, a spill from one of the plastic cups had attracted a large mass of small black ants. She wondered idly if they were the culprits who had bitten her while she slept, or if it was mosquitos, or maybe spiders? Finally, her trash bag full, she resumed her slow-motion race to the safety of home, walking with steady purpose.
The yard was expansive. By the time she crossed the length of it, she was sweating again, and her breathing was a bit labored. She could hear herself panting, and she found it embarrassing. Might be time to get that gym, she thought, tugging on her T-shirt in an attempt to cool her core. The house, at least, offered some shade along its western side. She rested against the imposing brick building, hiding from the street beside the cleverly concealed air-conditioning unit, catching her breath. The three-story house was, in her opinion, too large and stately to be a comfortable family home, despite the fact that it was one of many just like it in a neighborhood bustling with families. No one should own a house that echoes when you walk through it, she objected, knowing it was pointless. No one cared about her opinion; after all, she didn’t belong here. Absently, she ran her hand through her hair — and immediately scolded herself. I can NOT wait to shower, she thought, grimacing at the image of her unkempt hair standing on end. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply; the gentle smell of cultivated roses reached her nose, bringing a slight smile to her lips.
Then she heard the back door of the house open and slam shut. Feet — little feet — were running along the stone walkway toward her. She turned around just in time to see a mess of bouncing blond curls round the rear corner of the house, the child beneath them running at full speed. “Mooooommy!” the girl squealed in delight, never breaking stride. “You’re awake!” Knowing the child would run right into her, Mom squatted and opened her arms for a hug, dropping the makeshift trash bag to the ground. The blond bombshell, clad in pink ruffles and lace, landed safely within them, smelling of sugary cereal and clean laundry. No fair! Mom thought, embracing the tiny body firmly but gently. She looks like she was freshly made this morning, while I look like last week’s leftovers!
Aloud, however, Mom could only say: “Morning, beautiful!”
“I loved camping,” the 6-year-old quipped in her ear, hugging tightly.
“I did, too, sweetheart,” Mom assured the innocent. “I didn’t sleep much, though, because of all that candy and soda I had after dinner — my blood was so sweet, the bugs ate me alive! I might need a nap later.”
The blonde giggled, a giggle loud and lengthy enough to disturb the now-distant birds. “Daddy says we should get a tent for next time,” she gushed breathlessly, “so the neighbors don’t think we’re crazy — you know, ’cause we’re new here and all.”
“Right,” Mom replied. “We don’t want the neighbors to think we’re crazy.” Not here in suburbia, she continued to herself. They might vote us off the cul de sac. Panic again set in, her heart racing and her stomach churning. She hid her frown in the curve of the blonde’s neck, suddenly missing the warmth of the sunlight. Where the hell am I? her mind screamed at her. And how did I get here?
