The lock on the storage room door had been broken for three days.
Noa didn't know this because she was only three years old. She couldn't count to three yet. But she knew the door sounded different now when the Mean Lady left. Before, it went click-CLUNK—like it really meant it. Now it just went click—soft and wobbly, like maybe it didn't want to lock her in either.
Noa sat in her corner. It was the only spot where the floor wasn't too sticky. Her tummy rumbled again. It had been rumbling for a long time now—so long she'd started to think maybe that was just what tummies did. Rumble and hurt and feel like a balloon with all the air let out.
She wore a gray dress that used to be white. Or maybe pink? She couldn't remember anymore. It was too big for her, hanging off her shoulders like a tent. Her arms looked like little sticks poking out.
The storage room was dark. The Mean Lady never turned on the light anymore. Noa had counted the things in the room to make herself less scared: one mop bucket (smelled bad), two old boxes (had spiders), three cracks in the wall (she could fit her finger in the biggest one).
Rummmble went her tummy.
Maybe today the Mean Lady would bring food? Sometimes she brought rice that was cold and stuck together. Sometimes bread that was too hard to bite. But Noa's teeth were strong! She could bite really hard if she tried. Like a dinosaur. Rawr.
Except the Mean Lady hadn't brought food in... Noa didn't know how long. A long time. Long enough that Noa had started drinking water from the bucket when she got too thirsty, even though it tasted like the mop.
Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy ones. The Mean Lady.
Noa made herself smaller in her corner. Small was good. Small meant invisible. Invisible meant safe.
The door opened. Light from the hallway poured in, making Noa squint. The Mean Lady stood there, looking at Noa with eyes that seemed tired and annoyed at the same time.
"Ugh," said the Mean Lady. Just that. Then she closed the door again.
Click.
Not click-CLUNK. Just click.
The Mean Lady's footsteps went away. Then another sound—the apartment's front door slamming.
Noa waited in the dark. She was very good at waiting. But her tummy wasn't good at it anymore.
RUMMMMMBLE.
She put her hands flat on her stomach. "Shhh," she murmured. "Be quiet, stomach."
Her stomach didn't obey.
This time Noa came up with a thought. A big one. A scary one.
What if... she went to find food herself?
There was food in the kitchen. She had once seen it, a long time ago, before the Mean Lady had locked her in the storage room. There had been things on the counter. Food things.
But she wasn't allowed to go to the kitchen. She was only allowed in the storage room. The Mean Lady had made it very clear that only the storage room was allowed for her. And when Noa broke rules, bad things happened. Hitting things. Yelling things.
Rummmmmble.
Noa got up on her feet. Her legs felt like they were made of jelly. When had it become so difficult to walk?
She went to the door and reached for the handle. She had to stand on her tip-toes if she wanted to reach it and even then she could hardly touch it. Her shoulder still hurt where the Mean Lady had grabbed her yesterday (or was it the day before?), but Noa stretched her arm anyway.
With her fingers, she closed around the handle. She pulled down.
The door swung open.
Noa was there, standing, eyes wide, half expecting the Mean Lady to pop out and yell "AH-HA! CAUGHT YOU!"
But nothing happened. The hallway was empty and quiet.
Noa took one step out. Then another. Her bare feet did not make any noise on the floor. Everything outside looked so BIG. The walls were going up forever and ever. The ceiling was as high as the sky. She felt like an ant.
The kitchen was just down the hall. She could see the doorway.
One step. Two steps. Three steps- she could count to three now! She was learning!
The kitchen was bright. Afternoon sun was shining through a dirty window. And on the counter (which was as tall as a mountain), there it was.
Bread.
Not in its bag or anything, just a whole loaf of bread, sitting there. Just... there. Like it was expecting her.
Noa's stomach didn't just rumble; it was more like a "YES PLEASE!" feeling.
But the counter was so tall. How was she supposed to get her hand on it?
She glanced around and noticed a wooden chair by the small table. She could see just by staring at it that it was a little wobbly. But perhaps if she was really careful, ...
With both hands, Noa seized the chair and pulled it through the ground. The chair made a loud SCREEEEECH sound that made her stop immediately. She waited, listening for the Mean Lady's footsteps.
Nothing.
She set the chair in front of the counter and looking at it from below, she saw the chair was very tall suddenly. And very unstable. And maybe this was a bad idea?
Rummmmble, went her tummy.
"Alright, alright," Noa murmured.
First one foot, then the other she placed on the chair. Slowly, she stood up, supporting herself with the edge of the counter. The chair moved under her. Left. Right. Left. Right—
Noa realized that she was tilting backward. The floor was coming at her fast. She was going to fall and knock her head and—
At that moment, her hand hit the counter and held on tight. The chair moved forward again and balanced.
Noa stood there, out of breath, her heart thumping loudly in her chest.
That was a close call. That was really, really a close call.
Nevertheless, she didn't fall! In some way, she didn't fall!
Now the bread was just in front of her. So near. One going with her shaky hand outstretched—
RATTLE RATTLE RATTLE.
The front door lock.
Like a statue, Noa stopped. Her hand that was in mid-air, just inches from the bread, halted. The chair under her shook. The front door lock rattled again—
Then voices. Loud voices from the hallway outside the apartment. Neighbors were arguing about something. Noa couldn't hear the Mean Lady's voice.
She waited there, holding her breath, until the voices disappeared.
Then she sped down from the chair, grabbed the bread, and ran with it as fast as she could. She didn't even move the chair. Just took off with the bread after her.
But she didn't continue. She was stopped right in the middle of the hallway.
The storage room was behind her. Dark. Safe. Familiar.
Her apartment's front door was at the end of the hall, straight ahead of her.
If the Mean Lady came back and saw Noa out of the storage room with the bread, then, there would be trouble. Big trouble. Trouble of a hitting type.
Yet...
Noa gazed at the front door. If she can remember then she never went through it. The Mean Lady always told her that outside was dangerous. Scary things lived outside. Evil people were out there.
Nevertheless, scariest of all were the things that were inside. The Mean Lady was inside.
Before her brain could give them an order, Noa's feet started moving. Down the hall. Toward the front door. The bread that was in her arms felt warm and important.
The storage room was even higher than the door handle. Noa had to jump to reach it. Her shoulder that was already hurting was shot with pain but her fingers still managed to catch the handle and pull—
The door swung open.
Finally, fresh air came in. It was the real air. Noa took a breath and the fresh air made her nostrils tingle.
It was a long hallway with flickering lights, that went outside the apartment. No one was there. She could see a staircase going down at the end of it, besides.
The elevator.
Step asynchronous. Step asynchronous. One can recognize footsteps by not their imperfection but their heaviness, strength and quality of a tired man with tired spirit, who has just lost his way in the labyrinth and who marches toward the exit for the sake of getting back home.
The Mean Lady was coming back.
Noa ran.
It was cold in the stairwell. Noa's bare feet went slap slap slap on the concrete as she hurried down. Hand on the railing, hand holding the bread close. Down, down, down. She didn't know how many floors. She just knew that down meant away.
At the bottom there was a large metal door. Noa had to use her whole body—shoulder, hip, everything—to push it to make it open. It groaned and swung outward.
Cool evening air hit her face. She was outside. Actually outside.
The alley that Noa was in was between two tall buildings. It was all gray and cold. At the end of the alley, she could see a street with cars zooming past. So many cars! And people walking. So many people! All moving fast, looking at their phones, not looking at anything else.
Noa took a bite of bread. It was hard and stale, but the second it touched her tongue, her whole mouth woke up. She chewed and chewed and swallowed. Her tummy did a happy flip.
She took another bite. Then another. She ate half the loaf standing right there in the alley, stuffing pieces into her mouth, crumbs falling on her dress.
When her tummy finally stopped rumbling quite so loud, Noa looked around properly.
The alley smelled weird. Like garbage and pee. There were big trash bins along one wall. A cat—orange and skinny—picked through one of them, looking for food just like Noa had.
"Hi, kitty," Noa whispered.
The cat looked at her with yellow eyes, then went back to searching.
Noa walked toward the street. The sounds got louder as she got closer—cars honking, people talking, music from somewhere. It was a lot. Too much. She stopped at the edge of the alley, peeking around the corner.
The street was busy. People everywhere. Tall people with long legs, walking fast. Nobody looked down. Nobody saw her.
Noa hugged her bread and tried to think. Where should she go? She didn't know. She didn't know anything about outside. The farthest she'd ever been was the storage room to the kitchen, and that was only today.
A lady walked past the alley, talking on her phone. "-can't believe the traffic, I'm going to be late-"
A man in a suit rushed by, carrying a briefcase.
A teenager wearing headphones was nodding enthusiastically to some music that Noa couldn't hear.
None of them had glanced at the alley. None of them had noticed the little girl in the oversized dress, holding the bread like a stuffed toy.
Noa inhaled deeply. Then she moved to the pavement.
Maybe she was just crossing the road when someone hit her shoulder. A businessman, inattentive, glancing at his phone. Noa reeled back. The bread went flying from her hands. She landed on her bottom—really hard—right there on the pavement.
"Watch your back!" the businessman said angrily, not even halting his pace.
Noa was still sitting there, shocked. Her bottom was hurting. Her hands were hurting. Everything was hurting.
The bread had fallen into a puddle. The dirty water was absorbed into it, making it brown and ugly.
Noa's eyes brimmed with tears. Her bread. Her food. She had taken so much care, and now it was messed up.
She made an attempt to get up but her legs were too shaky. The road was slanted. The noises kept increasing. Too many people. Too many cars. Too much of everything.
A shadow covered her.