by Amy Piers
I start to remember, and now I feel really embarrassed that Alicia knows that I ran away. I put my head down and look at the floor. She continues, “When you were asleep, the doctors flew you to Starlight to keep you safe. We are in a state called Wyoming, which is very far away from California.”
Alicia shows me a map of America, and the new state is in the middle and down a bit. I am having trouble believing her words, because so many things happened when I was asleep. I think about Discovery Country, and I remember the bunny who was drowning. I put my head down again and cross my arms in front of my body; I am done talking to Alicia.
“I know this is a lot of information, Dallas,” Alicia explains, “But you need to understand something before I can stop talking. You’re going to live here for a while, with people who can keep you safe. Your mom isn’t able to take care of you at the moment, and it might be a while before she visits.”
I bury my head in my arms, closing my eyes tight. I mumble into my sweater, “What about Zoe? Can she visit?”
“We have to wait and see,” she replies.
“What about Zoe just becomes my new Mom?” I say, muffled through my sweater.
“Honey,” Alicia says. “That’s not how these things work… I’m sorry.”
I lift my head, “Her can take care of me! Her has taken care of me better than my Mom!”
“Right now, you live here,” Alicia says, trying to touch my shoulder. I shrug it away and give her an evil look. “Dallas, your only job right now is to get used to Starlight. You don’t even have to join in any activities yet, or talk to anyone. It’s going to take a while for this to feel like home. I’m sorry, Buddy.”
I start to cry, but I don’t want her to know. I feel like I am on an island with no people and no food, and I have to wait for someone to rescue me. I don’t like how this place smells, I don’t know any kids, and the kids that I saw were scary.
I want Zoe.
[I see you.]
I don’t know what to do with spare time. It’s been so long since I’ve had a minute to do anything that I love, I have forgotten what it is I’d like to be doing. It’s Saturday afternoon, a time slot I usually fill with planning the upcoming week of homeschool. I spent the morning on the phone with my parents, trying to iron out the ideas they have about Dallas which were put into their heads by the media. No, he’s not a psycho. Yes, he’s in a mental institution. No, I do not have him as a client anymore. Yes, I know I can come back to Santa Cruz if I want. No, I’m not going to do that unless I have a hard time making rent. Yes, I love you both very much, and I appreciate your support.
Ezra has only called me eighteen times in the past day, and I want to return his phone calls, but I worry about Julia overhearing our conversations. I pick up the phone to text him—perhaps it will be easier to meet face-to-face instead of literally talking behind his sister’s back.
“Sorry for disappearing. Meet for coffee?” I text.
A reply fires back within seconds, “See you at at 5 pm.”
A weight lifts off of my shoulders, a moment which is broken by a yell from the living room.
“ZOE!” Julia screams as I run out to see what’s happening. There’s a crate with a note on top, and a shaggy red-brown puppy inside.
“Cinnamon!” I yell, while my roommate scratches her head in confusion.
“What the hell is going on?” Julia asks. “Whose dog is this?”
I read the note, and I smile, “Mine.”
#
5:00pm
Despite the fact that it’s late afternoon, the sun has fled the day and night consumes us like fog rolling in from the sea. Fairy lights clothe the sidewalk trees, flickering as residual raindrops fall intermittently from branch to branch. I walk into the coffee shop holding a large tote bag, trying to look inconspicuous—spotting Ezra on a warmly lit sofa. We greet one another as awkwardly as two people who like each other can possibly manage: a fumbling hug, a kind of high five, a secret handshake not yet mastered.
There is so much discomfort in the genesis of a relationship, filling the space of your beloved with the face of a virtual stranger—even though I’ve known him all my life. Vulnerability rises, and we’re left pretending that none of this matters… we’re just two people (and a dog) meeting for coffee. Ezra has a steady, constant way about him, which some could mistake as robotic. I’m sure he feels nervous but has an almost supernatural ability to ignore anxiety. Where I respond with emotion, he acts on practicalities. I’ve spent a long time ignoring that we may just be complimentary puzzle pieces, built from the same piece of clay, and I want nothing more than to just know for sure.
Unfortunately, that’s not the way life works. All we can do is bravely wade through the waters of uncertainty until the mud turns to dry, stable land. The warm light flickers in his kind, hazel eyes and the fortresses I’ve built so robustly around my heart fall like dominoes. A furry head pokes its nose from my tote and Ezra’s eyes light up even more.
“Whose dog is this?” he whispers, laughing.
“I have so much to tell you,” I say with a vague, overwhelmed expression.
#
My finger circles the rim of the plastic latte lid, as Ezra hides Cinnamon in his hoodie. The pup snoozes patiently in his jacket, buying us time to discuss a few of many thousand items on the evening’s agenda.
“I don’t think you should do this job anymore, Zoe,” Ezra says, plainly. I have been a single, independent woman for the best part of the last twenty-six years, and receiving advice like this tends to rub me the wrong way. If I hadn’t already come to this conclusion by myself, I would have chewed him out with an assertion of my own choices. That’s another thing about Ezra; he’s kind, but he’s not subtle.
“I know,” I say, defeated. “I really loved it, though. You know—parts—of what I did were fulfilling, to both my clients’ lives and my own. But other parts of what I did have really messed me up.”
“I know,” Ezra agrees. “You’re on edge about things that most people ignore. I mean, I’m not one to speak about what is emotionally normal, but you never seem fully off-duty.”
I have felt this niggling sense of anxiety creeping into my life at an alarming rate, almost exponentially since taking Dallas on as a client. It’s a tough pill to swallow: a sense that I’m not as strong as I thought I was, not as resilient as I claimed. There’s a feeling of fraud, a sense of defeat, a knowing that I’ve let people down. I carry the weight of promising what I couldn’t complete, like a true bait-and-switch tactic; all I ever wanted to do was help people, but I’ve spent all my compassion. I guess it’s true—you can’t give what you don’t have.
Ezra says, holding my hand. “Life can be fun, remember that.”
All these Friday nights I’ve spent in sweat pants, too exhausted to go out and act my age. All these Saturdays I’ve avoided adventures for fear of being behind the eight-ball for the next week—fear of losing control of my organization or my nutrition—the things that seem to be holding my life together with safety pins. I’m a cautious old lady before my time. Ezra takes my hand, as Cinnamon rouses. He leads me out of the cafe, setting the dog on the sidewalk with his leash.
“Where are we going?” I say, with my feathers ruffled.
“Just follow me,” he smiles.
“I need to go home and do laundry—and my room is a mess,” I say, planting my feet on the sidewalk.
“It’s Saturday night, Zoe! It can wait,” Ezra reasons, grabbing my hand.
“Tell me where we’re going!” I protest, taking my hand back into my own possession. He's trying to control me, and I won't have it.
“No,” he laughs. “It’s a test. Give up the idea that you have to be in control of everything, and trust me.”
I stop dead in my tracks. Ezra keeps walking, and I observe his shoulders hunch with a sigh before he stops to turn around. That's it; he's had enough of me—I knew he'd give up once he realized these kids have broken me.
; "No," I assert. "Stop acting like you can make decisions for me."
"I'm not trying to take away your choices, Zoe," he explains. "If anyone is telling you what to do, it's Dallas."
"Real funny, Ezra. Dallas is over a thousand miles away—how could he possibly be dictating my actions?" I snap, seething with rage. I knew it! He sees me for who I am, the sum of my experiences, and knows I'm unable to sustain a relationship. Ezra sees straight through me, and he's right on the edge of giving up.
"Everything you've done in the last few months has been for his benefit. He's your puppeteer, and he sure as hell doesn't deserve to be. You need time to be young and free, and you know it," Ezra assumes. A tear rolls down my face, and I don't even have the strength to wipe it away. I didn't give myself permission to cry, and I'm deeply ashamed of my weakness. I want to turn around and walk home to safety, forgetting I ever tried to be vulnerable. I want to be in the sanctuary of my room, with Cinnamon, alone without company—except—I know Ezra's right. He leans in to hold me, and I make an embarrassing smudge of makeup and snot on his hoodie.
We walk for miles, as Cinnamon leaps with excitement at all these new adventures—if only I could feel so free. I take a long, deep breath, pulling air into lungs that have long been frozen by anxiety. My hand holds Ezra’s loosely at first, as my mind races to think of all the ways I plan to justify why setting out on a spontaneous adventure was a bad, terrible, stupid idea. With each step my grip gets a little more firm. My thoughts a little less loud. We arrive at Yerba Buena gardens, beautifully adorned by a warmly lit waterfall. Ezra takes Cinnamon and me through the walkway behind the waterfall, and we watch the aqua cascades from front row seats. It’s loud in here—just loud enough to wash out the sound of fear holding me back from a life I should enjoy. We say nothing for a long while, as Ezra pulls me close to his chest. I hear the white noise of the waterfall in one ear, and his beating heart in the other. I’ve never been this close to complete surrender, and the precipice scares me like never before.
“I want to be your boyfriend,” Ezra’s voice cuts through the waterfall.
“I want to be your girlfriend,” I reply. Then we sit, letting it all sink in.
“So… we’re official?” he confirms.
“Yep,” I say, leaning into his chest.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cinnamon Rolls
[I see red.]
Today is the third day I have lived at Starlight, and I have talked to Zoe on zero of these days. I guess she was lying when she said she would like me every day, no matter what. This man with a chin beard (he’s called Dr. Martinez) takes me into a room with bean bags and soft blocks for building, and he asks me questions about my life. I have answered zero of his questions.
“I heard you earned a trip to Discovery Country in California a few days ago,” he says, pretending he’s not questioning me. “That must’ve been awesome.”
I sit in the bean bag with my hood over my face. My knees are under my chin with my arms hugging them tight. No, Martinez, I will not talk to you today. I know that if I sit here for long enough, he will get tired of talking to me, and he will go away. He walks out of the room thirty minutes later, and I listen as he speaks to a different doctor.
“Third day in a row that he’s said nothing,” Martinez tells.
“He’s one of the most severe cases we’ve got here. Remember when Eli arrived last year? It took three months for him to open up,” the other doctor says.
“I’m interested to know why he hasn’t asked for his Mom. He keeps asking for Zoe,” Martinez interrupts.
“She’s his Behavior Specialist, right?” the other doctor replies. “I guess she provided the stability that Mom wasn’t able to give.”
The doctors say more things, but I can’t hear them anymore. I take off my hood and start playing with the blocks. They let me play, so I build, build, build.
[I see you.]
Cinnamon jumps into bed with me and licks my face. He barks and runs around like crazy—it seems we didn’t have enough time to make this one completely ‘green.’ I run a quick internet search for puppy training classes in the area before I stop and look this fluffy little shit in the eyes. I’ve got the skills; I’ve got the time—so it’s only natural that I should train this dog myself.
I leash him, and we walk to the store to buy some treats, which is the exact time I realize how walking a puppy is a unique kind of madness. Ezra had handled him so well a few nights ago, but today Cinnamon is not obliging. He zigzags across the sidewalk as he pleases, almost tripping me with his wanderlust. His puppy legs don’t follow any conventional walking pattern, they each seem to be operating independently. As I watch him, no matter how mad he makes me, I can’t help but smile. Cinnamon is obsessed with experiencing all life has to offer, exuding joy to all he meets. I have been thinking about what it would take to be more like Cinnamon, and less caught up in myself.
Little by little, I will learn to let go.
#
[I see red.]
Today is the seventh day that I have lived at Starlight, and I have talked to Zoe zero of these days. Seven days equals one week, even if you start on Saturday, not Monday. I am starting to forget how Zoe looks like and how her voice sounds. The same thing happened when I wasn't allowed to see Rachel from church anymore—I just forgetted her a bit more every day. Now I just wouldn't know her face if I even saw it. I wonder who is taking care of Cinnamon, and I hope that Jacob didn’t come back and steal him, too.
Dr. Martinez asks all the questions:
“What happened on the log ride?”
“Who is in your family?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Do you know why you’re here?”
I tell him nothing. Zip, zilch, zero. My life is none of his beeswaxes, because it’s for Zoe and me only. We are going to start a new life with Cinnamon, in a new house in San Francisco. We are going to move out of this stinky hospital house, and be a family that never ever breaks apart. We will be the family who eats pancakes, and most importantly a family who never gets any more dads or babies. I stop talking altogether, always thinking about what kinds of toys we’ll buy for our new house. I wonder if Zoe and me will have bunk beds, and if she will want the top because she’s older. I bet she’ll have green sheets because she’s the goodest person who ever lived. She will always jump on the trampoline with me every day; she will never go home at 3 pm, and she will help me talk to ghosts.
The more I think about it, the more I know that Zoe will come for me, even if I have to wait a long time for her to get here. Zoe is gooder than Rachel, who never even came looking for me when I was gone. Zoe will rescue me from this house, and she will come take me home.
[I see you.]
The more I think about Ezra, the more butterflies gather in my stomach. I want their wings to calm down, yet I am carried away with their beating. I swallow my pride and my fear, knocking on Julia’s bedroom door.
“Jules—are you home?”
“Yeah, come in,” she says, “I’m just painting my nails.” I open the door to see her sitting with her fingers splayed, waving her hands as red nail polish slowly dries. The room smells of acetone, but she seems not to notice. I sit on the bed with my legs crossed.
“I need to tell you something,” I confess.
“You’re in love with my brother?” she says, with a half smile. I tilt my head and squint my eyes as if to say, “How did you know that?” She laughs.
“Jeez Zoe, he’s been talking about you non-stop for months. I called it when he was like, fifteen,” she admits. “He’s loved you since forever.”
“But he’s had other girlfriends,” I defensively retort.
“Because you’ve always dismissed him,” she shrugs. “He’s a good guy, even if he is my baby brother.”
I grab the bottle of nail polish and swipe a coat onto my left hand. I should be relieved that Julia is into the idea, but somehow I feel awkward about being out of the l
oop, like when you’re in middle school, and you find out your friends had a party without you. Cinnamon jumps up onto the bed, and I catch the nail polish before it spills on the blankets.
“So Dallas’s Mom didn’t want the dog anymore?” Julia says, petting him carefully enough, so her nails don’t smudge.
“She doesn’t want Dallas anymore either.”
“How does someone not want their own son?”
“It’s messed up, Jules.”
I paint the fingernails on my right hand, as Cinnamon chews the sock on my foot. I realize it’s time to get serious about training the dog, so I blow air on my hands to set my nails and get ready to leave Julia’s room. Unsurprisingly, I manage to smudge 4/10 nails in the process.
“And yes, I am pretty sure I’m in love with your brother,” I stammer, leaving the room like a shy schoolgirl. Julia smiles.
[I see red.]
It’s still the seventh day at Starlight, and I am still waiting for Zoe to come to my rescue. Miss Alicia said I didn’t need to join in with the activities going on here, but it looks like the other doctors and adults didn’t hear when she said that. They keep coming up to me and talking, so I hide under the couch and roll myself into a ball with my knees under my sweater. Turtles hide in their shells, and I pretend to be a turtle. My home is on my back now, too, just like a turtle. Nobody brought me anything from my home, except the sweater I had with me at Discovery Country.
This is my only thing now; I don’t want anything new.
[I see you.]
Cinnamon has learned how to sit and follows through 90% of the time. His favorite rewards are these bacon wrapped sticks of mystery meat, which are a huge step up from those disgusting dog treats made out of a bull’s man-parts (yes, that’s a real thing and yes, they smell like pee).
9:05 am—Morning Walk