Part 3Forgotten In The Cold Cellar

It felt like I had fallen into a long, heavy dream.

When I opened my eyes, I was floating near the ceiling of the cellar. I looked down and saw myself—a small, crumpled shape on the floor. Beneath my head, a dark, frozen flower had bloomed on the concrete.

By the time I drifted out of the cellar, it was night.

In the yard, Grandpa was snapping a padlock onto the back door.

Grandma glanced over. "How's she supposed to get in if you lock it?"

Grandpa didn't look up, testing the chain. "Let her stay out a bit. Teach her a lesson. Did you see her this morning? Blocking the car in front of everyone. Now the whole town is whispering that we’re cruel, that we favor the boy. She’s ruining our reputation."

Grandma tossed a basin of dirty water into the corner. "Spiteful little thing. Girls are never as simple as boys. Always got a scheme."

I wanted to scream: No! I wasn't being mean! I just wanted to be with them!

But I drifted right through them. I couldn't touch a thing.

"She's probably hiding in a corner of the house somewhere, watching us look for her," Grandma said, heading inside. "The more we look, the more she wins. Just leave her."

Grandpa kicked a bowl of leftover scraps toward the dog's house. "Don't say we didn't feed her. If she's hungry, she can eat what the dog eats."

They went inside and killed the lights. I stood in the freezing yard, looking at the bowl of dog food. Even if I were alive, that was my dinner.

The wind blew through my transparent chest. For the first time, I realized I couldn't feel the cold anymore, yet I had never felt more chilled.

The next morning.

Grandpa came out of the house and squinted toward the kitchen shed. "Where is she? Why isn't breakfast started?"

I usually made breakfast. The stove was taller than me; I had to stand on a rickety wooden stool to reach the pots. Sometimes the stool slipped and my knees would turn purple from the fall, but Grandma would just call me clumsy and tell me I was wasting time.

Grandma grumbled as she stoked the fire herself. "Lazy brat's hiding in her room, I bet."

"I saw the dog bowl was empty this morning," Grandpa noted. "And her bedroom door is shut tight. She’s probably throwing a tantrum because her dad left her."

I hovered in front of her, desperate. No! The dog ate the food! And the door is stuck because the old wardrobe tipped over in the wind!

But they heard nothing.

Grandpa grabbed his hoe and banged on my bedroom door. "Get out here and work! You’re too young to be this lazy!"

Silence.

Grandma’s temper flared. She caught sight of a pile of gifts my mom had brought—the only things she’d given me. She grabbed the one thing I loved most: a dress.

"No! Please, no!" I cried.

She didn't hear. She took the shears and ripped them from the collar to the hem. It was a princess dress, layers of soft pink tulle. I had begged Mom for months for it. Grandma had always said dresses were useless for chores, but Mom had finally given in.

I had only worn it once. I was so afraid of getting it dirty that I’d folded it perfectly and put it back in the bag, waiting for the first day of school. I wanted the kids who called me "Rat-head" to see that I had something beautiful. That my mom loved me.

Now, it was a rag in Grandma’s hands.

"Wants to go to the city, does she? I feed her for free and she gives me attitude!"

Scraps of pink gauze flew through the air.

"Fine! Stay in there and rot! You love this dress so much? Now it's trash, just like your attitude!"

I knelt to pick up the pieces, but my fingers passed through the fabric like smoke.

"Forget it," Grandpa said, pulling her away. "She’s stubborn. Just make sure there's something for her to eat at lunch. The kids should be in the city by now. They’ll probably FaceTime tonight. And hey—those sweet potatoes in the cellar need to be brought up before they spoil."

"I know, I know," Grandma waved him off.

Grandpa headed to the fields. Grandma stood up and started walking toward the root cellar.

My heart—or where my heart used to be—seized. She was going there. She was going to find me.

I flew ahead of her, watching as her withered hand reached for the heavy wooden handle.