Before
The first time eleven-year-old Kestrel was called to Teacher’s office for rule-breaking, he locked her in the Confession Room till bedtime.
She was to sit and think about the “kind of human you need to become in order to bring harmony to the world.” It was a topic that somehow failed to ignite her preteen imagination, so she spent most of her time lying on the floor daydreaming that she was a mermaid.
It was an achingly long evening, and she’d had to miss night games with the other kids, so for the weeks that followed, she was determined to be the best little rule-follower Farm Home had ever seen. She got up on time, worked hard, and finished all the food on her platter—even the mashed turnips.
But despite Kestrel’s magnificent display of submissiveness, her mother didn’t seem to notice.
Jill did make some effort to sit beside her at lectures, but what Kestrel really longed for was a repeat of the best day of her life—her lively, beautiful mother again pulling up in the blue convertible, honking and shouting, “Let’s go, Kestrel! Just you and me!”
How long did a kid have to obey rules till her mother realized she was all she needed in the whole wide world?
Kestrel grew excruciatingly bored of obedience. The next time she sneaked away from weeding duty to explore the woods, she made sure to go alone. She was caught anyway. Another afternoon in the Confession Room. And again a week later.
“This has to stop!” said Teacher. “Everyone in Farm Home is utterly free, but if even one of us fails to use our freedom wisely, our whole system collapses. What hope would the world have then?”
Kestrel said, “But it’s so hard to keep my feet still when they want to go.”
“I see.” Teacher took a deep breath and sighed down to his own feet. “I hate to do this, but some people must feel the loss of freedom before they understand how precious it is.”
He took her to a large back closet, empty but for a coffin-sized plywood box, and told her to get in. Confused, she sat up in it cross-legged.
“No, lie down,” he said.
Kestrel’s stomach clenched shut, a sign that something wasn’t right.
But she ignored it and did what Teacher said.
Perhaps he wanted to lead her through a mindfulness exercise where she would imagine being dead.
She decided she would pretend to be so grateful for all his boring advice, so she could get back to the children’s house in time for night games.
Then Teacher lowered the lid with a clack. Her lungs took a sharp inhale and her legs shivered, her body realizing before her mind what was happening.
She heard Teacher say, “Obedience is the rule all others are based upon. Without obedience, there is no love or peace. You want love and peace, don’t you, Kestrel?”
She hesitated. If she said yes, would he let her out? But either he wasn’t waiting for her answer or she took too long, because she heard him shut the door as he left.
Kestrel lay still, breathing. Some daylight came through the cracks in the box.
She knew air must come in too. So why did it feel like she couldn’t breathe?
Still she kept silent to prove what a good girl she was.
After several minutes Teacher still hadn’t returned, so she decided she could take a break from the box.
She pushed upward. The lid didn’t budge. She pushed harder. Locked solid.
Soon all thoughts of being good fled from her brain. She beat against the wood. She rolled and rattled, and she SCREAMED!
Nobody came. Panic led to sobbing and pleading, and hours later, with a deep shame ripping through her, she had to give in and urinate. The sharp, sour odor filled the space, unescapable, punching her gut with nausea and needling tears in her eyes.
Once night darkened, she began to fall asleep in fits and wake up gasping, having to realize she was trapped over and over again. She was so thirsty, her tongue felt like paper.
When morning light jabbed through the cracks, she screamed till there was a thump on the box and Teacher’s voice said, “Shut up! You’re stubborn, but I will break you. You will learn!”
I won’t, she told herself. No matter what. I won’t learn.
He left again. When would he return? She decided that she just had to survive this minute, so she counted to sixty. And then she counted to sixty again. And again. Ten times. A hundred times. A thousand times. Five thousand times.
At last the lock clicked open and the lid lifted. Kestrel crawled out, limbs shaking. Teacher looked at her with disgust as the smell of urine poured out.
It had been twenty-two hours, but it had felt like a month. Like an eternity. Sobs clutched her throat, but she forced words out.
“I’m gonna tell my mom! And she’ll take me out of here and we’ll never come back!”
Teacher frowned at her, entirely unafraid. “If you tell Jill, then you are bringing her into your shameful deceit, and I will be forced to put her in the box too. Do you understand?”
So Kestrel didn’t tell, because she was eleven years old and she loved her mom.
She did her chores. She tried to follow the rules. And once a week, she willingly entered the Confession Room.
All week she felt its presence, like a monster lurking, waiting to swallow her.
If she didn’t admit any rule-breaking, she was terrified Teacher would find out and put her back in the box.
So she confessed her secrets every week, even though each time she did, not only did she feel sick to her stomach, but a tight spot in her chest grew bigger and bigger, till it felt like an undigestible walnut stuck there forever.
Only years later did she realize why the Confession Room had been the worst part—laying herself out there for someone she didn’t like or trust, making herself vulnerable like that, it was betraying her own self.
The worst kind of betrayal. Being locked in a box was something Teacher had done to her.
Exposing her deepest, truest parts in the Confession Room was something she had done to herself.