Sanctuary and Time

Posted on Mon Nov 13th, 2023 @ 6:31pm by Hale Stratton

546 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Bangor or Bust
Location: Outskirts of Millinocket, Maine
Timeline: 28 August 2010 - 07:00 p.m.

The neighborhood had been emptying out all day; she'd watched family after family, panicked suburbanites jamming all sorts of things into their SUVs, books and photo albums, suitcases, a crystal flower vase, and even, a silver candelabra. Fear swept through the small cul-de-sac and as the sun set, the houses stood abandoned. The last to go was a harried couple with a ten-year-old boy and a golden retriever; there had been a fight in the yard because the boy had wanted to get his favorite toys from his treehouse.

She held her breath, watching the argument play out from the shelter of a well-manicured hedge, and only thought to breathe again when the sound of a gray SUV roaring down the street drew the father's attention and ended the argument. She watched them leave, the boy catching his parents' fear, pulling the dog close.

Family wasn't something she understood and asking for help was something she had learned long ago to be a waste of effort. Self-interest triumphed over compassion every time. And so, she waited, leaving cover only when she was certain she was alone and began to shop.

Her sanctuary was the boy's treehouse with its pullup rope ladder. She gained access through garages and unlocked back doors because panic had made them careless. She moved as noiselessly as she could because sound attracted unwanted attention.

An oversized sleeping bag. An air mattress with a pump. A portable butane camper stove with a butane cylinder. Matches. Candles. Cans of soup. A can opener. A bowl, a mug, and a spoon. A glass jar filled with home-made chocolate chip cookies. A pot for cooking and another for making tea. Tea bags. A blackout curtain, still in its packaging, a heavy-duty stapler and a pair of scissors.

Three trips in all and then an hour to set things up. Pieces of blackout curtains now covered the windows and a larger piece covered the door so that no light escaped. She checked.

The air mattress, blown up now, with the sleeping bag and two pillows, were ready when she was tired enough to sleep. A collapsible foot stool had been drafted as her end table with a cluster of candles in glass as a light source. The built-in shelf had been emptied and all the toys returned to the boy's bedroom. Now, there was soup and tea and cookies, her dishes, and of course the camper stove.

Sanctuary. At least for a day or two. To give her time. She found a new outfit. At 5'5" and 110 pounds, it was easy to find things that fit; she changed in one of the bedrooms, leaving her dirty things in the hamper, and headed out to her sanctuary. She pulled the rope ladder up behind her and closed the sturdy door.

She left her boots by the door and busied herself making herself a bowl of soup; when that was ready, she settled down on the bed to eat. Beside her was a pocket sketchbook and a Micron Pen as well as a picture of the boy taken from the parents' bedroom. Later, she would draw him as she last saw him clinging to the dog and looking out at the world with new, frightened eyes.

Sanctuary and time.

 

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