Someone called my name. Dorothy. Dorothy. I trained myself over the years not to listen anymore. I wasn't Dorothy. I am her sister Elaine. Dorothy is gone. It's Elaine. I am Elaine. I am her sister. Say it. Elaine. Elaine. Elaine Maxwell Bruford. Yes. That is who I am.

The attic seemed to welcome me home, the sun almost blinded my eyes when I opened the window to let the air in. I could hear the birds sing a song for Dorothy, like they used to sing when she couldn't fall asleep. They sang her songs about the trees down south and the dancing of dolphins in waters so deep. I allowed the sun to warm my memories up on that drafty attic. I allowed the birds to sing for Dorothy, even if it was me, Elaine. I allowed for only a brief moment the agony of separation and the solitude that kept me away for years. I allowed the strength that made me brace myself and repeat time after time, Dorothy is gone. I am Elaine. Elaine Maxwell Bruford. I even said it out loud. And the birds were quiet, all of a sudden. No other sounds but the wooden floor under my feet, when I walked towards the stairs again. My eye caught the basket and the orange ribbon tied on one end. It was her favorite color. She must have meant well. It was her sign saying welcome. Welcome back, into this home of flying colors and the mood indigo. I tie you an orange ribbon to remind you of my yellow brick road. And a face gone red like the shiny apples picked from a tree down the road somewhere is the face of a stranger who refuses to understand the songs those little songbirds sing. The fool of ignorance. Someone called my name. Dorothy, is that you? Dorothy? It's Elaine. Elaine Maxwell Bruford, that's who she is, that's who I am. This summer, next fall, last winter and upcoming spring. The seasons have no reasons to doubt what they're meant for, they blossom, they pour rain, they take prisoners and they release. She forgot to put the cucumber on my sandwich, I only smelled the peanutbutter. No cucumber. No ribbon can make up for that, she should know.

Dorothy, is that you? Dorothy?

Fever
True, the sun was out today. It tried to lure me into the cold, leave the safety of my home. I know I have to. Go out. To buy stuff. Food. Like bread. Some apples. And peanutbutter. Maybe even some licorice. I've been a good girl lately. So. Yes. No mail this morning. The postman didn't even come nearby my house. The neighbours didn't get any either. Don't think they're home. Been awfully quiet for some time now. Suits me just fine. I can almost taste it, you know. Slices of cucumber on a peanutbutter sandwich. Always makes me wish ... Nah. I'm not supposed to go there. So I won't. I am a good girl. I am a good girl.

Just me and the sun, a little while ago. I could feel its warmth, teasing me from the other side of the window. I know what it wanted me to do. And I know I have to. Go out. And buy stuff. Wanna know what I did? Said no, not yet. Later. Always feels better. Later. Doesn't it? It's gone now. The sun is gone. Sky is grey. I know the cold is just waiting to embrace me. To steal whatever warmth I have left. But I'm gonna sit here and wait. Been here before, you know. They can't fool me. No. Not me.

Blue
It's the broken nails giving away something must have went down again. Sometimes my back hurts, but I seldom have bruised legs and arms. My head always feels like I am in a cloud.
Or recovering from this hangover. What else is new? I could use a drink right now. Make it a triple one. Gimme that bottle. Or should I try not to give in, should I fight it? What's the use? Questions, questions. I hear them inside my mind and I wonder where they're from. It's like a television show with an audience yelling for more more more and like fools they listen to what the studio crew tells them to do. I am my own studio crew and I tell them to shut up. God. What time is it? Now brace yourself. The silver mirror will make you feel better. You just have to face it. That's all. Don't worry. This not the first time.
A good girl. You're a good girl. Yes.

High Noon
It took a turn, around noon. She spent the morning lazy, living in slowmotion locking the speed dial away. The sky was blue and the shape of two clouds on their way to entwine captured her attention for, well, a long long slowmotioned time anyway. She sipped some milk. Her neighbour said Eunice the cow wanted her to have some of her milk, so there it was, fresh like the morning dew. And then it took a turn. This sudden change from the gut warning her to be alert. She stood on the porch and felt the tension break out in sweat. Hurry, hurry. As if silent voices urged her to act in ways she could not resist. Her heart pounding. Her blood running. Yes. This passion inside she had to follow. Let nature take its course. She became a tool to her own intuition. Willingly.