Suddenly ideas beamed towards her. She could see them streaming through the window. Smell. Cookie. Stairs. Lots. Sunshine. Porch. Chicacoos, chicka, chickadoos. Birds. Crumbs. Up. Chair.
Her mother was talking in the bathroom.
Go downstairs. She did that before. It was hard but she could do it.
No falling. To the kitchen. To the cookies. They were up with the red chair. She could climb. The big part against the sink, like John did. He gave her a cookie too.
She pushed off her blankets and rolled her legs off the bed. This was the hard part. Reach the floor, almost, and let go without falling, without Mom coming.
“Mrs. Gerakis! You know you shouldn’t get up alone. Robbie will be here at 8:30 to help you wash. After breakfast, maybe we’ll sit on the terrace. But no hiding bread in your pockets. Those pigeons are dirty.”
She slumped back on the pillow, legs dangling. Words. “No,” was all she heard. No cookie. No stairs. No chickadees. No John. Not ever again.