She sits erect, her legs draped over the edge of the sturdy desk chair. Both feet firmly planted on the ground. Nestled in her lap, lies a book. Any passerby might assume, at first glance, that this is her favorite book, for its pages are tattered and weather-stained, its title etched into the leather-bound cover now worn smooth. After a more careful inspection, however, one might notice how her fingers absentmindedly play with and further crease the already torn pages, how she’s remained on page forty-seven for nearly eighty-and-a-half minutes now. What really gives her away, though, are those light green eyes expectant and searching the small room around her. Yes, what any passerby does not realize is that this young girl arrived only ten minutes ago and merely grabbed the first book she saw, flipping randomly to any one of its 397 pages. Because, despite her love for reading, the library, she discovered, is the perfect place to people watch.

Her ears perk up at the sound of hesitant crunching in the far left-hand corner of the room, and her eyes intuitively follow. Who is it but Toby, the town troublemaker, feigning interest in one of the library’s most recent book-of-the-month posters. There’s always a monthly contest, in which residents submit a book of their choice, a short synopsis, and the reasons for their nomination. Must not have been too many nominations this go-around, seeing as though the picture of the book’s front cover takes up half the poster to make up for the whopping sentence-long summary and two-word reasoning.

Her eyes light up in amusement and a small smile plays across her lips when she notices the potato chip bag tucked under Toby’s neon orange raincoat – easily the most eye-catching color in the entire universe, let alone in the room. His back is to the service desk, and he’s angled himself in such a way that the librarian likely cannot see his right arm as it fumbles for the next chip. Just when it appears Toby is about to drop the bag and send potato chips flying everywhere, a tall, masculine figure steps in front of her, blocking her view as the chaos unfolds.

“Ava, come on. The library was not one of your options for today. You were told to stay inside.”

“I am inside, Andrew.”

“Yes, but now we must walk outside to get back home before it starts to rain. Let’s go – we don’t have long.”

The figure lent his tanned hand to the young girl, which she cautiously accepted, her awfully pale skin almost crinkling at the contact. Now all eyes were on Ava as her unwanted companion helped her up off the chair and into not one, but two different jackets with the care one might expect when in the presence of a naïve little child. Ava’s cheeks reddened instantly at the roomful of sympathetic glances, which only seemed to earn her further sympathy. She averted everyone’s incessant stares by looking directly at the glass cabinet near the exit full of beautiful porcelain dolls. Each meticulously cleaned. Each meticulously placed. Oh, how she hated them. No one could touch them. No one could interact and play with them like a real doll. No – only for display.

Fully zippered in and ready for the rain that had yet to fall, Andrew maneuvered Ava slowly through the maze of tables, chairs, and gawking people, though those all but leaped out of the way at the couple’s approach. As the two finally came upon the exit, Ava – at least from any outsider’s perspective – seemed to have tripped and sent the nearest chair stumbling into the glass cabinet with just enough force to cause one of the dolls to slowly teeter back and forth, back and forth until it finally fell. But this was no accident.

After Andrew’s blitz of questions – Are you okay? Are you hurt? How does your head feel? Do we need to take you to the doctor? What’s your name? Where are we? – and his usual inspection for bumps or bruises or cuts, he whisked Ava away, more determined than ever to get her home, to bring her back to safety. Before the library door shut completely, Ava glanced back over her shoulder and managed to catch a glimpse of the fallen doll. Her eyes widened in surprise. The doll was chipped, yes, but she remained unbroken.

Ava was sent to bed early that night because, apparently, arriving home three whole hours before the rainstorm finally hit was “cutting it too close.” If she wasn’t such a “fragile little thing” as her mother likes to put it, Ava knows she would’ve been all but tackled to the ground upon her deliverance home to her own personal Hell – as she likes to put it. A single tear rolled down Ava’s cheek, followed by another, followed by another until her entire pillowcase grew wet as she mourned each stolen opportunity.

“No, Ava. There’s cloud cover today. The chance of rain is 37%, and that’s only as of now. I’ve always had a knack for predicting weather, and I say it’s definitely going to rain.”

“No, Ava. It’s too sunny out today. Your complexion is far too fair to handle these conditions. You’d burn almost instantly.”

“No, Ava. You cannot have a bike. Dangerous things, those bikes. Watching cycling on the television is much more fun, anyway. All the excitement without the danger!”

“Ava. AVA. Do not sit on the grass. There could be poisonous spiders or fire ants hiding among the blades. Come, come on. Back inside.”

“Ava, dear, you just got over a cold. Your immune system has not fully recovered yet. Why can’t you just talk to Monica over the phone?”

Ava cried until her vision blurred. She cried until she knew her face was ugly and puffy and red. She cried until she had no tears left to cry. And after that, she listened to the sound of the blood pounding in her ears, to the sound of her heartbeat. The rain hadn’t let up yet – not one bit. Though she could never go out in it, Ava had always loved the rain. She often imagined herself in the center of the wood’s tallest oaks, her hair mangled and hanging loose over her shoulders, her face up, her eyes closed, taking in the cool, refreshing rain. The wind would cut through the trees and, in one powerful gust, knock her to the ground. Thunder would boom all around her, and the lightning would follow, cracking mere yards away. Nature was merciless; nature was indiscriminate. She could finally escape the label. Out in the dark and pouring rain all alone, she could finally be herself.

The next boom of thunder sent the entire house rattling, and Ava shot straight up off her bed. She knew what she wanted to do, but could she get away with it?

Yes. Yes, I can.

Ava tiptoed across her room and jiggled the door handle. No give. Of course, her ever-vigilant mother hadn’t forgotten. How could she? Locking her daughter’s door from the outside was as much a part of her daily routine as remembering to breathe.

Ugh. No, no, no. Think, Ava, think.

Ava slowly turned in a circle, over and over again, expectantly scanning her room. She passed her windows once, twice, three times…Ava stumbled to her window seat, ripped back the curtains, and saw the lock hanging loosely from its chain. All she had to do was unlatch the window’s standard hook, and…

Yes! Yes! Yes!

The gust of wind sent cold little rain droplets flying into Ava’s bedroom. They soaked her face, her hair, her pajamas, her bedsheets, but she’d never felt more alive. With absolutely no care in the world, Ava swung her legs out over the windowsill and let herself tumble to the ground with a thud. Her knees were scratched and bleeding, her pajamas caked in mud. And she laughed.

Ava ran across the grass to the graveled sidewalk, feeling every single pebble under her small, delicate feet. She looked down and smiled.

Just as she was nearing the entrance to the woods, Ava tripped and fell onto a root protruding from the rich, dark soil. It cut up her cheek and the good part of her right arm, but Ava paid it no mind.

Ava ran and ran and didn’t stop until she had reached the place she always thought she could only ever visit in her dreams. The oaks that surrounded her now gently swayed in the receding wind, rain droplets cascading down their leaves onto the ground below. In her elation, Ava dropped down to her knees and cried, for the first time in her life, happy tears. She looked up at the sun as it slowly rose to its peak position in the sky and was blinded by the rainbow that hung overhead.

Because, though her skin is wet and cold from the rain, she is happy; though some bones are shattered and ache, she is free.

I hate that you keep running from me, even though I know it’s my fault. I watched him hurt you. I watched you shatter. Anger or Sadness should’ve been there for you – and they were, but selfishly, I pushed them away. Anger would’ve hastily pieced you back together, leaving you to heal crooked. But this crookedness would’ve reminded you of your past, of what you’ll never let anyone do to you again. Sadness would’ve just left you broken, left your pieces strewn wherever they happened to fall. But then you would’ve finally realized your own strength, and in time, rebuilt yourself. I didn’t want them to touch you, to ruin my sweet little girl with the innocent heart, so I fixed you myself, all by myself. You were so quick to forgive all those who had wronged you until, piece by piece, you shattered once again. Now, when you need me, need relief from the sobs that rack your body in the lonely hours of the night, you won’t let me in. Anger swoops in and turns you against your friends – or at least the few you have left. Sadness chips away at what little remains of you until, soon, there will be no part of you that isn’t broken. Yes, I’m afraid that, in shielding you from certain kinds of pain, I’ve only managed to cause more. Please just let me back in, please just stop running.

Love,

Hope