With her father on a fast track to political stardom, Anna's quirks and "out there" personality have always been looked down upon. After years of struggling with her stifled emotions, she ends up institutionalized, surrounded by strangers and lost i...
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A thin, dusty blanket is the only barrier protecting Anna's bare legs from the splintered hardwood floor of her and Harry's new apartment. Aside from the groceries they stole earlier that day, they have close to nothing in their name. Their home is sparsely decorated, housing only a few pieces of furniture leftover from previous tenants. A holey futon, a sheetless mattress and an old microwave that you have to put a wooden spoon in the door to keep shut.
"How are your instant noodles?" Harry asks.
"The best instant noodles I've ever had," she replies, shoveling a bite into her mouth. "How about your frozen burrito?"
"Delicious!" responds Harry. He holds his dinner up to her face. "Want a bite? Something about stolen food. Always seems to taste better."
Anna drops her head. She looks over at Ziggy, peaceful and satiated from the microwavable popcorn he'd been pecking at. It hasn't set in until this moment that she, for the first time in her life, stole something. Multiple things, rather. And the realization had the opposite effect on her than it did on Harry. The food doesn't taste better. It tastes unlawful. Wrong.
"I'm not really hungry anymore." She sits the cup of noodles off to the side and lays back on the futon.
It never took much for Anna to feel guilty. She often felt like she was aimlessly roaming, only existing for the ultimate benefit of those "closest" to her. If she believed in God, she'd think he put her on earth to absorb the result of others' iniquity.
Or is she just too scared to take responsibility for her own actions? She had final say with her parents. Yes, they paid her bills and college tuition but she knows it was always in her power to leave long ago. Harry didn't hold a gun to her head and force her to take a purse-full of grocery store goods. She was simply caught up in the monsoon that he is and questions whether she's ready to weather such a storm.
It's all a delicate balance, however. Her situation with her parents feels like a lost cause at this point, and while the downpour that is Harry may be interpreted as a negative to those on the outside, he also seemed to provide the rain necessary for her to grow. The atmosphere required for her blossom.
The mattress dips down as Harry takes a spot beside her. The two lay back and look up. The difference between the sight now and the sight at the hotel they were staying at before is astonishing. From dusted gold leaf and vaulted ceilings, to leak-stained stucco.
As Harry makes the comparison in his head, he too feels guilty. Guilty for being unable to provide her with the life she's accustomed to. Guilty for yanking her out of her comfort zone and subsequently failing at showing her the fruit of her independence.
"It's the furniture, huh?" Harry asks. "I promise we'll get some stuff soon."
"It's not that," Anna replies. She turns on her side to face him, propping her head up on her hand and elbow. "I don't... I don't like stealing, Harry. What we did earlier. It was fun, don't get me wrong. But it wasn't right. It was the easy way out. It's no better than my life with my parents. I took money from them and what I had to give up in exchange — it wasn't worth it."
