Stolen

This is who she is. Sometimes I just have to remind myself. It may seem strange for a seventeen year old to spend the majority of her time “alone” – talking to people that can’t be seen. Everybody knows she is crazy. The voices aren’t real; trees don’t breathe or have a heart beat, much less a voice box. But to her, they are very much alive and their voices are very real.
She comes and tells me the same thing every day – the trees were talking to her again. Oh? I say. What did they talk about today? And it will all be very strange. Something about the swing not being very kind, nobody remembers her and the trees look at her funny and they won’t let her leave; she has to go back. They’ve stolen the girl again. Or the swing. Something like that.
The tea is always ready for her to bring outside. She sits under the graying wood of the swing-set where the silver slide and ladder shelter her from the world. Talking to her ‘friends,’ she looks around nervously. She turns back and offers them more tea. Then a chill runs through me as the familiar creakings of rusty springs on the back fence bring me back to my world – the real world.
Everyday he comes for her.
He walks through the yard, up the porch to the back door and pulls it open. Alice, won’t you come in? he asks. Instantly she abandons her world for the sanctuary of his arms. As she looks up in his eyes the most beautiful thing happens: she smiles.
And that’s all I need. He makes her sane for two hours a day. No voices, no unknown words. The trees release her stolen youth for those two hours. All their secrets and all their sins fade away until he leaves. Then she is their captive once again.