Ma snaps her mask back over her nose. “Come on, then.”
She’s mad, I think.
I hold on to the chair. “What about the Easter?”
“What?”
I point.
Dr. Clay swipes the egg and I nearly shout. “There you go,” he says, he drops it into the pocket of my robe.
The stairs are more harder going up so Ma carries me.
Noreen says, “Let me, can I?”
“We’re fine,” says Ma, nearly shouting.
Ma shuts our door Number Seven all tight after Noreen’s gone. We can take the masks off when it’s just us, because we have the same germs. Ma tries to open the window, she bangs it, but it won’t.
“Can I have some now?”
“Don’t you want your breakfast?”
“After.”
So we lie down and I have some, the left, it’s yummy.
Ma says the plates aren’t a problem, the blue doesn’t go on the food, she gets me to rub it with my finger to see. Also the forks and knives, the metal feels weird with no white handles but it doesn’t actually hurt. There’s a syrup that’s to put on the pancakes but I don’t want mine wet. I have a bit of all the foods and everything are good except the sauce on the scrambled eggs. The chocolate one, the Easter, it’s meltedy inside. It’s double more chocolatier than the chocolates we got sometimes for Sundaytreat, it’s the best thing I ever ate.
“Oh! We forgot to say thanks to Baby Jesus,” I tell Ma.
“We’ll say it now, he doesn’t mind if we’re late.”
Then I do a huge burp.
Then we go back to sleep.
• • •
When the door knocks, Ma lets Dr. Clay in, she puts her mask back on and mine. He’s not very scary now. “How’re you doing, Jack?”
“OK.”
“Gimme five?”
His plastic hand is up and he’s waggling his fingers, I pretend I don’t see. I’m not going to give him my fingers, I need them for me.
He and Ma talk about stuff like why she can’t get to sleep, tachycardia and re-experiencing. “Try these, just one before bed,” he says, writing something on his pad. “And anti-inflammatories might work better for your toothache . . .”
“Can I please hold on to my medications instead of the nurses doling them out like I’m a sick person?”
“Ah, that shouldn’t be a problem, as long as you don’t leave them lying around your room.”
“Jack knows not to mess with pills.”
“Actually I was thinking of a few of our patients who’ve got histories of substance abuse. Now, for you, I’ve got a magic patch.”
“Jack, Dr. Clay’s talking to you,” says Ma.
The patch is to put on my arm that makes a bit of it feel not there. Also he’s brought cool shades to wear when it’s too bright in the windows, mine are red and Ma’s are black. “Like rap stars,” I tell her. They go darker if we’ll be in the outside of Outside and lighter if we’ll be in the inside of Outside. Dr. Clay says my eyes are super sharp but they’re not used to looking far away yet, I need to stretch them out the window. I never knowed there were muscles inside my eyes, I put my fingers to press but I can’t feel them.
“How’s that patch,” says Dr. Clay, “are you numb yet?” He peels it off and touches me under, I see his finger on me but I can’t feel it. Then the bad thing, he’s got needles and he says he’s sorry but I need six shots to stop me to get horrible sicknesses, that’s what the patch is for, for making the needles not hurt. Six is not possible, I run in the toilet bit of the room.
“They could kill you,” says Ma, pulling me back to Dr. Clay.
“No!”
“The germs, I mean, not the shots.”
It’s still no.
Dr. Clay says I’m really brave but I’m not, I used my brave all up doing Plan B. I scream and scream. Ma holds me on her lap while he sticks his needles in over and over and they do hurt because he took the patch off, I cry for it and in the end Ma puts it back on me.
“All done for now, I promise.” Dr. Clay puts the needles in a box on the wall called Sharps. He has a lollipop for me in his pocket, an orange, but I’m too full. He says I can keep it for another time.
“. . . like a newborn in many ways, despite his remarkably accelerated literacy and numeracy,” he’s saying to Ma. I’m listening hard because it’s me that’s the he. “As well as immune issues, there are likely to be challenges in the areas of, let’s see, social adjustment, obviously, sensory modulation—filtering and sorting all the stimuli barraging him—plus difficulties with spatial perception . . .”
Ma asks, “Is that why he keeps banging into things?”
“Exactly. He’s been so familiar with his confined environment that he hasn’t needed to learn to gauge distance.”
Ma’s got her head in her hands. “I thought he was OK. More or less.”
Am I not OK?
“Another way to look at this—”
But he stops because there’s a knock, when he opens it’s Noreen with another tray.
I do a burp, my tummy’s still crammed from breakfast.
“Ideally a mental health OT with qualifications in play and art therapy,” Dr. Clay is saying, “but at our meeting this morning it was agreed that the immediate priority is to help him feel safe. Both of you, rather. It’s a matter of slowly, slowly enlarging the circle of trust.” His hands are in the air moving wider. “As I was lucky enough to be the admitting psychiatrist on duty last night—”
“Lucky?” she says.
“Poor word choice.” He does a sort of grin. “I’m going to be working with you both for the moment—”
What working? I didn’t know kids had to work.
“—with input of course from my colleagues in child and adolescent psychiatry, our neurologist, our psychotherapists, we’re going to bring in a nutritionist, a physio—”
Another knock. It’s Noreen again with a police, a he but not the yellow-hair one from last night.
That’s three persons in the room now and two of us, that equals five, it’s nearly full of arms and legs and chests. They’re all saying till I hurt. “Stop all saying at the same time.” I say it only on mute. I squish my fingers in my ears.
“You want a surprise?”
It was me Ma was saying, I didn’t know. Noreen’s gone and the police too. I shake my head.
Dr. Clay says, “I’m not sure this is the most advisable—”
“Jack, it’s the best news,” Ma butts in. She holds up pictures. I see who it is without even going close, it’s Old Nick. The same face as when I peeked at him in Bed in the night that time, but he has a sign around his neck and he’s against numbers like we marked my tall on birthdays, he’s nearly at the six but not quite. There’s a picture where he’s looking sideways and another where he’s looking at me.
“In the middle of the night the police caught him and put him in jail, and that’s where he’ll stay,” says Ma.
I wonder is the brown truck in jail too.
“Does looking at them trigger any of the symptoms we were talking about?” Dr. Clay is asking her.
She rolls her eyes. “After seven years of the real deal, you think I’m going to crumble at a photo?”
“What about you, Jack, how does it feel?”
I don’t know the answer.
“I’m going to ask a question,” says Dr. Clay, “but you don’t have to answer it unless you want to. OK?”
I look at him then back at the pictures. Old Nick’s stuck in the numbers and he can’t get out.
“Did this man ever do anything you didn’t like?”
I nod.
“Can you tell me what he did?”
“He cutted off the power so the vegetables went slimy.”
“Right. Did he ever hurt you?”
Ma says, “Don’t—”
Dr. Clay puts his hand up. “Nobody’s doubting your word,” he tells her. “But think of all the nights you
were asleep. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask Jack himself, now, would I?”
Ma lets her breath out very long. “It’s OK,” she says to me, “you can answer. Did Old Nick ever hurt you?”
“Yeah,” I say, “two times.”
They’re both staring.
“When I was doing the Great Escape he dropped me in the truck and also on the street, the second was the hurtest.”
“OK,” says Dr. Clay. He’s smiling, I don’t know why. “I’ll get onto the lab right away to see if they need another sample from you both for DNA,” he tells Ma.
“DNA?” She’s got her crazy voice again. “You think I had other visitors?”
“I think this is how the courts work, every box has got to be ticked.”
Ma’s sucking her whole mouth in so her lips are invisible.
“Monsters are let off on technicalities every day.” He sounds all fierce. “OK?”
“OK.”
When he’s gone I rip my mask off and I ask, “Is he mad at us?”
Ma shakes her head. “He’s mad at Old Nick.”
I didn’t think Dr. Clay even knows him, I thought we were the only ones.
I go look at the tray Noreen brought. I’m not hungry but when I ask Ma she says it’s after one o’clock, that’s too late for lunch even, lunch should be twelve something but there’s no room in my tummy yet.
“Relax,” Ma tells me. “Everything’s different here.”
“But what’s the rule?”
“There is no rule. We can have lunch at ten or one or three or the middle of the night.”
“I don’t want lunch in the middle of the night.”
Ma puffs her breath. “Let’s make a new rule that we’ll have lunch . . . anytime between twelve and two. And if we’re not hungry we’ll just skip it.”
“How do we skip it?”
“Eat nothing. Zero.”
“OK.” I don’t mind eating zero. “But what will Noreen do with all the food?”
“Throw it away.”
“That’s waste.”
“Yeah, but it has to go in the trash because it’s—it’s like it’s dirty.”
I look at the food all multicolored on the blue plates. “It doesn’t look dirty.”
“It’s not actually, but nobody else here would want it after it’s been on our plates,” says Ma. “Don’t worry about it.”
She keeps saying that but I don’t know to not worry.
I yawn so huge it nearly knocks me over. My arm still hurts from where it wasn’t numb. I ask if we can go back to sleep again and Ma says sure, but she’s going to read the paper. I don’t know why she wants to read the paper instead of being asleep with me.
• • •
When I wake up the light’s in the wrong place.
“It’s all right,” says Ma, she puts her face touching mine, “everything’s all right.”
I put on my cool shades to watch God’s yellow face in our window, the light slides right across the fuzzy gray carpet.
Noreen comes in with bags.
“You could knock.” Ma’s nearly shouting, she puts my mask on and hers.
“Sorry,” says Noreen. “I did, actually, but I’ll be sure and do it louder next time.”
“No, sorry, I didn’t—I was talking to Jack. Maybe I heard it but I didn’t know it was the door.”
“No bother,” says Noreen.
“There’s sounds from—the other rooms, I hear things and I don’t know if it’s, where it is or what.”
“It must all seem a bit strange.”
Ma kind of laughs.
“And as for this young lad—” Noreen’s eyes are all shiny. “Would you like to see your new clothes?”
They’re not our clothes, they’re different ones in bags and if they don’t fit or we don’t like them Noreen will take them right back to the store to get other ones. I try on everything, I like the pajamas best, they’re furry with astronauts on them. It’s like a costume of a TV boy. There’s shoes that do on with scratchy stuff that sticks called Velcro. I like putting them open and shut like rrrrrpppp rrrrrpppp. It’s hard to walk though, they feel heavy like they’ll trip me up. I prefer to wear them when I’m on the bed, I wave my feet in the air and the shoes fight each other and make friends again.
Ma’s in a jeans that’s too tight. “That’s how they’re wearing them these days,” says Noreen, “and God knows you’ve got the figure for it.”
“Who’s they?”
“Youngsters.”
Ma grins, I don’t know why. She puts on a shirt that’s too tight too.
“Those aren’t your real clothes,” I whisper to her.
“They are now.”
The door goes knock, it’s another nurse, the same uniform but the different face. She says we should put our masks back on because we have a visitor. I never had a visitor before, I don’t know how.
A person comes in and runs at Ma, I jump up with fists but Ma’s laughing and crying at the same time, it must be happysad.
“Oh, Mom.” That’s Ma saying. “Oh, Mom.”
“My little—”
“I’m back.”
“Yes, you are,” says the she person. “When they called I was sure it was another hoax—”
“Did you miss me?” Ma starts to laugh, a weird way.
The woman is crying too, there’s all black drips under her eyes, I wonder why her tears come out black. Her mouth is all blood color like women on TV. She has yellowy hair short but not all short and big gold knobs stuck in her ears below the hole. She’s still got Ma all tied up in her arms, she’s three times as round as her. I never saw Ma hug a someone else.
“Let me see you without this silly thing for a second.”
Ma pulls her mask down, smiling and smiling.
The woman’s staring at me now. “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe any of this.”
“Jack,” says Ma, “this is your grandma.”
So I really have one.
“What a treasure.” The woman opens her arms like she’s going to wave them but she doesn’t. She walks over at me. I get behind the chair.
“He’s very affectionate,” says Ma, “he’s just not used to anyone but me.”
“Of course, of course.” The Grandma comes a bit closer. “Oh, Jack, you’ve been the bravest little guy in the world, you’ve brought my baby back.”
What baby?
“Lift up your mask for a second,” Ma tells me.
I do then snap it back.
“He’s got your jaw,” the Grandma says.
“You think so?”
“Of course you were always wild about kids, you’d babysit for free . . .”
They talk and talk. I look under my Band-Aid to see if my finger’s going to fall off still. The red dots are scaly now.
Air coming in. There’s a face in the door, a face with beard all over it on the cheeks and the chin and under the nose but none on the head.
“I told the nurse we didn’t want to be disturbed,” says Ma.
“Actually, this is Leo,” says Grandma.
“Hey,” he says, he wiggles his fingers.
“Who’s Leo?” asks Ma, not smiling.
“He was meant to stay in the corridor.”
“No problemo,” says Leo, then he’s not there anymore.
“Where’s Dad?” asks Ma.
“In Canberra right now, but he’s on his way,” says Grandma. “There’s been a lot of changes, sweetheart.”
“Canberra?”
“Oh, honey, it’s probably too much for you to take in . . .”
It turns out the hairy Leo person isn’t my real Grandpa, the real one went back to live in Australia after he thought Ma was dead and had a funeral for her, Grandma was mad at him because she never stopped hoping. She always told herself their precious girl must have had her reasons for disappearing and one fine day she’d get in touch again.
Ma is staring at her. “One fine day?”
&
nbsp; “Well, isn’t it?” Grandma waves at the window.
“What kind of reasons would I—?”
“Oh, we racked our brains. A social worker told us kids your age sometimes just take off out of the blue. Drugs, possibly, I scoured your room —”
“I had a three-point-seven grade average.”
“Yes you did, you were our pride and joy.”
“I was snatched off the street.”
“Well I know that now. We stuck up posters all over the city, Paul made a website. The police talked to everyone you knew from college and high school too, to find out who else you might have been hanging around with that we didn’t know. I kept thinking I saw you, it was torture,” says Grandma. “I used to pull up beside girls and slam on my horn, but they’d turn out to be strangers. For your birthday I always baked your favorite just in case you walked in, remember my banana chocolate cake?”
Ma nods. She’s got tears all down her face.
“I couldn’t sleep without pills. The not knowing was eating me up, it really wasn’t fair to your brother. Did you know—well, how could you?—Paul’s got a little girl, she’s almost three and potty-trained already. His partner’s lovely, a radiologist.”
They talk a lot more, my ears get tired listening. Then Noreen comes in with pills for us and a glass of juice that’s not orange, it’s apple and the best I ever drunk.
Grandma’s going to her house now. I wonder if she sleeps in the hammock. “Will I—Leo could pop in for a quick hello,” she says when she’s at the door.
Ma says nothing. Then, “Maybe next time.”
“Whatever you like. The doctors say to take it slow.”
“Take what slow?”
“Everything.” Grandma turns to me. “So. Jack. Do you know the word bye-bye?”
“Actually I know all the words,” I tell her.
That makes her laugh and laugh.
She kisses her own hand and blows it at me. “Catch?”
I think she wants me to play like I’m catching the kiss, so I do it and she’s glad, she has more tears.
“Why did she laugh about me knowing all the words when I wasn’t making a joke?” I ask Ma after.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter, it’s always good to make people laugh.”
At 06:12 Noreen brings another whole different tray that’s dinner, we can have dinner at five something or six something or even seven something, Ma says. There’s green crunchy stuff called arugula that tastes too sharp, I like the potatoes with crispy edges and meats with stripes all on them. The bread has bits that scratch my throat, I try to pick them out but then there’s holes, Ma says to just leave it. There’s strawberries she says taste like Heaven, how does she know what Heaven tastes like? We can’t eat it all. Ma says most people stuff themselves too much anyway, we should just eat what we like and leave the rest.