Another Night in Room 875

by Christine Ménard

     When the hallway falls asleep and the dance of the white coats stops, Margot stays awake and dreams. She becomes a butterfly flying over a summer wheat field. She sways with the red poppies in the meadow near the broken wood fence. She is a speck of dust dancing in the rays of afternoon sunshine. She is the bee drunk on sugar in the pear trees. She feels the thirst of the green bean plants and she becomes the water rushing through the pipes and gushing into the metal water can. She hears the wood clogs on the gravel path toward the garden, their lopsided rhythm because of the weight of the water can. She becomes the dry dirt drinking the water and she rests her cheek on the cool earth. Later, she dances with the fireflies by the creek. She joins the silver shadow of the full moon and caresses the pasture. Then, she is seven, asleep at dawn in June. The morning heat knocks on the wood shutters asking to be let in but her room is dark and the fresh night air still lingers when Nana opens the door gently and tiptoes toward her bed to lay a freshly picked rose on her pillow and whisper “happy birthday Rosie.” She is the rose, young, light pink, almost white and she is the dew on its leaves. She is the strawberry tart of her June birthday and the smoke of the melting candles.
     She is not the sum of her bones. She is not this silent immobile shape agonizing in the dark. When did they start restraining her at night? She can’t remember clearly; the moon was lower then and not as bright. They say that she is a danger to herself. She knows what they want and sometimes she thinks that she wants it too. She would like to make them happy, but they won’t listen, they won’t come to the fields with her, they refuse to swim in the pond and walk through the garden. She dreams that she has enough energy to get angry. What rights do they have to tell her that she is a danger to herself? How can they know if they won’t come wandering in the meadow with her?
     The leaves of the maple tree near the sealed opaque window rustle and Margot flees on the wings of the night wind. She opens up her hands, spreads her fingers and flies amongst the sea swallows. She hitches a ride to the island and she lands on the beach near the blue house. She becomes a sandcastle or a grain of mica from one of its towers. She is a rock kissed by the salty tides. She dives in a warm tidal pool where gray shrimps swim in circles.