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My Prison
The sunlight streamed into the kitchen from the window above the sink. A large red wine bottle glowed colors of green as light pierced through its colored body. Sometimes the light struck just right and the dust particles that coated the wine bottle made the bottle seem lonely. No one stayed in the house for months and years at a time, except when its owners came back for a quick visit. It was their home when they came back from China to visit the U.S. on occasion, but now it’s just a glorified storage space that doubled as my prison for the foreseeable future. COVID struck fear into the hearts of millions of people around the world, but unfortunately not everyone, because its relentless spread only further propagated fear. So it was the family decision to live as separately as possible while my mom still had to go to work, and I volunteered to stay at this family friend’s house.
Strange bags, both of the see-through and opaque variety, strategically stuffed and jammed the entire fridge. They were filled with dry snacks and jars of assorted Chinese sauces and all-American jams. There was only enough room at the very edges of the shelves if an impressive push could convince the contents into closer proximity. It was at least enough space to fit a beer bottle or two. It was dangerous, but only if you forgot to open the fridge door carefully.
