Crucible Act Three - “bridget, Wake Up!”

Elaine Leykin

                                        Fall

        “Bridget, wake up!”

        It was the light that woke her, but it was terror that kept her awake. A cold sweat covered her neck as she stared at the half open door. Her mother left shortly to take out the strawberry preserves Bridget was so fond of, which didn’t happen very often. She gripped her 16 year old teddy bear to her chest and buried her head in her pillow. It was happening again. She was remembering it again.

        Three years ago there was one country separated by a fragrant evergreen forest. The rich were situated near the ocean and the poor stayed near the factories. Every year a rich government official recruited a random teenager to come and learn in one of the best and elite schools in the city. Bridget was hoping this year would be the one for her. Her father worked in a mine and her mother worked at a bakery. They weren’t extremely impoverished but life was always challenging. Bridget stopped going to school at the age of 14 to help her mother in the bakery. It always smelled of yeast, frying fat, and coffee. Customers often came on Saturdays and Sundays because only then did they work 6 hours shifts.

        “One roll please,” a voice murmured. Bridget looked up but nobody was there. “Down here,” a boy whispered. He was tiny but he could have been twelve or thirteen. His sleeves revealed the brutal loss of his hand and several inches of lower arm, causing more people to pause to look at him. Bridget handed him a roll but something about him seemed familiar.

        “Wait, don’t go. Did you ever work at the Gilligan Mine?

        “Yes, my father worked there too,” the boy said as he lowered his head. That year there was a huge explosion followed by a collapse due to internal gases. Bridget’s father came out alive, but not many others did. The boy scurried out, perhaps he was too hungry to stay and chat with a girl he had never seen before.

        The next day, a government official rode into the poor side of the country. Bridget put on her best and neatest clothing and recited a poem once more before the official would observe her in her home. One hour passed and there was no sign of him. Anxious and curious, Bridget stepped outside for some fresh air. On her right was the boy she met at the bakery, sitting on the concrete floor, crying.

        “You dumb and worthless child get back in that house,” a fat woman yelled while hiccupping after every word. In her hand she held an empty bottle that she probably stole from the only liquor store in that side of the country. The boy didn’t move a muscle and his mother fell on the floor and started giggling.