Trapped in Freedom

Her key slid into the lock of the dingy bronze doorknob. She turned her wrist and then put all her weight against the door, as it consistently stuck in its frame when the weather turned cold. The hallways in her apartment building were not heated and at times she found she could see her breath come out in white puffs as she trudged from the stairs to door 302.

The door finally gave and she was tossed into the foyer, the golden curls on her head bouncing around her face. The smell of mineral spirits and paint hit her nose with a lovely familiarity. She didn’t realize she missed that smell until she was away from it for too long. She hadn’t meant to stay the night at Todd’s house, but he had been beyond persuasive.

“Dina?” She called out. She tossed the mail and her keys on a small oak table her and her roommate, Dina, had purchased at a secondhand shop when they had moved in together over a year ago. She set her purse on the orange and brown floral couch, also bought secondhand, and then walked over to the dining room where she had set up her easel looking out on the dirty wet street down below. A white sheet hung over the canvas she’d been working on, and she left it covered for now while she set up some of her paints and brushes. She found a note from Dina tucked in between her peacock blue and garnet red.

Lila,

Have to work another Saturday. Left you some tikka masala I grabbed on the way home late last night, help yourself. Might be late tonight- don’t wait up.

D.

Lila sighed. It felt like she hadn’t seen her best friend in ages. The office she worked at kept her on a short leash and then some. Lila didn’t know how she did it day in and day out. She went into the kitchen and pulled the Styrofoam to-go box out of the fridge and tossed it in the microwave. A few minutes later the smell of cardamon, turmeric, cinnamon and tomatoes filled the air. Once the microwave dinged, she dumped the contents of the to-go box into a bowl and carried it with a fork over to her easel.

She took a tentative bite of the lovely creamy sauce with rice and chicken, then set it down on the small Formica dining room table next to her and pulled the sheet off the canvas. She studied what she had accomplished and smiled to herself. It was to be her submission into the art galleries amateur competition. She felt like she actually had a chance to win this year. The curator had sent her a personal note with her phone number letting Lila know she would do everything she could to get her in the show.

Oh! That reminded her! Leaning over the kitchen counter, she checked the answering machine sitting next to the coffee maker. 5 messages. Poor dear Dina. She was probably so exhausted last night and this morning she didn’t even think about checking them. Lila hit play and then went back to her easel to set up her paints.

*Beep* “7:36 p.m.” *Beep*

“Dina? It’s Mark. I was wondering if you might have accidently saved the spread sheet we had been working on onto your personal computer or to a different file? For some reason it’s not showing in the projected earnings file and I know you worked hard on it the last few days. I think Larry might have accidently deleted it? Anyways, call me back if you find it on you’re personal laptop will you? Thanks, bye.”

Lila picked up her brush and dipped it into the hunter green to add some deep highlights to the gold. She hummed to herself as she became lost in the process of putting paint to canvas.

*Beep* “8:14 p.m.” *Beep*

“Hey girl, just wanted to warn you that the boss is on the war path and it looks like we’ll all be working late tomorrow. God, he’s such a dick. Hope you didn’t have any plans. If you did, cancel them now. Love ya, see you tomorrow.”

Lila stood back from the canvas and squinted her eyes. Something wasn’t right. The light source was where it needed to be. But the eyes… Yes, it had to be the eyes, they just weren’t… Right.

*Beep* “9:23 p.m.” *Beep*

“Hello, this message is for Lila Manning. Hi Lila, this is Scarlett, the curator for the Sandy Tempo Gallery. I just wanted to let you know that your commission has been approved for the amateur art installation competition this year- “Trapped in Freedom.” Please feel free to call me at any time with any questions and we look forward to seeing you in 3 weeks. You should have my number. Thanks.”

Lila set down her paintbrush and did a little jig in the middle of the living room. Her golden curls bounced in the air and she twirled around giggling to herself. She was in. She had a good feeling about this one. She turned back to her painting and observed it from afar. So sad, but so lovely at the same time.

*Beep* “7:45 a.m.” *Beep*

“Dina? Larry. Sooooooo I’m really sorry but I’m pretty positive I accidently deleted that spread sheet you’ve been working on all week for the boss man. I know it was due today and I tried for hours to get it back, but I think it’s lost to the internet graveyard? I am so so sorry. I called the IT guy and left him a message, but I don’t think he works weekends. I’ll swing by the café and grab you a latte if that will help out at all. Again, I’m super sorry if that fucked things up for you.”

Lila stood in front of her canvas and she shut her eyes. She pictured Dina in her head. Dina’s jet-black hair she recently cut into a bob after she was told her long hair looked unprofessional. Dina’s green eyes that reminded her of sea glass on the beach. Dina’s smart business suites that were a far cry from her t-shirts and jeans that used to be her staple. Lila opened her eyes. She found her tube of sea glass green and dipped her smallest brush in a smear of it.

*Beep* “8:09 a.m.” *Beep*

“Dina Simpson? This is Jackie Martin, Bob Frinkleshintz’s secretary? Mr. Frinkleshintz wanted me to call you and let you know that the projected earnings meeting has been moved up from 2:30 this afternoon to 10:00 a.m. He has an important business meeting at the country club after lunch that can’t be moved.”

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Lila stood back. The gilded cage was made of golden skyscrapers and office cubicles held together with staples and paperclips. The bottom of the cage was lined with projected earnings spreadsheets covered in bird shit. On a perch inside the locked cage was her triumph. A jet-black bird in a beige suite coat with sea glass green eyes looking out wistfully at the rest of the world passing her by.