The Wayward Gifted - Broken Point

by Mike Hopper

  Sam and Steuart shook their heads.

  “Are you in danger? Do they need to come to your home?”

  “No,” Steuart said.

  “I need you to work with me.”

  Sam groaned, “Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

  “Because I can’t. We’re going to have to come up with a plan. You can tell me what this is about, or, the alternative is that I can get help from emergency professionals and report that I’ve found two runaway children. You can work with me, or with them. It’s up to you.” She leaned against the wall.

  “We live on the other side of the river,” Sam said. “I’m Sam.”

  “We’re sort of new here,” Steuart said. “I’m Steuart.”

  “I see,” she nodded. “It’s nice to meet you Sam and Steuart. Now that we’re friends let’s walk up to my house and continue this discussion where it’s warm. I don’t know how the two of you are able to sit here without proper clothing.”

  Sam and Steuart were miserable but refused to go to Ceil’s house. Instead, they quickly told her everything. They told her about the day, about the book, about the watercolors, about the tantrum and about visiting the tree house on their first day in town.

  “I’m sorry you’ve had such a bad day,” Ceil said. “Your mother must be terribly worried about both of you. The only way to straighten things out is for you to go home and make them right.”

  “No,” Sam shook her head and raised her voice, “I’m never going home again.”

  “Are you certain? That’s a long time.”

  “You don’t understand. You don’t know our mother. You have no idea what it’ll be like for us at home.”

  “Do we need to have someone go with you to your home? I’ve already told you, I can call for help.”

  “No!” Sam insisted.

  Ceil sighed, “You know where you don’t want to go. Do you know where you want to be? We need to come up with an answer.”

  Sam was silent. Steuart was too. Ceil offered to drive them home. “We’re not allowed in cars with strangers,” Sam said.

  “We know our way home,” Steuart insisted. “We can walk. It’s close.”

  Sam agreed, “It’s very close.”

  “Okay, I understand. But, It’s time for you to go home. Your mother must be worried sick.”

  “You can’t say that,” Sam insisted. “You don’t know her.”

  “What do I need to know?”

  “She worries about herself, that’s all,” Steuart said.

  “She has rules,” Sam said, “According to Mother and her Right, Good, and Appropriate handbook, children…”

  “Must obediently follow the rules,” Steuart said.

  “That’s the book you were given?” Ceil asked. “I know that book.”

  “That’s the book.” Sam continued, “Children may participate and talk. They must not talk very often. Children speak when spoken to and they must ask permission if they want to speak in company. Badly behaved children are punished.”

  Steuart shook his head vigorously, “It’s not pretty.”

  “Rules, rules, rules. Children are allowed to laugh,” Sam pretended a weak laugh.

  “But not laugh too often, or too loudly,” Steuart added.

  “Children may occasionally eat sweets,” Sam continued as her teeth chattered.

  “Infrequently,” Steuart finished.

  “Children can be creative,” Sam.

  “Only within boundaries,” Steuart.

  “Children cannot be pampered, for fear that they will become hopeless emotional cripples.”

  “Who knows exactly how much is too much in these situations?” Ceil asked.

  “That, of course, is the adult who is in charge, the adult who is reading and interpreting the book,” Sam looked at her brother as he nodded.

  “There are definite restrictions regarding everything,” Steuart added. “There are rules for when you get up, when you go to bed, what you say, how you think, where you go, what you wear, what you don’t wear, what you eat, what you don’t eat, with whom you choose to spend your time, and there are rules for what you ultimately become.”

  “It sounds as if you’ve got that down,” Ceil looked out the door. “The snow is really coming down.”

  “There are even rules about when and where you can go to a bathroom,” Steuart said.

  “We’re giving you the tip of the iceberg,” Sam looked at Steuart.

  “She’s right.”

  “Your mother has rules. I get it. Some of them sound sensible, some others maybe not so much. It’s not my place to say, but you’re going to find that life is filled with rules. And as you get older you’ll learn which rules apply…”

  “We’re supposed to follow all of the rules,” Steuart said. “If we don’t follow all the rules bad things will happen for eternity.”

  Ceil shrugged, “We don’t have time for that discussion tonight. Right now we have to address your immediate situation. The issue is that you are underage. Unless you are being abused, you must go home.”

  “I hate this,” Sam insisted.

  “There’s nothing more I can do. We’re not talking about a rule. We’re talking about the law. All homes have rules. You’ll find some are stricter than others. You may not like them, but going home to household rules is better than staying out in the cold and freezing, unless there is something you’re not telling me. Are you certain that you’re not in danger? If you are, I can get help.”

  “No,” Sam was cold and annoyed.

  “Are you sure?” Ceil asked. “Should I come to your house? Would you like for me to talk with your mother? You need to make up your mind. We have to go somewhere. It’s getting colder out here. What do you want me to do? Please make a decision.”

  Sam was embarrassed and began crying again. “I wanted the paints.”

  “I understand that you’re disappointed. Unfortunately, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re going to have to go home and face your mother.”

  “When I grow up I’m going to banish the word unfortunately from my life, forever.”

  “In a perfect world that would be a good thing.”

  “I’ve asked three times. I think repeatedly refusing my request is abusive.”

  “Not giving you what you wanted as a gift on a special occasion does not fall under the category of child abuse. If there’s a reason that you shouldn’t go home, I can get help for you. Otherwise, you need to go home and straighten things out with your mom. I don’t know your mother, but my guess is that sooner is probably the better choice in this instance.” Ceil looked at the children and waited for a response. Neither of them said a word.

  “Come on, it’s time to go home. I don’t know how you can stand it out here without a proper coat. I’m freezing.”

  Sam leaned next to her brother, “I hate being twelve.”

  Ceil shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, “You’re allowed to be the age that you are.” Neither child moved. “You’re welcome to come back and visit my tree house another time. It’s been a long time since this place had visitors.”

  “Thank you,” Sam said quietly. Steuart nodded.

  “It’s a wonderful place for a twelve-year-old and a ten-year-old too, but only in the right weather. This is not a good time.”

  “How do you know I’m ten?” Steuart asked.

  “Lucky guess. Come up to the house and say hello if I’m here. Right now—you have to go. Can I walk with you?” Ceil stood with her lantern, held out her hand and reached down to help.

  “We know the way,” Sam said. She looked at Steuart and shrugged, “I don’t know what else to do.”

  Steuart looked at Ceil and nodded, “We’ll go now.”

  “Let me share my lantern. Here, let’s step down. Be careful. Watch for ice.”

  Ceil looked at Sam, “I’m sorry that your day was a disappointment. Better days are ahead.”

  “I don’t want to go,” Sam said.

 
“I understand that, but you have to. This tree house is closed for tonight.”

  Sam and Steuart thanked Ceil for the lantern and began walking home. Ceil followed behind in the distance.

  SIX

  The following week Sam and Steuart sat on either side of their mother in the office of Harry Klesel, M.D. for an initial consultation and evaluation. “I need you to help repair my children,” Olivia explained, “because they—along with ten of my favorite crystal pieces—are broken.”

  The doctor listened. Steuart and Sam sat quietly; afraid, embarrassed and humiliated as their mother went on about their intolerable actions. Sam looked at her feet and wiggled her toes. She avoided making eye contact. Looking at the doctor’s colorful rug she wondered, Can he read my mind?

  Steuart spent his time counting books and playing word games in his head. He thought of a list of anagrams using the word psychiatrist. His favorites were: this tipsy car, chair typists, thirsty aspic, spits charity, city harpists and sir, it’s patchy.

  “Rat physicist,” Steuart said aloud.

  “What was that?” Dr. Klesel looked at Steuart.

  “Nothing. I’m sorry sir. I was just….” Steuart’s voice trailed off to a whisper.

  The children tried ignoring the situation. Unfortunately, neither of their activities drowned out the sound of their mother’s voice.

  Wound up and angry, Olivia cried. Dr. Klesel looked at Steuart and pointed to a box of tissues. Steuart reached for the box and handed it to his mother. She took a tissue, wiped her tears and then handed the box to her son. He placed it on the table.

  “Dr. Klesel, my children are badly broken. They are sitting here like two little angels who have never done a single thing wrong in their short lives, but you’re not seeing their true personalities.”

  “Broken is a strong word.”

  “You’re not seeing them.”

  “What am I seeing?”

  “I am a good mother. That’s why we’re here … because you need to repair the situation. I am hoping and praying that you can do this. I am at a loss…”

  “Meaning?”

  “I waited a long time for Samantha Leigh and Steuart James to arrive. We were on the waiting list with Family Charities for over five years before Samantha Leigh—two more for Steuart James. The only reason we got him when we did is because the people next in line had a big legal issue and had to drop off. I have made these children the center of my world since before they were mine.”

  Dr. Klesel held a brown clipboard and made notes. He nodded as Olivia continued. “These children have been given the absolute best of everything. They have every advantage.”

  “Specifically?”

  “It would be easier to tell you what they don’t have.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They don’t have a pony. Other than that, they pretty much have everything else. I provided them with the most beautiful nurseries in Atchison Point. Everything matched perfectly. I provided them with the best toys and educational supplies. I’ve kept them healthy. I’ve kept them clean. I’ve kept them safe. I’ve kept them perfectly groomed at all times.” Olivia nodded, “Good grooming is paramount. These advantages, quite simply, have been given to them because I have seen to everything and I have done this as a single parent. Most importantly, I have always made sure that they behave properly.”

  The doctor nodded.

  “Everything was considered carefully. We gave them solid, substantial names. We wanted them to have a good start. Steuart James was named after my great-great-grandfather Congressman James Lewis Steuart. Samantha Leigh was named after my great aunt, the first female bank president in our state.”

  “Strong names.”

  “Exactly.” Olivia took a deep breath before continuing. “When Samantha Leigh and Steuart James were little, I made all of their clothing by hand. If a single stitch was not perfect, even on the underside, I ripped it out and began again. Do you have any idea how much time it takes to create a French hand-sewn garment?”

  “I can’t say that I do.”

  “I’m not talking about throwing something together the way most people do when they sew. What I am talking about is the delicate precision of hand sewing the finest garments using only the highest quality fabrics, threads, and trims. All of this work, and now we are here. It’s embarrassing.” Olivia sobbed, “Can you teach them how to act properly?”

  “How are children supposed to act?”

  “They’re supposed to behave and follow the rules. How difficult is that?”

  Dr. Klesel raised an eyebrow and continued to make notes.

  “I had no way of knowing when we adopted Samantha Leigh and Steuart James that the three of us would be deserted before Steuart’s second birthday. I was young. I had no idea that I would find myself a single mother trying to raise them on my own.” Again, Olivia cried. Steuart reached for the tissue box and handed it to his mother. She took a tissue, wiped her tears and handed Steuart the box. He placed it on the table.

  “This is not easy.” She looked at each child, and then paused for a moment before starting again, “Especially when you have rescued children from…” Olivia cleared her throat, took a deep breath, looked away and continued talking as if her children were not in the room. She whispered, “…especially when you have rescued them from God only knows what.” She cleared her throat, smiled and looked nervously at Steuart. She took a deep breath, frowned and looked at Sam.

  “I cannot believe the way these two have been behaving since we moved to Maybell. I know little about their true backgrounds if you understand what I mean.” Olivia raised her left eyebrow and frowned again. She shook her head and continued in a deliberate voice before breaking into sobs. “I should have known better. This is not what I planned. This is certainly not what I expected. I’d like to know why these things always happen to me?”

  “What things?” the doctor asked.

  Olivia shook her head in distress. Dr. Klesel looked at the tissues. Steuart reached for the box and handed it to his mother. She took a tissue, wiped her tears and once again returned it to her son. He placed the box on the table.

  “There is nothing I can do about biology,” Olivia said.

  “Do you believe...?”

  Olivia interrupted, “I do the best I can in all situations. Believe me, I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong here.”

  “Is someone suggesting that you’re done something wrong?”

  “Of course not, why do you ask that? You hear me, but it appears that you’re not listening. I’m more than a good parent. I’m a great parent, but that doesn’t matter. No matter what I do, or how hard I try, this is what I end up with.” She turned, looked at both of the children and then back at Dr. Klesel. She spelled the word in a soft, but distinctive whisper, “b-r-o-k-e-n. Do you understand?”

  “Please try to be less provocative.”

  Olivia nodded.

  “What do you want me to understand?”

  “Fill in the blank, repair, I said.”

  Dr. Klesel looked puzzled.

  “Beyond fill in the blank,” Olivia threw her hands in the air. “How can I tell you if you won’t allow me to tell you? This is frustrating.”

  “What?” Steuart asked.

  “Quiet Steuart. It’s Mother’s turn to talk.” Olivia let out a sigh, opened her arms and nodded, “See?”

  Dr. Klesel made notes. He looked up at Olivia.

  “I asked for them. I am responsible. I wanted children. I did. They’re my responsibility and I do not take my responsibilities lightly. No. I’m not ready to give up—yet.” Once more, she turned left, and then right, this time looking at each of the children sternly before turning back to the doctor. “Something has to be done.” She put her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. “Can you help me? Samantha Leigh and Steuart James are completely out of control.” Olivia cried. Steuart reached for the tissue box. He handed it to his mother. She took a tissue and wiped her eyes. She
handed the box to Steuart who, this time, decided to hold the box ready.

  Looking over the top of his glasses Dr. Klesel asked, “Ms. DuBoise, what are you looking for me to do for you?”

  Steuart had a sudden vision of his mother jumping up and going for the doctor’s neck, ripping him from his chair, throwing him against the floor and screaming loud enough to crack the windows throughout the building.

  Instead, Olivia raised her voice, “I keep telling you—fix my children. F-i-x. Are you not listening?”

  “I’m listening.”

  Steuart handed Olivia the tissue box. She took a tissue and wiped her tears. She handed the box to Steuart. This time he refused. She handed the box to Sam. Sam held the box ready.

  The room became quiet. Dr. Klesel looked at Olivia. He leaned forward, looked at the children and nodded. “I think this would be a good time for me to take a few private minutes with Sam and Steuart.”

  “No,” Olivia responded. “Absolutely not,” she shook her head. “I disagree. It’s too early. This is our first session. I’m not comfortable with that idea.”

  Dr. Klesel nodded and leaned back in his chair. He looked at the children and asked each of them a question. Neither Sam, nor Steuart found an opportunity to speak as their mother monopolized the appointment. She talked, she whined and she cried. She told the story about the white gloves and the handbook. She talked about Steuart’s behavior on the day of the move. She talked about Sam’s unacceptable behavior on her special day and about how Steuart joined the mutiny. Tears flowed. Sam handed Olivia the tissue box. She took a tissue and handed the box to her daughter. Sam refused. Olivia held the box and whined, “This is what I go through daily with my children. I cannot even depend on them for something as simple as a facial tissue.”

  “They’re children,” the doctor responded. “This is more than a tissue issue.”

  Olivia put her head in her hands repeatedly; her elbows on either side of the tissue box and asked several more times, “Why do these things always happen to me?”

  Dr. Klesel said little. He watched and he listened. Sam and Steuart looked both bored and depressed. Then, something magical happened. Dr. Klesel leaned forward again. “I’d like to schedule private sessions with Sam and Steuart twice a week. Also, I believe it would be beneficial to schedule them back-to-back. This will allow for shared sessions when we feel the need.”