She wailed and moaned and kicked and screamed as her mother attempted to get her out of bed. “The sun shines too bright and too early!” the girl exclaims. “Yes, because it’s summer,” her mother extols. “But I hate summer,” she cries. “No one hates summer,” her mother informs. “Well, then I’m no one,” the girl challenges. “Fine, be nobody and no one. What do I care?” the mother insists as she closes the door to the girl’s room.
I’m no one? the girl thinks solemnly to herself; I’m nobody? Contemplating the meaning of these words, the gravity of this possibility, she wonders if it can actually be true. Could I actually be nobody? How can she really know whether or not she’s not nobody.
A warm breeze blows through the one window in her attic room. She feels the air brush over her face as it cajoles the hairs on her head into tickling that same face. She sighs and walks over to the one small window in her one small attic room.
Sliding the window from the bottom upward to open the thing all the way, she sits on the ledge of the sill and determines how she can truly know or find out whether or not she is nobody. She jumps. Just as the last strand of her long black hair disappears beyond the edge of the window frame, her mother enters the room only to shriek at the glimpse of what she assumes is her daughter.