"Hey April," I call out. I'm sitting down on the window sill in April's room, anxiously swallowing the intrusive lump in my throat.  She stops at the sound of my voice, looking over at me as she continues to brush her hair. She's in her morning routine, and I can tell she didn't really appreciate being interrupted. 

"Yes, Junebug?" She addresses while planting her hairbrush back on the counter. 

"I was wondering it it was okay-- never mind." 

"What is it?" she prods.  

"Nothing-- it was stupid." I say as I bite my cheek. I wanted to drop the subject. I don't even know why I brought it up. Instead, she just leaned over closer to me just enough to loom directly over me, her heaving chest casting a slight shadow. 

"It's probably not," she says, inching in even closer. Unsurprisingly, I back away as she's about an arm's length away from me. 

"Just drop it." 

"Juniper..." 

"Okay--fine!" I concede. "I just wanted to know if you'd let me stay home today." My words were quick, quiet, silently hoping that she didn't hear. 

"Oh." I can tell she's disappointed. It's plastered all over her voice. "But you always go to work with me." 

"I know. It's just, I-I don't know." 

She backs away. 

"Okay." April says sullenly. And without warning, she leaves quietly.  Not having much else to do, I flop and lie on the floor, spread eagle, staring up at the ceiling fan that hasn't worked in years. I don't even know if she's coming back, but at least I'm being left alone for once in my life. 

There's not much on the window sill except for an old, broken lamp and a picture of me, April and May at April's graduation, circa three years ago. I never really took a good look at it, but the image strikes me as odd. There's May's smug grin and April's cheeky smile, but the third girl-- she's smiling too. She looks nothing like me, not anymore. 

She's Juniper, and I'm Junebug. I can never be her again.  

There's a click of the door, and April walks back in, stopping in front of the wall as she kneels down. She's carrying a bundle of objects in her hands, ranging from a single potato chip, water bottle cap, the tv remote, and the house phone as she carefully places the items next to me. What catches my attention is that she's holding a blue throw pillow, placing it at the floor below the edge. 

"Just in case," she says thoughtfully. "If anything happens, call me." 

I nod but quickly answer back, gratefully making my thanks known. 

She stands back up, placing her arms at her hips again, seemingly checking over her handiwork in case I needed anything else. I can tell from her loose smile that she's reluctant to leave, but sure enough, she musters the strength to turn away and walk towards the door. 

Stalling, April stops at  the open door to get a last look at me before quickly shutting it with a resounding click. 

Anxiously, I wait, counting the minutes and listening for the hum of an engine to disappear. 

When I deem it safe, I stand up, rushing over to the edge. I mutter silent thanks to April for inadvertently assisting me in my escape. The pillow seems plush enough, but the sweeping sense of vertigo is enough to make me hesitate. 

You're psyching yourself out. 

"I can do it," I say out loud, rocking back and forth as if that tiny shred of momentum would somehow increase my chances of survival. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath as I rush towards the edge. 

Funny enough, I hit the ground after what seemed like no time at all. I'm lying on the pillow, perfectly safe and sound. 

I slide off the pillow, taking in the view of what is my house. They never allowed me to walk on the floor. It was one of the few limits my mother actually placed on my sisters before giving them free reign over my life. 

My mother. 

I never really talked about her-- or even referred to her as my mother in the recent years. It wasn't until I started shrinking. She didn't want me, and I didn’t need her. It hurt at first, but you learn your place quickly. When you're like this, you throw away your feelings for the sake of survival. You bottle up your grudges because you can't do anything about them, clinging onto the good will and fickle whims of your loved ones. 

I lean against the pillow, biting into my cheek until I can taste the full metallic taste of blood. I don't care about the pain. It's a useless, stupid pain that never helped anyone. That was my mentality for the last two years. It helped me get through it, why isn't it helping now? 

Am I crying? 

I force myself back up, wiping away the heavy tears while I trudge through the carpet. It's hard to stand, but I keep walking, making my way towards the sunderside of the bed nearby. It's a five minute walk, enough to compose myself. Now's not the time to cry or even get emotional, not now, maybe ever. 

I walk inside, fumbling in the darkness until I bump into something with the powerful scent of plastic and rubber, old running shoes. I work the laces, hopping from one side to the other as I use all my strength to pull them loose. It gets easier as I go on, and eventually I'm standing over the dirty gray shoe lace, coiled over itself. 

I take a minute to rest, feeling like I didn’t earn it, but I needed it. And once I regain my strength I'm dragging the lace over my shoulder until I get back to the wall. I stop at the dangling wire of the lamp. It doesn't work-- it never worked. She just liked the look of it, so it sits unplugged against the wall. If that wasn't so convenient, I'd assume the universe is set against me. 

I bite into the shoelace, trying to ignore the taste of dust and dirt as I grip the lamp wire. The shoelace has its own weight, making the climb much harder, but I force myself upwards as I hold  onto the idea that I could be gone within the hour. 

I'm sweating profusely, absolutely breathless, but I'm at the top, taking another break once I make sure the shoelace is safely on top. Curiously, I walk towards the  tv remote, using more force than I should have to press the power button. 

There's a high pitched chime of the screen and I sit as close to the edge as a picture begins to form on the tv. I'm holding a clump of broken chips, and my legs are dangling off the edge. 

I never really watched tv after I started shrinking, mostly because I didn't want to. But when I did, I watched whatever my sisters wanted. 

From what I can tell, it’s a sitcom, and I can tell it's not a great one. The laugh track is grating, and the story so far seems generic. It's entertaining enough to watch, but I'm always reciting a line right before the actors on screen say something. It's definitely for kids since most of them are younger than me. 

Five minutes in, the story shifts away from the main character, Holly, I think, and moves towards her older brother. And get this, he's a tiny too. They make every mention of it, almost rubbing it in his face with each chance they get, but they never hurt him aside from little bits of cheap visual gags where Holly accidentally sits, steps or even eats him. I find myself caring more for the shrunken boy than Holly and whether or not she has the right gift for her friend's birthday.

But even at the worst moments, little Max Fischer is still a part of the family. 

 Before I know It, I'm watching the show for a few hours. The episodes are disjointed, seemingly having no consequences aside from the growing relationship between Max and his childhood crush who's also the one who's the source of a mojority of the visual jokes. It's the most apparent in the episode of their first kiss, and somehow his budding girlfriend finds a way to nearly swallow him. 

It's played for laughs, but I can't help but think about the boy who's in her mouth. There's no way he's okay with this. He probably doesn't have a choice. 

Still, I can't help but appreciate the fact that he's on screen. 

Hours pass, and all I have accomplished is a single shoe lace dangling out the window and another tiny to think about. Fortunately, that's all I need to get out.