Unbound

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Book: Unbound Read Free
Author: Georgia Bell
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stuffed animals stranded on my bed, I darted to the hall
closet, pulled my coat off the hanger, jammed my feet into my boots and quietly
slipped under her arm towards the sidewalk.
    A late
November wind ripped the few remaining leaves from the trees to mingle with the
garbage that coasted along the curb in front of our house.   Realizing that I’d forgotten my mittens,
I shoved my hands into my pockets and hoped she wouldn’t notice.
    We
stopped at the park on the way, sitting on the cold, hard bench while she drank
her coffee, watching as the squirrels scurried across the ground, foraging the
last scraps of the harvest while the weather held.
    My
mother and I filled in the long hours until my father came home as best as we
could. Like toys discarded in the playroom, we only truly came to life when my
father walked through the door at the end of the day. Busying ourselves with
household tasks, we allowed the minutiae of ordinary life to distract us for as
long as possible, until – with the banking done and the dry cleaning
dropped off – we would wander over to the park to wait. And watch.
    That
day, the first time I saw him, we hadn’t stayed at the park for very long. My
mother had grudgingly begun her overseas Christmas shopping that afternoon,
hoping to package up and ship off the gifts for her Scottish in-laws ahead of
the holiday rush. Thoroughly uninterested in helping her pick out pyjamas for
my cousin Dawn, I trailed behind her as she impartially flipped through racks
of polyester nightgowns. With my eyes squeezed tightly shut and one hand
stretched out in front of me, I used the belt of my mother’s winter coat like a
lifeline. Fumbling along cheerfully, I was pretending I was blind.
    Eventually
growing tired of my game – mostly because my mother had stood in one
place for so long – but also because my arm was starting to ache from
holding it out in front of me, I let my eyes slide open and turning my head
slightly, was stunned into stillness.
    Past
the racks of children’s clothes, near the entrance of the department store, lay
a Christmas village built completely out of gingerbread. Almost as tall as I was,
the walls of the houses were stacked upon cotton candy snowdrifts – the
crystallized sugar a fair mimic of ice warmed by the sun. The warm smell of
cinnamon wafted under my nose as I gazed in wonder at the chocolate wafer
streets that had been patterned like cobblestones and lined with candystick
light posts. At the end of the street, a licorice car was stopped at a cherry
red lollipop stop sign.
    Captivated,
I drifted towards the village, staring at the snow-capped peaks on the roof.
Was it icing? Tentatively, I reached out with one finger to touch the outer
edge of the sugary wall and stopped, suddenly aware of the slack in my other
hand. Looking back, I stared uncomprehending at the tan belt that lay on the
floor like a sick snake, no longer attached to my mother’s coat. No longer
attached to my mother. She was gone.
    Looking
around wildly, stomach clenched and eyes stinging with soon- to be- shed-tears,
my hands fluttered up from my sides like two startled birds from a hedge. With
a sickening lurch, I realized I was alone.   I caught a glimpse that day, understood the fragile wall that stands
between our sense of security and anonymity. Between being loved and being
annihilated by loneliness.
    Seconds
before I melted down into a hysterical, I want-my-mommy kind of panic that only
young children are capable of, I felt a hand rest comfortingly on my head.
Gazing up, I saw a man with kind grey eyes staring down at me. He wore leather
gloves that were soft on my hair and he smelled really good, like new wool and
musk.
    Looking
back, I realize I should have been scared. Instead, I’d admired the long tartan
scarf he wore loosely wrapped around his neck, underneath his long dark coat. I
had almost reached out to touch it as he knelt down beside me, wondering if it
was as soft as it looked. The

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