Instead of waiting, Janni picks up another cheese stick, bites into it, and spits the pieces back out.
“Janni, I said to wait!”
“But I’m hungry!” she whines.
“What good is trying to eat them if they’re too hot? Just give them a minute to cool.”
Janni picks up yet another cheese stick, puts it in her mouth, complains it’s too hot, and spits it out.
“Janni,” I say, exasperated by her inability to wait for anything. “You’re wasting them!”
Janni abruptly slips underneath the booth and down onto the floor.
“Janni, what are you doing?” I demand.
“Will you stop yelling at her?” Susan complains. “She just got out of the hospital.”
I lean over to see what Janni is doing under the table. She is crouched down over the floor, picking up the spit-out pieces of cheese stick, shoving them into her mouth like a rat.
“Janni, don’t eat off the floor!” My voice rises, but she ignores me. It’s an unnerving sight, not like when toddlers pick candy up off the ground, but like someone so starving they’re rummaging through scraps of food fallen from the table.
“Janni, there are plenty of cheese sticks still on the plate,” I say, trying to reason with her.
“Let it go,” Susan says to me.
I look up at her, stunned. “I’m not going to let her eat off the floor! It’s not right!”
“Since when do you care about social etiquette?” Susan asks, choosing this moment to get in another shot at me.
But this is different. Janni looks inhuman. Now she’s not even using her hands, simply putting her head down and eating off the floor with her mouth. She’s regressing, not getting better.
“Janni, get up here or we’re leaving.”
She ignores me.
I reach down and grab her, pulling her up. I’m not going to let my daughter turn into an animal.
“Careful!” Susan warns. “Watch her head.”
Janni scurries farther under the table, out of my reach. Swearing under my breath, I go down underneath the booth and grab her legs, pulling. She screams, an earsplitting scream that makes the entire restaurant look our way.
“Okay, that’s it. Come on, Janni.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going for a time-out.”
“We’re not at home,” Janni answers smugly. “There’s nowhere to give me a time-out.”
“We’re going to the car,” I reply, sliding back out from under the table, pulling Janni with me, nearly knocking over Bodhi’s car seat sling in the process.
Janni comes up screaming and hitting me. I can’t see, but I feel the other restaurant patrons staring at my back.
“We’re going to wait in the car until you decide you’re ready to behave.”
“But I’m hungry,” Janni cries.
“You have to earn the right to come back in,” I reply.
Janni wails, pulling against me. I know she’ll never just walk out of here with me. I have no choice but to lift her off her feet and sling her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I carry my screaming daughter through the restaurant, ignoring her hitting the back of my head.
When we reach the exit, the hostess looks up to see what the commotion is, and shock comes over her face.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, standing there stupidly.
“Can you open the door?” I ask angrily.
The hostess snaps out of her shock and runs to open the door. I carry Janni through it, trying to make sure her head doesn’t hit the door on the way out, and then we are outside.
It is dark when we reach the car. I’m going to have to put her down to get my car keys out. I do, and immediately she tries to run back into the restaurant, but reflexively my arm shoots out and grabs her. I feel the pinching tug on the tendons in my arm, like a fishing line going tight. Janni comes flying back into me.
I unlock the car, open the passenger door, and push Janni inside, then close the door quickly so she can’t get her fingers around the door’s frame. I’m not fast enough to get the door completely closed before Janni is pushing against it from the inside. My force against hers, and scarily, they seem equal. She pushes against the door with all her might, while I slam my body into the door and click the lock button on my key.
Janni is screaming, not her usual scream when something doesn’t go her way, but a continuous scream, like death itself is in the car with her. But I have no time to think. Janni is smart enough to know how to unlock the door. She presses the button unlocking all the doors and the passenger door swings opens.
My left arm pushes the door closed while my right hand presses the lock button. She turns from me, jumping across the gearshift in the center console to the driver’s side. I race around the front of the car and throw my body into the driver’s-side door as it opens, hitting the lock button again.
She tries again, but I hold the door closed.
“I need to get out!” she screams at me, throwing her hands against the window, the heat radiating out and fogging up the glass.
“Not until you calm down.” I’m not angry. She just has to know that she’s not going to win.
She climbs over the center console into the backseat, headed for the driver’s-side rear door, but I get there first and push my hand against it, keeping her from opening the door. Janni turns and stumbles across the backseat, tripping over Bodhi’s car seat base, to the passenger side. Seeing her going, I race over to the other side of the car so I can keep the passenger-side rear door closed. In the back of my mind, it registers how insane this is, like a twisted game of Whack-A-Mole. Whatever door she moves toward to try to escape, I get there first to keep that door closed.
“When you calm down and tell me you are ready to behave, I will let you out,” I say calmly through the glass. “This is not a punishment. This is only until you calm down.”
Janni launches herself over the backseat and into the rear area of our small SUV. I move to the back of the car, watching for any sign that she’s calming down so I can let her out. She pounds on the rear window, so hard that it must hurt her hands.
“Janni, don’t do that!” I call in through the window. “You could break your hands!” I know I am the one doing this to her, but all we’ve gone through has to end somewhere.
“Let me out!” she screams. “Please!”
“Not until you calm down,” I repeat, trying very hard to keep my voice even.
Janni turns away from me, looking around. We have sand toys back there from the days when we used to go to the park. She picks up a bucket and throws it against the glass. It bounces harmlessly off.
She searches frantically through the toys, repeatedly hurling them against the glass. Just give in, Janni. I know the world is too stupid for you. I’m sorry, but continuing on this path is not going to make the world see your genius. It is just going to get you locked up.
Having run out of items to throw, she climbs over to the front seat and picks up her CD case, smashing it against the windshield.
“Janni, if you break those, I’m not buying new ones. I don’t care if you destroy the car. I’m not letting you out until you calm down.” You won’t win, Janni. Better I break you than the world breaks you.
Finally, she throws herself against the driver’s-side window, tears streaming down her cheeks and a terrified look on her face. Every instinct makes me want to let her out. I don’t know if this is the right thing to do or not. I wish some expert were here to reassure me I’m doing the right thing.
“Take me back!” she wails.
“Take you back where?”
“To the hospital!”
To the hospital. She wants to run back to the hospital. She actually prefers it to the world out here. This world terrifies her.
I have to get her through this fear.
“No,” I answer. I can’t bear to see her like this. Violence I can deal with, not terror. She looks like a child n
ow. But I have to see this through. I might be the only one left who can save her. I harden my heart. “We are not going back to the hospital.”
“I need to go back! Just let me go back!”
She is like a cornered animal. I look away. You’ve got to do this, Michael. Otherwise she will become institutionalized. She didn’t want to leave Alhambra. Loma Linda is right. She has got to learn to deal with life.
I look back. “We’re not going back to the hospital, Janni!”
“Please! I need to go back!”
“I’m not taking you back.”
“I want to go back!”
“No.”
She turns from the window and sits on her knees in the driver’s seat, sobbing.
I sigh, leaning against the car door, exhausted, looking in at her. Maybe we’ve finally turned a corner. She came at me with her worst violence and I stood my ground.
“It’s gonna be okay, Janni,” I say through the glass. “We’ll get through this.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
May 2008
The door to Janni’s bedroom has a lock on it, as most bedroom doors do, designed to protect the privacy of the occupant.
I get a Phillips-head screwdriver out of my tool kit and unscrew the door handles on both the inside and outside. Then I turn the handles around, putting the handle with the lock on the outside of the door.
If Janni screams, I no longer yell at her. If she hits, I no longer tell her that is unacceptable. I just order her into her room for a time-out. She never goes willingly, of course, so I have to drag her in.
This morning, I came out of the shower to find Susan, holding Bodhi, running in terror into our bedroom and locking the door, with Janni on the outside smashing her fists into the door. So I grab Janni and drag her to her room, silently cursing Susan for not standing up to a five-year-old child and for the fact that I can’t even have five minutes to take a shower or go to the bathroom without everything falling apart while I’m gone. Once Susan hears that I’m back, she comes out of the bedroom, only to tell me to be careful with Janni.
“Don’t hurt her!” she cries as I drag Janni by her feet over the carpet. One second she is screaming at me to get out of the shower to come help her because Janni is hitting, and the next moment she is criticizing my response.
Once I get Janni into her room, I tell her to think about what she did and I start to leave. Janni immediately gets to her feet and tries to get to the door before I can close it. I need to get out quickly before Janni can get her hand in to block the door closing. I don’t want to slam the door on her hand.
So we wind up locked in a battle at the threshold of her room, her trying to push out past me and me trying to push her back in. Eventually, the only way I can get the door closed is to shove her hard enough that she falls backward onto her bed.
She lands on her bed and sits up, a shocked look on her face like she can’t understand why I just did that. I can’t take that look. I turn away and close the door.
TONIGHT IS OPEN House Night at Janni’s kindergarten, and we are going. I watch Susan in the bathroom, putting on makeup. I can’t remember the last time I saw her put on makeup. I pull on my suit jacket, glancing at Susan, who is wearing a nice black dress and heels. Looking at us in the mirror, no one would have any idea what we’ve just been through over the past five months.
Janni walks in, wearing a black-and-white dress Susan bought for her.
“You look beautiful,” Susan says to her.
Janni screams, as she does whenever somebody gives her a compliment.
“Janni,” I say firmly. “Enough.”
“I need to brush your hair.” Susan reaches for a hairbrush and begins trying to detangle Janni’s natural curls. Janni screams and pulls away.
“Janni,” I warn her. “Do you want a time-out?” My voice is calm, cool, controlled.
“It hurts,” Janni whines, trying to pull her head away from Susan’s brushing.
“That’s because you don’t brush it,” I answer, flatly. “Either you let Mommy do it or you do it. Your choice.” My voice makes it completely clear that those are the only two options.
“I’ll do it.” Janni takes the brush from Susan and digs into her mass of hair, wrenching it down so hard that strands of hair pull free.
“Gentle,” I command. “You don’t have to be so rough.” Janni is pulling on her hair with far more force than Susan, yet she isn’t complaining.
“Smooth strokes,” Susan says, trying to help, but Janni pulls away, continuing to rip the brush down her hair.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” I ask.
“No,” Janni answers simply.
Janni finishes and puts down the brush. I look at our reflection in the mirror. We look like a normal family.
SUSAN PUSHES BODHI’S stroller while I walk behind Janni toward the kindergarten classroom. Since starting kindergarten back in January, Janni has missed more than four weeks of school. Fortunately, she hasn’t missed anything she didn’t already know.
Inside the classroom, I take the time to say hello to other parents, something I have never done. I shake hands with other fathers and make small talk about what we do for a living.
Janni shows us her desk and her art projects. I make no silly jokes like I used to, instead making the same bland comments I hear the other fathers making. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch other fathers, and I model my behavior after them. They treat their sons and daughters like children. That was my mistake. I always treated Janni like an adult. She is a child, and no matter her genius, she needs a strong parent.
A little girl comes over to Janni. “Hi, Janni,” she says.
“Hi,” Janni answers, no excitement in her voice.
The little girl, of Asian descent, dances away.
“She seems nice,” I say to Janni. “What’s her name?”
“Amanda.”
“Do you ever play with her?”
“Sometimes.”
“Well, why don’t you go talk to her? She’s got a nice dress on, too. Go over to her and tell her you like her dress.” If I have to force social interaction, I will. But Janni complies.
I wander around the classroom, trying to figure out what to do with myself. I’m so used to being Janni’s shadow. I feel like I just got out of prison. Everything around me, the classroom, being around other families, feels like a distant memory of another life.
I overhear Susan talking to the teacher, who is commenting on how well Janni has been doing since she came back from Loma Linda.
Out of force of habit, I look around for Janni. I don’t see her. I come up to Susan. “Where’s Janni?”
Susan turns to the front of the class and points. “She’s over there, playing with Amanda.”
I follow her gaze. Janni is standing right next to Amanda. Each one has a dry-erase marker and they are drawing pictures on the board, side by side.
“Janni, Janni,” I hear Amanda say. “Can you do this?” She starts drawing a picture. Janni follows. I hear laughter. Janni is laughing along with Amanda.
I look to their right, at the “streetlight” system on the whiteboard, my eyes moving left to right, from red to yellow to green. Nobody’s name is in red. There are a few names in yellow, but most of the names are in green, including Janni’s.
I am proud of Janni, yet nothing in my demeanor changes. I remain flat, calm, and in control. Janni is still on the Seroquel and Depakote, but I don’t believe that is why she is doing better. I have laid down the law. I am forcing Janni to deal with the real world.
CHAPTER TWENTY
June 2008
Today is our weekly visit with Dr. Howe.
“I have to admit things are a lot better now,” Susan is saying. “We used to have ten to twelve violent incidents a day; now it’s down to two or three. It’s not perfect, but it’s manageable.”
Dr. Howe nods and turns to Janni, who is playing with the dollhouse. “Janni, how are things going?”
�
�Good,” Janni answers flatly, not looking up.
“How’s school? Are you liking it any better?”
“Yes.”
“I hear you have a friend now.”
“Magical 61,” Janni answers.
“No, Janni,” I say, “a real friend.”
“She is real.”
“Who’s Magical 61?” Dr. Howe asks.
“A girl.”
“What about Amanda?” Susan presses. “You like Amanda.”
“Not as much as I like my other friends.”
“Why not?” Dr. Howe asks.
“My other friends never leave.”
“Do you think we can maybe start reducing her meds?” Susan asks. “She’s still on three hundred milligrams of Seroquel and five hundred milligrams of Depakote.”
Dr. Howe nods and turns back to us. “Hmmm, she seems to be doing well for the moment. Let’s just leave things as they are.”
I don’t get this. “But she was on the same doses before she went to Loma Linda and they weren’t doing anything. Nothing changed until I started getting stricter with her.”
Dr. Howe looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “Sometimes it takes the medicine time to work. If it’s not broke, don’t fix it.”
I think back to our first session with Dr. Howe after Janni was released from Loma Linda. I told her what the Loma Linda doctor had said about expecting that in six months Janni would no longer be on medication.
“Maybe” was all Dr. Howe said back then; she was still cautious in not wanting to lower her dosages.
Now she is happy Janni is doing better but still doesn’t want to take her off the medication. It is as if she is still not sure the violent storm that has hung over us for the past six months is really gone. I want to believe, need to believe, that it is finally over.
I SIT ON the couch in the living room, waiting while Susan gives Janni her bath.
I don’t give Janni baths anymore. I haven’t since she was released from Alhambra.
Over in the side pocket of my briefcase is the letter that arrived today from DCFS. Our investigation into the claim of sexual abuse is hereby officially closed. The allegations were determined to be unfounded and/or unsubstantiated.
January First: A Child's Descent Into Madness and Her Father's Struggle to Save Her Page 14
