by N. K. Smith
I sat down and watched him unfold and then read each of them. Afterward, he placed them on his knees and pulled his glasses off, setting them on the arm of his chair.
“You wrote that your mother had a beautiful voice.” He paused. “How many times have you watched the video since last Friday?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t counted.
“Take a guess.”
“M-m-mmmmaybe t-t-twenty.”
“That’s an improvement. You wrote that your father loved God. We’ve discussed that at length, so we’ll go on to what you wrote about your brother.”
I held my breath and trained my eyes on the papers on his knees.
“You wrote that Joseph was sick. What was wrong with him?”
I shook my head. I never knew what was wrong with him. My father never allowed either of us to go to the doctor. Knowing what I knew now, there was probably information out there. Dr. Emmanuel could have the information in that folder for all I knew, but I wouldn’t ask.
“How did you know he was sick?”
“Hhhhhhhhe th-threw up all th-the t-time a-a-a-and c-couldn’t breathe w-w-well. Hhhhhis ssssssskin t-t-turned...” His skin shifted between pale white and gray. “It w-w-was...it d-d-didn’t lllllook r-r-right.”
“And this is something people knew?”
People at school had to have suspected that he was ill. My father’s congregation knew something was wrong with him, but no one ever asked questions. It wasn’t hard to see that he was unhealthy. He hadn’t started out that way, but by the time I was eight or nine, he would have to be excused during the sermon to use the restroom to vomit. My father allowed him to sit at the back. Sometimes I could sit with him.
I shrugged my answer to the doctor because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to adequately describe what happened or what people possibly knew.
There wasn’t much more discussion before Dr. Emmanuel let me shred those papers and leave.
The three days everyone was away were easy to get through. Their absence didn’t affect me much. I had difficulty sleeping with or without anyone else in the house. The first two nights, Sophie came over and we ate dinner together. After I took her home, we were up most of the night chatting on the computer.
The last night before they were set to return, Sophie and I sat at the piano. She’d asked me to play and as always, I was more than happy to do it for her. Her hand was at the base of my neck, her fingers pulling at the hair.
I played, but her mouth attached to my ear was quite distracting. “Tell me about chords or some shit. That’s crazy-sexy.”
I consciously steadied my breathing. I had been doing so much better. Since telling Dr. Emmanuel all those months ago that I wanted to have sex with Sophie, I’d had no problems touching her and had grown more comfortable with some of her touches, although it still left me feeling unclean.
Sophie seemed like she was on board with my slow desensitization process. I knew she’d guessed at my past, but I’d never confirmed it.
Her hand resting on my thigh was not only distracting, but also causing my body to feel incredibly anxious. I wasn’t panicking though. The piano helped me avoid that.
I wanted her hand there. It was... nice. She shifted beside me, bringing her hand closer to my groin as her leg moved to straddle the bench. I had no idea how she had managed to do that without breaking contact, but she did.
My hands faltered as my mind went blank. She’d asked me to tell her something, but I couldn’t remember.
Her mouth sucked on my earlobe for a moment longer before dipping down to lick at the hollow behind my ear.
“I-I-I c-c-c-can’t r-remember wwwwwhat I wwwwas p-p-playing.”
Sophie laughed. It was low and sexy. “I wonder why,” she mumbled against my skin.
Her hand crept closer and my breathing increased. My knee bounced and my fingers curled. With fisted hands, I couldn’t play the piano any longer, so some of the calm I derived from it was gone.
“Relax.” Her hand stilled, but her mouth did not.
I tried to. Sophie deserved a boyfriend who could just relax and enjoy her touch, but my mind sent out chemicals that told my body to tense up as if something horrible was about to happen.
“SSSSoph-phie, I...”
“What?”
I could hear the smile in her voice.
“SSSSophie,” I tried again.
Her body pressed against mine and her leg was draped over my knee. The hand that had been on my thigh moved to my hand and she started massaging it until it opened up. She pressed a finger to the keys.
“Play.”
She did the same with my other hand.
“Play my song, Elliott. Please?”
It took a minute, but my fingers managed to play the song. The now-finished and familiar melody filled the air. She put her hand back on my thigh and I willed myself to react the way a normal boy would.
Slowly her hand moved until she was grasping me. I felt thankful that I was covered by my pants, but I still felt close to passing out. Her hand was only holding me, but when her tongue flicked out against my ear and she inhaled, it was too much.
I couldn’t help it. My hands curled again and my body went rigid. I practically pushed away from her.
“Ssssssssorry,” I said quickly.
When I could finally look at her, she didn’t look upset. She just licked her lips and smiled, moving to sit properly on the bench. “Will you finish the song?
Later that evening, we lay in my bed together. Her father was at the station until early the next morning, so there was no rush in getting her back home. We were talking about the English assignment on Shakespeare, when out of the blue, she said, “I think I should see you naked.”
I nearly choked. “W-w-w-w...”
“Relax.”
We both sat up. “B-b-b-b-b...”
“You’ve seen me naked.”
“A-a-a-a-a-ah...”
“And I already think about you being naked, so it’s the next logical step.”
“B-b-but...”
She moved until she was looking me in the eyes. “But what?” she asked quietly.
“B-but w-w-what if y-y-you d-d-don’t...” I couldn’t bring myself to voice it, but I knew she would make me.
“What if I don’t what?” Her hand moved to cup my cheek, keeping me from looking away.
“If y-you d-d-don’t llllllliiiiike w-w-w-w-what you see?” No matter how hard she tried, there was no way she could keep me from looking away now. I couldn’t bear to hold that connection.
“How would that even be possible?” Her voice was light, but after a moment, she turned serious. “Elliott, look at me.”
I shook my head as I scooted away from her, my legs coming up to my chest as if they would protect me. Sophie moved with me and I could feel that this was going to become too much soon. Tears stung at my eyes, so I shut them and rested my forehead on my knees.
“Elliott, I like everything you are and there’s nothing you could show me... or tell me that would change that. I know you said that you have more...”
I held my breath and my heart raced.
“... scars, but they won’t...”
Of course she would say that it didn’t matter, but that was only because she hadn’t seen the rest of my body and she didn’t know.
“I-I-I sssssshould t-t-take you hhhhhome.”
I moved to get off the bed, but she stopped me.
“I didn’t mean right now, you know.”
“Your d-d-d, ffffather w-will...”
“He’s at work. We’ve covered this.”
My teeth ground together. For all my wanting to have sex with her, I’d failed to adequately plan that I’d have to be naked, or something close to it, for it t
o happen.
“The guy who fucked me when I was eleven just grabbed me and did it.”
My movement ceased. I didn’t know why she’d chosen this moment to start talking about it, but it froze everything, even my panic.
“He covered my mouth with his hand. He tasted like cigarettes and grease. He told me to be quiet because my mom would be mad at me, and later he would say that if I didn’t do what he wanted, he would tell my mom what I...”
She didn’t finish. She was staring at the corner by my door. I wanted to reach out to her, to hold her, to comfort her, but I feared that she wouldn’t react well to it. “Sophie,” I whispered.
She shook her head and moved her eyes to mine. She smiled, but it was quick to fade. To my surprise, she took my hand. “Sometimes I can hear his voice. It’s like he’s right next to me. No, more like inside my head, and I... it’s like I’m... back there.”
She nibbled on her lip and asked, “Is it like that for you?”
My breath caught and the muscles in my hands tightened. I heard her make a noise and I recognized that my hand was crushing hers, but I couldn’t release it. I was thankful when she was able to pull her hand out of mine, but I was upset about her question.
She moved to the door when I didn’t reply. “You can take me home now.”
Since I’d gotten sick around Christmas, I hadn’t slept well and was plagued with dreams, waking up disoriented and in pain. I hated taking medication, but the throbbing in my head forced me to as soon as I was able to sit up.
Stephen would be back in the morning. The night before his return was no exception to the string of sleep-deprived nights I’d grown accustomed to. I dreamt of Chicago again; mostly about the basement. I also dreamt of the moment my mother’s finger tightened on the trigger.
I looked at her eyes.
When she was on the ground, she became Kate, but it was no less terrifying than it had been that day in my room.
However, it wasn’t Kate or the basement that caused me to wake up sweaty and screaming.
My body was very tight. I tried so hard to get my jaw to loosen and my hands to unclench around the sheets. My stomach hurt.
Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors; and their works do follow them.
As soon as my body allowed for any movement, I bit down on my hand and felt better.
I hated that it made me feel better and I hated that Stephen and Sophie would both see the marks in the morning. Stephen would worry and call Dr. Emmanuel and Sophie would tell me to stop hurting myself, as if I could control it.
I watched the video of my mother that Stephen had given me near Christmas until dawn and drank coffee until my family came home and it was time to pick up Sophie for school.
Everything happened as I predicted. Sophie made a comment about my hands, and Dr. Emmanuel was waiting for me when I got home, two days earlier than expected, and I had no choice but to talk to him.
He asked me how I was doing and even though I didn’t mean to reveal anything, I heard myself say, “Mmmmy b-brain isn’t w-w-working rrrright.”
“How so?”
I didn’t look at Dr. Emmanuel as much as I used to look at Robin, but I wished that his voice conveyed something. I could never guess what he was thinking. He was fairly detached, but I didn’t want to look at him to read his face.
“I c-c-c-can’t c-c-control mmmy...” I paused long enough to sigh. “I c-c-can’t ssstop my fffffather’s w-words or SSSScripture ffffrom p-p-playing in my hhhhead.”
“And it’s impacting your life?”
It should have been obvious. “Yes.”
“We need to start going deeper then. May we talk about your hands?”
I looked down, but didn’t answer.
“What happened?”
“I hhhhad a d-d-dream.”
“Does that happen a lot? The dreams, I mean?”
“M-m-more and mmmmore now.”
“About?”
“Th-th-the b-b-b-b-basement,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
“Why is the basement important? What’s down there?”
I shook my head quickly. “N-n-n-not jjjjjust the b-b-b-b-b-b...” I stopped, the block had been formed and I was thankful for it. “I-I-I’ve b-b-been r-r-r-remembering th-things.”
“What things?”
“Liiiiiiike f-f-ffffoster c-care a-and th-the d-d-day th-they t-t-took mmmme ffffffffffrom m-m-my d-d-d-d, house.”
This time I did look up and found him nodding, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “It’s desperately important you remember these things. Will you tell me about some of your memories?”
I gulped and quickly looked away.
“What about something simple, like meeting Dr. Dalton? You can write it down if you wish. We’ll shred it when we’re finished.”
I felt like I could barely breathe, but I nodded in agreement and took the pad of paper and pen he offered to me.
As I wrote, I remembered what it was like. I wondered if this was what Sophie was talking about. I could see it perfectly in my head. I wrote what I saw and then my mind shifted to when I went home with Stephen and Kate.
I’d held Jane’s hand the entire car ride over there. The house was big and nice and I was thankful it was clean. Jane walked through the door with no problem and tried to tug me through. Stephen and Kate were waiting in the foyer. They both seemed cautiously curious.
“He takes his shoes off outside,” Jane supplied helpfully.
Once my shoes were off, I wasn’t any more comfortable, but I had to go in. I worried about getting in trouble. It was obvious that they wanted me inside the house.
We all stayed together as they showed us around. They told us about David as we went. He wasn’t home.
At some point, Jane stopped holding my hand and held Kate’s. She bumped into a potted plant with her foot and knocked it over. As much as I wanted to protect her, I couldn’t move. I just chewed on my hand while I watched.
Stephen righted it and Kate scooped up the spilled dirt with her bare hands. He came toward me and I moved back and tripped over my own feet. When I looked up, Kate took my hand. At first I thought I would be punished, but she spoke to me softly. “We don’t hit here... ever.”
I nodded, but couldn’t stop the tears. She had made my hands dirty. Jane led me back to the bathroom we had just passed. I washed. The tour resumed.
When we got to Stephen’s home office, I nearly passed out at the sight of so many books. Not thinking and having lost myself a little, I ran my hand over the spines. Stephen looked at me and I quickly pulled my hand back and tried to apologize.
It got stuck in my mouth.
“Do you like books?”
I didn’t know how to respond. I liked reading in school, but other than school books, the only one I’d ever read was the Bible.
I saw an old Bible on the shelf and I pointed to it.
Stephen smiled. “That one’s very old.”
I shook as he pulled it from the shelf and handed it to me.
“Do you find comfort in religion?”
I nodded and then remembered that it was necessary to speak and to speak properly to avoid punishment. “Y-y-y-yes, sssir.”
I flinched and my fingers tightened around the Bible.
“You’ll be allowed to practice whatever religion you choose here.”
I was confused because there was only one religion, but at the time I did not question his words. This was his house and he would set the rules and I wouldn’t question the things he said.
I looked over at Jane. She was looking at big books of pictures with Kate. The pictures were of ballerinas. Jane must’ve thought Kate liked ballerinas because she started twirlin
g, never dropping Kate’s hand. She was obvious in her attempt to mold herself into a child Kate would want to love.
“I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘sir’.”
My attention was immediately drawn back.
“Would you please call me Stephen?”
Anxiety washed over me, but I nodded. I’d never called an adult by their first name before. “Y-y-yes, sssssir...”
I gasped. Not only had I stuttered badly, I had called him “sir” again.
“I-I-I-I-I mmmmmmmmean...y-y-yes...ssssssssir.”
I cringed and dropped the old Bible. I had done it again. He’d just politely told me a new rule and I’d disobeyed a second time. I needed to fix it.
“Y-y-y-y-y-yes...sssssssssss...”
“Sir,” my mind supplied and I bit my hand out of frustration and fear.
“Elliott,” he said calmly, “I would prefer not to be called ‘sir,’ however if it’s comfortable, you may call me it.”
I felt relieved. “Yes, sir,” I said quickly. I would need to work on calling him by his first name if that was what he wanted, and I didn’t want to test his patience much more.
I looked down and realized I had written five and a half pages when my hand stilled. I looked at Dr. Emmanuel and he gave me a small smile. “Would you like me to read it?”
I looked down at the pages again, and then tore them from the pad and folded them twice.
I handed them over and hoped it was what he wanted.
While he read, I thought about Kate. She had been kind to me and to Jane. Looking back, it was clear that it was easier for her to be around someone less needy like David. He never bit his hands or cut his stomach. He didn’t wake up with nightmares and he didn’t stare at walls for hours and hours at a time.
Ms. Rice was patient as always. She let me pick what I would read today, so I chose The Tempest for several reasons. First, we were reading it in English, and second, I liked Shakespeare more than Seuss. The rhythm was entirely different, but it seemed to be easier for me to say. Perhaps it was the iambic pentameter.
