Christy grabbed the bar with his left hand and pulled himself up, ever so slowly. He had to use his left leg to push down on the bed, and then he was sitting up in the dark.
It wasn’t easy for Christy to get himself up. Sometimes he would wet himself. Sometimes he would poop. That didn’t matter. The lady or the man would come and Christy would get washed and changed. He didn’t always know he had to pee or poop, and he had stopped caring about the things his body told him a long time ago. Now, though, he felt a warmth inside that was strange. It was new. He didn’t know where the feeling came from. Hearing the birds singing made him feel good. Most of the time Christy didn’t feel good at all. Sometimes he felt safe, like when he lay in bed when he first woke up in the dark. Sometimes he felt full when he’d drunk his meal. Sometimes he felt clean when the lady was finished washing him, and he had new pajamas on.
This new feeling was different. It didn’t have a name. He knew it had to do with the bird song from the box. With the whispered promise from this morning. It was a warm feeling, that good feeling. It was OK it didn’t have a name. It was enough that he knew it was good.
He sat and waited, and soon he saw dim light where before had been only dark, and the click of the door, and the quiet footfalls and he knew the lady was coming to get him. Christy wanted to jump up, but he knew he couldn’t jump. He’d seen people jump and wished he could sometimes. He knew his right leg didn’t work anymore than his right arm, and that made him sad sometimes. Like right now, because he just wanted to jump up and walk out the door. He started to feel sad, but that good feeling inside was still there. How could he be sad, with that good feeling there?
“Christy? Why, look at you sitting there.” The lady was whispering. Whispering was OK. It didn’t hurt nearly as much. The lady whispered a lot. The man, too, but Christy knew the man would yell and so he was afraid of the man’s whispers, because he knew they hid something awful, something bad, something hateful. He heard her unfold his chair and wheel it over by the side of his bed. “C’mon, gotta wash and change before your big night. OK?”
The words didn’t really mean much to Christy. They were good sounds because they didn’t hurt that much. Some of them – bath, change – he knew meant he was going to feel clean and dry and have new pajamas. He also knew that he had to wait to hear the birds. He hoped the lady would hurry. He had a feeling, somewhere inside near the place that was warm and safe, that he didn’t have much time. He didn’t want the birds to be gone. If the birds were gone when he finally got outside, that would be worse than the light and sounds and the yelling.