The Lilac Tunnel: My Journey with Samantha

After watching Mary work a while, I’m starting to sweat. It’s hot in the knitting room, and my legs ache from standing. I ask for water, but she shakes her head: no breaks until lunchtime. Maybe out of pity, she offers to let me try winding yarn instead. The moment she hands it over, it breaks, and the machine grinds to a halt. Other girls glare at me while Mary reties the knot and a tiny dark-haired girl, no older than six or seven, restarts the machine.

Mary doesn’t offer again, and I’m relieved. But the stuffy room makes it hard to breathe, coughing echoing around me, sweat trickling down my back, and the one window stays sealed shut.

When I can’t stand the heat anymore, I step away and tell Mary I need a break. Her eyes widen. Stopping means losing my pay. I don’t care about the pay, I just need air, real air, not this thick, dusty stuff. I hurry to the door, but the knob won’t turn, locked tight. Why would the foreman lock us in, just to stop breaks? Now I need out more than ever, and I start knocking loudly, ignoring the horrified stares around me. When the foreman finally opens the door, his thunderous look makes my knees weak.

The foreman leans in, face inches from mine, demanding to know what I want. I can’t speak, my throat too tight and dry. He scowls, points me back into the room, and slams the door, the lock clicking again. My heart pounds. It’s time for me to go, but first I need to get a message to Samantha.

I fumble for the note she left this morning and rush to Mary’s table for something to write with, finding a pencil stub by a measuring tape. Under Mary’s watchful eyes, I scrawl a message on the back:

I seal the letter, write Samantha’s name on front, and check that the foreman is gone. I hate risking trouble for Mary, but I need her help getting this to Samantha. It’s important, more important than anything else right now. She furrows her brow, glancing toward the door, then finally nods. I thank her and leave the letter with her, unsure if it’ll reach Samantha but certain I need to leave this room.

I’d love to just open the locket and vanish right then, but not in front of the girls, not with all of them watching. Instead, I take a breath of courage, march to the locked door, and pound as loudly as I can. Seconds later the furious foreman answers, but before he can speak, I yell that I quit. The instant cool air hits me outside, I snap open my locket. Dizziness passes, and I’m back in my own room, ears still ringing with the ghost of the winding machines’ clunks and whirs.

I’m in my shirt and capris again, the scratchy dress gone. Sinking onto my bed, I thank the universe I’m not an orphan in Samantha’s time. I get to go home to parents who love me and an ice-cold glass of water whenever I want, no locked doors and no foreman waiting on the other side. I hurry out to the kitchen, touching my locket on the way and thanking Samantha, too, for teaching me so much about helping others and appreciating what I already have.