by Yamaya Cruz
When The Shadows Began To Dance
Yamaya Cruz
_
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Yamaya Cruz
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.
Chapter One
I am really not sure when the shadows began. I suppose they were always around, creeping about in the darkness, only showing their faces when they were illuminated by light. My earliest memory is when I was about eight. I remember waking up in the middle of the night and rushing into my mommy’s room. It was a mess. I stumbled over piles of clothes like they were landmines. I kicked over empty vodka bottles and crushed beer cans with my feet. I paused, not knowing what to do.
She was on her knees, crying, begging for them stop. I wanted them to stop too. They didn’t. They got angrier, more frantic. And my mom responded by shooting up to her feet, cursing loudly, waving her fist into the air and then slamming them into the bare wall. Each punch felt like a hammer was being smashed into my head. I closed my eyes tight, bit down hard on my lower lip, and hoped and prayed that they would leave my mommy alone, just for that night.
My chest felt heavy like a sinking ship. I remember thinking to myself that it was just a dream, a nightmare. I told myself that I would wake up soon and everything would be okay. But the shadows were still there. They were almost twelve feet tall. They lined the walls and danced about menacingly. I remember flinching as they reached out to try and get me. I screamed, ran into my bedroom, and buried my head under the sheets. I needed to escape, to pretend that it wasn’t real. I could hear my mommy ripping clothes off hangers, slamming dressing drawers shut, and sweeping supplies into large bags. Ali was ten, and I watched him struggle as he lifted a huge Santé Clause sack and flung it over his shoulder. His face strained from the weight. I was way too scared to help.
We were forced to flee our home like refugees in the night, saddled with bags and armored in layers of clothing for warmth. Winter had no mercy; it spat out cold chills that crept through our sleeves and into our spines. We walked around aimlessly in the night, until finally we boarded an empty bus. We drove down richly paved roads that looped around giant office buildings; dainty cottage dwellings peered off like mountains in the distance. And the lights of New York City sparkled like the sun setting beyond the horizon.
The engine hummed, and I rocked back and forth in my seat as the tires rattled over potholes. The scenery changed, and Newark looked like it had just been looted. The streets were littered with trash; bilious buildings coughed out clouds of black smoke. Storefronts were corroded with bubble letter graffiti. Factories were boarded up and closed down for good. And an old man sat on an underpass, like a wounded soldier, holding up a cardboard sign that read, “Will work for food.”
I looked around. I was the only one on the bus! Panic struck me. Where was everyone? I wanted to jump up and look for them. Where did they go? Did they get off at the last stop? How come I didn’t see them? I looked out the window, hoping and praying that I would spot them. My heart hurt, like someone was squeezing the guts out of it.
I could feel someone’s eyes on me. I looked up and saw the controller looking at me through the rearview mirror. He pulled the bus over and walked up to me.
“Hey young lady, where are you heading?”
Tears swelled up in my eyes, and I couldn’t answer him because I didn’t know where I was going.
“This bus is supposed to be empty with no passengers; I made my last stop back on Mercer Street. Didn’t you hear me?
My bottom lip began to quiver. I worked hard to hold captive the tears that wanted to break free and run down my face.
“Alright, everything is going to be okay. Can you tell me your name?”
My name? My mouth was dry. My throat was sore. I was alone. The fear was intense, and I felt like a chicken before its neck was rung. The controller reached out to me. I flinched.
“Don’t touch me.” I hissed.
“I am trying to help you. Please let me help you.”
“I want to go home.” My voice was drenched with tears, and my body started to quiver. It felt too scary to be real.
“Okay, alright, I am going to take you home.”
He pulled out his radio and began to speak into it. He held the radio up to his ear and then turned to face me, smiling. He leaned in and fed some answers back into the radio before he turned around and drove back to the station. I was very scared, but the attendants were friendly. They gave me hot tea and cookies. Somehow, I managed to fall asleep.
“Are you crazy? You’re not taking that girl anywhere until we call child services.”
My eyelids fluttered open. The elderly woman, she was here! She placed her forefinger to her lips, motioning for me to keep quiet. There was a woman in the office; she was having a heated conversation with the controller.
“How many times do I have to tell you? The girl is sick! I understand that she told you that she was on the bus with her family, but that’s not true.”
“You mean to tell me that young girl is crazy.”
“Mr. Calderon, please don’t call her crazy. And keep your voice down; I don’t want her to hear you.”
Mr. Calderon rolled his eyes and then crossed his arms over his chest. The woman leaned in closer and started to whisper, but I could still hear her.
“We believe that she suffers from delusions. So she is under my observation until we can figure out how best to treat her.”
“Best to treat her, what are you running, a fucking animal shelter? The girl is strolling around in the middle of the night like a stray dog.”
“Mr. Calderon, I don’t appreciate the language, and I don’t like your tone. I have over twenty children in my care who have disabilities, and I do the best I can with what I have.”
The controller shook his head and picked the office phone off the cradle.
“What are you doing?”
“Lady, I can’t let you go anywhere until morning with that girl.”
“Who are you calling?” Mr. Calderon ignored her and continued to hold the phone to his ear.
“Mr. Calderon, that girl in the waiting area is Nelly Reyes; she is seventeen years old and a ward of the court of New Jersey. She is a patient under my care at Newark Community Mental Health Center for minors. Child services knows about her condition, so trust me when I tell you that you’re wasting your time.”
Mr. Calderon looked at her, unsure of what to do. “What’s wrong with her?” “Well, we think that she suffers from delusions and hallucinations.”
Mr. Calderon was silent for while before he asked softly. “You mean like schizophrenia?”
“Exactly, but her case is a little more complex than that. I really don’t have time to go into it. What else do you need from me?” She asked impatiently.
I could feel Mr. Calderon’s eyes on me. He felt sorry for me.
“She’s lost so much, it’s late, and I just want to get her back home where it’s safe.”
He shook his head. “I have a little girl, and I just need to see some kind of documentation, you know, to make sure she’s in good hands. It would make me feel better.”
“I appreciate your concern; if you let me use your phone, I can have the proper documents faxed here.”
The elderly woman was sitting beside me. She squeezed my hand. She gave me one of her reassuring looks indicating that everything was going to be okay.
The woman walked into the hallway. She tucked her plain brown bag under her arm and adjusted her
green pea coat.
“Nelly, what were you doing walking around by yourself in the middle of the night?”
I didn’t answer because I knew that she wouldn’t understand. I knew that she would think that I was crazy, just like everyone else did. I looked over at the elderly woman; she nodded encouraging me to answer her.
“I wasn’t by myself, you see Ali was with me and my mommy was there too.”
“Nelly, sweetie let’s not go into this now.” She reached over and grabbed my hand. I snatched it away.
She looked puzzled.
“Nelly, do you remember who I am?” I balled up in my chair. “Nelly, I’m Miss. Tilthen,” she said gently. She reached over and tried to pull me into her arms. My body became stiff and hard like a glacier. She rubbed my shoulders as if she was trying to melt the ice away.
“I know, you’re scared, but everything is okay now.” Her breath smelled like feces from a horse barn. I just looked back at her, not knowing what to do. I shook my head trying to remember, I needed to remember her, but I couldn’t. I watched her eyes narrow and could see that she was thinking of how best to handle me. I looked over and saw the elderly woman once again. She furrowed her eyebrows.
Ms. Tilthen looked back and saw that Mr. Calderon had closed his door. She yanked hard on my arm and led me toward the elevators.
I tried to look back, but I couldn’t. I wanted to thank the controller and the attendants for giving me cookies, for keeping me safe, but Ms. Tilthen yanked so hard on my arm that she practically dragged me across the floor. I had to quicken my steps in order to keep up with her. Once we were outside. I saw the elderly woman; she waved to me and then walked in the opposite direction. Where was she going? Why was she leaving me again? I watched her go to an old garbage can that was hoarding her stuff. She threw bundles of trash bags over her shoulders and then waved goodbye to me. I knew that it my heart that it wasn’t forever.
~ ~ ~
Chapter Two
Case 20109569
Patient: Nelandez Reyes
Social Security Number: 149-20-8970
Diagnosis: Undifferentiated Schizophrenia
Age: 17
Race: Black Ethnicity: Hispanic Medical History
* Patient is a minor and has been deemed a ward of the court by the State of New Jersey. Elizabeth Tilthen has been appointed by the courts to act as the patient’s conservator making both medical and financial decisions on behalf of the patient. An interview conducted by Ms. Tilthen found that the patient suffered from a marked personality change. The patient showed symptoms of disorganized speech and a lack of focus. Further observations by Ms. Tilthen revealed that the patient began to withdraw from social situations and developed an inability to cope with problems and daily activities.
The patient began to experience sporadic episodes of larger than life ideas and both auditory and visionary hallucinations. One episode caused her to run away from the Newark Community Mental Healthcare Center and board a bus unattended.
After this incident the patient was referred to East Shore Medical Center. Past medical records were reviewed and showed that the patient suffered a broken leg and showed previous signs of a possible mental illness. No further information was recorded at that time. A complete physical examination was conducted, along with blood and urine analysis that showed no signs of commonly used drugs. An MRI scan was conducted that revealed no signs of a brain tumor and other neurological disorders. A diagnostics conducted by Dr. Tabitha Ontarian was conducted in a controlled environment where the patient was asked a series of questions. Using the DSMIV criteria for schizophrenia, Dr. Ontarian found that the patient experienced the following symptoms:
* * Deterioration of functioning from previous levels in such areas as work, or school, social relations and self-care
* Delusions
* Hallucinations
* Disorganized speech
* Prominent auditory hallucinations
* All of these symptoms were monitored for a six-month period. The disease symptoms do not suggest manic-depressive illness, organic mental disorders, or mental retardation. The patient will continue to receive treatment including cognitive therapy sessions three days a week. The patient has been prescribed 200 mg of the typical antipsychotic medication Clozaril along with 250 mg of Klonobin to minimize the side effects and allow time for the patient’s body to adjust to the medications.
If the patient has a positive response both to treatment and medication, her symptoms may go into remission. The early onset of schizophrenia has allowed the patient to seek treatment before the delusions become fixated permanently in the patient’s thought processes. The patient has a 25% chance of living with the disease in remission and only a 25% chance of recovering from it completely.
~ ~ ~
Chapter Three
I looked around, for a moment; I had forgotten where I was. Dr. Ontarian’s office was tiny. Tall shelves, with brown legal journals lined the walls and pictures of a loving family of four were lined along the desk. I examined the pictures, an average looking woman, posed with a plump and jolly man. He was wearing thick bifocals and had grey hair feathered around his temples. She held a small child of about three in her arms. Another child about six held on to a man’s leg; he was grinning from ear to ear, his smile exposing several missing teeth. I felt a pang of envy; I wanted to be those children.
“Nelly, do you have any questions about your diagnosis?” Quickly, I leafed through the manila folder. It was hot in her office, and I was tired of answering questions. I just wanted her to leave me alone. I tried to read all of the lettering but ended up just skimming it. Fuck it! What’s the use, my life is doomed anyway.
“What was that?” Oh shit, did I just say that out loud? Oh well, it doesn’t matter. Crazy people don’t have any fucking rules.
Dr. Ontarian whirled around in her chair and looked at me. Could she hear me? Could she actually hear my thoughts? I studied her face, wondering what she knew. How much had I told her? Shit Nelly, you got to be more careful about what you think, focus more on what you say. If you focus more on what you say then she won’t worry about your thoughts. That’s good, because my thoughts are evil, wicked, and dirty. Someone put them there. Stop this now, Nelly; she’s looking at you.
I blushed from embarrassment, placed my hands in my lap and began to twirl my fingers around nervously. For some reason, I couldn’t look at her. Instead I focused on the window. I looked over at the clock and silently prayed, dear God, please let this session end.
“Does this diagnosis make you uncomfortable, Nelly?” Uncomfortable? Tell me bitch, how would you feel if someone told you that you were crazy and probably will be for the rest of your life? Helpless? Defeated? My disease can’t be described as uncomfortable.
“Nelly, I really can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. Remember, we’re all here to help you.”
I shifted my head to the right and focused on a fake plastic plant that was nestled in the corner. Why couldn’t I be a plant? Life would be so much easier, no judgments, no heartaches. Life, any life is easier than being crazy. My leg started to jump. I started to get the shakes. What’s going on with me?
“Nelly, what are you thinking about right now?’
“No!” I said, a little too quickly. I was beginning to feel like a crack-head in rehab with a vile of dope stuffed in my sock. I didn’t appreciate the accusations; just because I’m refusing to look at her doesn’t mean that I’m seeing someone who isn’t there. I looked the other way, careful to avoid her gaze and focused on old rusty radiator. My leg shook more violently; I tried to massage it with my hands to try and control it.
“Wow! It looks like you’re a little paranoid,” she said backing off. “Did I say something that upset you?”
Yes bitch, everything that you say upsets me. I rolled my eyes and looked the other way. I was shaking tremulously, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.
“Your body is reacting to the medications.
” Dr. Ontarian said.
Fuck the medications. Yeah, I said it and I don’t really care if you hear my thoughts. I don’t really want to take them anyway. “Nelly, it’s okay, we’re here to help you, but you have to trust in the process.”
“I don’t trust anyone.” I looked at her just for a brief second and saw that she was a little surprised by my outburst. Her lips tightened and she leaned back in her chair.
There was a long silence.
“We’ve been through this before, if you truly want to get better, you’re going to have to make more of an effort.”
I slouched way down in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. This was stupid, real dumb, and I’m not going to say anything else until the session is over.
“Nelly?”
“I’m not crazy!” I snapped. This whole diagnosis thing was bullshit. I am not going to let someone with a fancy degree tell me that I am sick, that I am crazy. That what’s going on in my life is not real. How does she know? She does not know me, my momma, my family, nobody. She’s crazy and a liar, and I can’t listen to anything that comes out of her mouth.
“Alright, how about we end our session for today?” she said with a smile that looked faker than a knock-off bag. I got up and rushed toward the door.
“Nelly, twelve o clock.” She held out a pink reminder slip. I snatched it out of her hand and slammed dunked it into the trashcan. I walked outside and waited for the shortyellow bus that transported me back and forth to Looney Ville. I ripped a leftover cigarette butt out of my pocket and began to smoke it. I was an orphan, a throwaway child with a limited shelf life that was due to expire in one year. By that time, I will be of legal age to enter the world with a limited education, non-existent support system, and crazier than a bag lady in a tutu pushing a trash cart.
I didn’t have the luxury of dreaming like most kids my age. I didn’t waste my time thinking that one special day, prospective parents would come and adopt me. It was easier to accept the truth. No one wanted me. And those who did were looking for a paycheck and not a burden. The last thing they wanted was to tuck me in at night wearing a straightjacket. I preferred this life more than those other orphans who were all caught up in the system. There’s no stability in that. Besides, I ate a hell of a lot better, and nobody came within two feet of me because I was fucking crazy. It was just as well. I didn’t want to be part of the revolving door. You know like prison. You did some time on the inside, and then you spent the rest of it being pimped out on the outside. The bus pulled up. I threw out my cigarette and climbed on. Immediately, I heard kids snickering behind me.
