Outside - a Teaspoon story

The first time Lily left the building, she didn’t know which way to go.
She chose left.
She didn’t know what left meant, and that felt thrilling.
She made it past thirty steps. Then she grew scared, and went back, hurrying back to her home like a frightened bird.

She felt the adrenalin fluttering her heart as the elevator descended to the third floor where she lived. She’d seen things, new things, and she was torn between wanting comfort and wanting more.

It would take roughly two weeks before another opportunity arose.
Work was done. Laundry was done. Books had been read- books about Out There. Mail had been sorted and bills had been taken care of- and instead of sitting down with a tea infusion, she found she had too much energy inside her, energy that she didn’t know what to do with.

This time, Lily would be prepared.

Books had always brought her comfort, so she took her favourite with her. She selected fruit from her bowl, fruit that was sturdy and slow to bruise. She’d seen pictures of people leaving, a knapsack on a stick over one shoulder- was that how things were done, or was that a cartoon? She did not own a backpack. She dashed to the bathroom, got out some towels, and tried to fashion something out of them, kneeling on the cold vinyl floor- and failed.

What am I doing, Lily thought. She sat back on her ankles, defeated.

Three days later, when she was doing groceries, she lingered over the arts and crafts section. She bought the sewing kit before she had fully registered what her fingers had done- she looked at them in surprise, but she didn’t undo it. When the delivery hatch dinged later that day, she touched it hesitantly- as if she’d already committed to something- something illegal or scandalous.

It took a long time to make the bag. It had seemed pretty straightforward in the beginning- something that would hold stuff. It’s how the bag would be attached to her person allowing her to have her hands free that seemed to be the issue. And when it finally seemed to be able to do the job she made it for, she kept finding little ways to improve it, make it prettier, to stall. It seemed that the dreams came easier to her as she was sewing, and for a while, that was enough to sate her appetite.

When her hunger grew again and she found no more ways to improve her backpack made from towels, she felt a funny feeling sliding up and down her windpipe- excitement. It was dizzying.

But when she stepped outside her door, there were people in the corridor- people who could see the backpack. They would guess. They wouldn’t know.

She slid back inside, and locked the door. It was in this moment that she realised that how she felt in her home, the place where she spent all her time, was trapped.