I See Red

by Amy Piers

  “From little things, big things grow. Seeds have to break before they become big trees, Dallas. You can take your acorn of a life and throw it in the dirt, or you can dig that same dirt and plant the acorn deep in the ground. You can take care of it, or you can let it die. The choice is yours.”

  “What if I already breaked but I’m not planted?”

  “Then let’s get a shovel, some fertilizer, and water. You are at Starlight so you can grow, and I’m here to help you.”

  I hold the acorn tightly in my hand, and I don’t know if I should plant it or throw it in Alicia’s stupid pretty face. I think for a minute and put it in the pocket of my cargo shorts. I walk back to the house, and Alicia follows.

  [I see you.]

  “Zoe! What a surprise!”

  “Hi, Mrs. Holmes!” I stammer, red-faced. Suddenly I’m twelve years old again, except this time I’m in love with Mrs. Holmes’s baby boy. My stomach churns.

  “Oh, please—call me Janelle,” she insists. “And what a sweet little dog!”

  “Mom,” Ezra announces without making eye contact. “Zoe is my girlfriend, and she’s having Thanksgiving with us.”

  Janelle looks flabbergasted, as Ezra takes my hand and barges inside like nothing consequential has occurred. I’m mortified listening to Janelle process the news with her husband, Mr. Holmes (who I might be able to call by his first name, too. Everything is happening so fast.) Julia is outside laughing at her parents.

  “Well, he’s always had a soft spot for Zoe,” Janelle whispers.

  “I never thought she’d go for him though,” Mr. Holmes replies. “I’ve never seen a girl less interested in a guy.”

  “Kevin, she was seventeen last time you saw them in the same room for any substantial period of time,” Janelle reasons.

  “Why didn’t he tell us she was coming?” Mr. Kevin Holmes asks.

  “Does Ezra ever tell us anything? Remember that odd fellow he brought to Kyle’s wedding?” she poses. ‘Kevin’ shrugs and they walk inside. Julia records the entire thing on her cell phone for later use.

  #

  As we down the last morsels of Pecan Pie, the family gets ready to loosen their belts and watch football in a horizontal position. I offer to help Mrs.—I mean Janelle—to clean up, but she kindly refuses my gesture. Julia is swiftly roped into the kitchen to consolidate leftovers into plastic containers and put cling wrap atop the food on plates. She throws me a stare that says, “How did you get out of this so easily?”

  I try to help, but Janelle shoos me away like a fly. Ezra summons me instead, taking me outside with Cinnamon on a leash. We walk around his parents’ suburban beachside neighborhood, all the way down to the boardwalk. The Pacific Ocean sings its calming lullaby with every wave crashing on the shore like clockwork. The dusky sun sets behind the cluster of amusement park rides, with glimmers of gold shining through rollercoaster beams. There are faint ghosts of children’s laughter from the day that has passed, as families make their way into their cozy homes. The echo of sea lions’ barking sends Cinnamon into a tailspin, and I suddenly remember Dallas.

  “You’re quiet,” Ezra states.

  I confess. “I wonder what Dallas is doing today. Holidays must be hard without family.”

  “Speaking of which—we should head back soon so we can go visit your parents,” he justifies. I worry he’s missed the reason I mentioned Dallas. I worry that my vulnerability wasn’t well received, and that Ezra has no idea how much the Dallas issue is eating me. I'm racked with guilt that my past actions put Dallas in an asylum and my current actions are keeping him there. I'm deathly afraid that in trying to give Dallas a normal life, I took it all away. Ezra seems happy enough to just change the subject.

  “Yeah, let’s head back,” I say, as we spend the night with my parents, talking about anything but Dallas.

  (Oh, and just so you know—my parents knew Ezra was coming over. I did a little thing called telling them in advance. They tried not to act excited, but they have loved Ezra since the day he was born.)

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Because of Dallas

  [I see red.]

  Today is the twenty-first day that I have lived at Starlight, and I have talked to Zoe zero of these days. Twenty-one days is three weeks, and that is almost a month. I haven’t talked to Dr. Martinez, and I haven’t talked to any of the weird kids here (except for that time stupid Louis took my stupid fork). Sometimes these kids scream for no reason, and most of the days someone runs away, but they don’t get very far. I haven’t runned away yet.

  I talk to Alicia because she seems nice to me every single day. Sometimes her tells me stupid things I don’t want to hear, but mostly she is right. I asked her why she only hangs out with me, and she said that it’s her job, just like it was Zoe’s job. A job means that people go to work, and then they get money for doing things, so today I found out that the only people who like me are paid to like me.

  Nobody paid my mom.

  [I see you.]

  I walk to my dresser and for the first time in almost a month, I take out the note that Dallas’s Mom gave to me. I read it again, this time with tears rolling down my cheeks. I can’t believe I have gone this long without speaking to him; I can’t believe I have allowed him to feel abandoned by me. I haven’t given this child the healing he deserves, I haven’t followed through with my promise.

  “I like you every day, no matter what,” rings in my ears. It was a lie. I didn’t like him when he ran out onto traffic. I didn’t like him when he stabbed me with a pencil. I didn’t like him when he risked both of our lives on the roof at school. I haven’t liked him since he got off a ride in the dark, threw rocks at a family, destroyed animatronics, climbed on the roof and was rescued by a helicopter. I haven’t felt a single thing for him since the day after the event, when the shock had worn off, and I realized that he knew better than do pull that kind of shit. It’s easier to feel nothing than to dwell in anger, so that’s what I’ve done.

  Because of Dallas, I’m unemployed.

  Because of Dallas, I’m on prescription meds to calm me down.

  Because of Dallas, I haven’t slept well in a month.

  Because of Dallas, I stare at the wall far more than anybody should.

  I wonder what kind of responsibility I have towards him now that the dust has settled. I wonder if I’m ready to start looking for new jobs, especially since my emergency financial funds are drying up at a rapid pace. My parents slipped some money into my bank account while I wasn’t looking, and I was mortified and grateful at the same time. I wish there was a word for that feeling—Mortiful? Gratefied?

  I’m mad as hell at Dallas for what he has done to me, and I’m mad at myself for letting it happen. I’ve never felt such depths of hatred for another person, especially since I’ve built my life on a belief that I will never hate another soul as long as I live. I feel like I’m stranded on a desert island with the uncomfortable realization that I don’t have the integrity I thought I possessed all these years. There’s an elephant on the island, and while I ignore it, he tramples over the very trees that may just save my life.

  [I see red.]

  Today is the twenty-third day that I have lived at Starlight, and I have talked to Zoe zero of these days. I wake up in my bed, in a room I share with Matthew. He is eight candles, and sometimes he is nice, but sometimes he is mean. That’s the thing about the kids at this home—I never really know how they’re going to be each day. One time they yell, next time they whisper, and after that they just throw things.

  Alicia comes to my room at 8:30am (long hand on the six, short hand between eight and nine) and tells me it’s time to go to Dr. Stupid Martinez.

  “Did you eat your breakfast?” she asks. I shake my head, and go back under the covers. “Wake up time was an hour ago, Dallas. What have you been doing all this time?”

  “Matthew did a meltdown,” I admit, through the blankets. “I stayed in bed until he calmed down.”


  Alicia walks over to the door, where a chart hangs on a clipboard. Matthew’s “Alicia,” wrote on it this morning about the meltdown. My Alicia (the real Alicia) reads the chart and hangs it back up. She looks surprised.

  “OK, Mister. You get a hall pass this time—now get outta bed,” she tells me in a pretend bossy voice. “What are you going to wear today?”

  I open my drawers, and wear what I always wear—cargo shorts and a black t-shirt. These are the best clothes, because pockets are never not useful. All of my black shirts are a bit different, with all kinds of words and pictures on them. Today I choose a black one with a green dog on it, because he reminds me of Ramsay. Alicia takes me to the dining room, where all the other kids have finished eating.

  “What are you going to have?”

  “Aren’t you going to make it for me?” I ask, confused.

  Alicia shakes her head, “I’ll help you if you need it, but I won’t do it for you.”

  “You know I used to make all my foods? But they were always six chicken nuggets. Then Zoe helped me make other foods so I could be strong and healthy,” I explain. I look at the foods at Starlight, and I know I would have hated all of them before Zoe.

  Alicia smiles big and says, “It sounds like Zoe helped you grow into the awesome guy you are today.”

  “I’m not awesome,” I remind her. “If I am even a little bit good, it’s because of Zoe.”

  Because of Zoe, I am eating yogurt and berries for breakfast.

  Because of Zoe, I know how to tell the time.

  Because of Zoe, I can read books and do counting.

  Because of Zoe, I remember what it’s like to have someone say, “I like you.”

  I gulp down some yogurt, as Alicia tells me that it’s full of these things called protein and calcium. I tell her how berries have different tastes when they are fresh, frozen, or dried. I put my bowl in the place where dirty bowls go, and the spoon in the place where dirty spoons go. Alicia puts me on her back, and we sing something silly as we go to Dr. Martinez’s room.

  When she sets me on the floor, I zip my mouth closed. I absolutely will not talk to Dr. Stupid. Whatever he wants to talk about is none of his business, and I have zero space in my heart for a grown up man to know my feelings. My dad never listened to my feelings, him just ran away to make a new family. Jacob told all of my feelings to shut up. Dr. Stupid is not allowed to know my feelings.

  They are mine to me.

  [I see you.]

  Wherever I go, there I am. I’m running away from Dallas as fast as he is catching up with me. Whenever I close my eyes, there he is: on the edge of the building, on the roof of the ride, with a smoking gun in his hands. Truth and fiction are as jumbled as ever, and I know what it is that I need to do in order to have some semblance of peace in my life; yet, I am unsure as to whether or not I have the strength to do it.

  I open my computer to search for the contact details of Starlight Children’s Residential Home. Suddenly, I see images of kids in their photo gallery—images of the bedrooms and scenery outside. I close the tab, and close my laptop. It’s too much to bear—the idea of reconciliation with someone who ruined me like this. He might be six-years-old, but he’s responsible for so much of my gradual descent into madness. I spend too much time wondering if I am, in fact, responsible for his state of mind.

  Ezra rings the doorbell at 6 pm, and finds me in sweatpants with a messy bun.

  “Sorry,” I say. Without speaking, he heads over to my wardrobe and chooses me an outfit. He lays it on the bed and smiles.

  “I’ll wait here while you go take a shower,” he orders, kindly.

  “Are you saying I stink?” I snap.

  “You look like shit, Zoe,” he smiles. “You’re pretty, but you look like shit.”

  I grab my robe and storm off to the bathroom. Friggin’ Ezra.

  [I see red.]

  “Dallas, it’s almost been a month,” Dr. Stupid reminds me. “I want to get to know you, but conversation is a two-way street. In order for us to have a relationship, you need to talk.”

  “Oh, but Dr. Stupid,” I think to myself, “My lips have been zipped closed, and I threw away the key. It’s not my fault that I can’t speak to you.”

  The Dr. walks to the door and waves to Alicia who is sitting outside. He talks to her for a second or three, and then she comes into the room as well.

  “Dallas,” she says, “Is it OK with you if I attend your session?”

  I don’t say anything, because my lip zipper is stopping me from talking. Everybody knows that. So, I just lay on the couch and close my eyes, because it’s about time I climbed on the roof with Zoe to hang out with Grey. Today, Zoe’s face looks a bit less like Zoe and a little more like Alicia. In a flash, I open my eyes and start kicking Alicia’s body so she’ll get the heck out of my personal space, because she is not my Zoe. I know, with all of my heart, that Zoe will come back for me, and when she comes, I can’t have an Alicia. There’s no Alicia in our new plan, with our new house in San Francisco, in our play dates with ghosts. I kick Alicia a thousand more times because she's the dumbest person ever.

  Dr. Martinez grabs my feet and holds them like he wants to kill me, and Alicia quickly goes outside the room. I punch Dr. Stupid in the face, and Alicia gets some other adults to hold me. I shouldn’t be here! I shouldn’t be in this house with all these crazy kids! I don’t belong here, Zoe! I belong with you in a real house, with hot dogs and pancakes!

  Matthew’s version of Alicia sees my Alicia and hugs her. My Alicia is crying like a stupid baby, and Matthew’s Alicia says, “I’m sorry, I know it’s been a rough week.”

  “It’s like one step forward, two steps back,” the real Alicia says. “He just snaps sometimes, and I have no idea why. It's almost like a seizure—completely out of his control.”

  Fake Alicia replies, “He was given to you because you can handle him. He’s the youngest one here, and probably the most severe case of all sixty of these kids. He’s the only kid on your caseload for the foreseeable future because the boss believes you can crack his shell.”

  “I’m trying,” real Alicia sniffs. “I just don’t know how long I can take it.”

  “He’s got Reactive Attachment Disorder, right?” the fake one says. “He’s trying to push you away, and the minute he thinks he’s won, his self-esteem plummets back down to what he thinks he deserves. That is, nothing and no-one. Love on him every single day; that’s how you affect change.”

  Real Alicia blows her nose into a tissue and walks away for a while. She returns to the room where I am sitting with Dr. Stupid. The two other staff members have left the room since I stopped kicking and hitting. Alicia sits beside me, saying nothing. I hold my hand out to her, and she takes it without any angriness. The three of us silently sit in the room together from the time the long hand is on the ten until it goes around to the twelve and the short hand is directly on the nine.

  [I see you.]

  I am beyond grateful to have Ezra in my life at this time. My lack of motivation is met with an almost drill sergeant approach to spontaneity, and moping is just not permitted on the drill sergeant’s watch.

  “Get dressed,” he says. “We’re going out.”

  “Where?” I whine.

  “Does it matter?” he snaps. “You just need to be useful.”

  I could be offended at his approach, but instead, I reluctantly put on real clothes and twirl my hair into a fresher, albeit messy, bun. We walk Cinnamon to the local coffee house, where I order an almond latte and sit down. Ezra asks for an iced vanilla cold brew, then adds, “Do you guys have any jobs going?”

  “I thought you worked for a startup?” the barista responds. Clearly Ezra spends a lot of time here.

  “No, I’m asking for my girlfriend,” he says, beckoning me to the register to meet the barista.

  “Hi,” I participate awkwardly, elbowing Ezra in the side. “I’m Zoe.”

  “Ed,” he responds. “Have you got any experien
ce making coffee?”

  “Unfortunately no,” I shrug. “I’ve spent the last four years as a Behavior Specialist.”

  “Oh, like that girl on the news a couple of weeks ago. With that kid who climbed on top of that ride... Log Nation!” Ed laughs. Ezra’s eyes grow wide as he meets Ed’s gaze, pretending to cut his throat with his hand.

  “Yep,” I say, looking down. “Just like that girl.”

  “Oh, shit. Sorry. I—uh- didn’t realize,” Ed backtracks. “Anyway, we prefer hiring people without experience. So, if you’re interested, can you start next week?”

  “Don’t you need like, a resume or something?” I mutter. Everything is happening so fast, and five minutes ago I never knew I wanted to work in a coffee shop, but apparently that’s what I’m about to do. With big fat thanks to Ezra and his big fat mouth.

  “You’re clearly, somewhat, qualified for the job— so I think a trial would work better than a resume,” Ed reasons. “See you Monday?”

  “See you in two days,” I agree, before punching Ezra in the arm and sitting in a cozy booth. He raises his coffee cup to clink against mine.

  “To your new job,” he says, with a cheeky grin. I’m extremely uncomfortable.

  [I see red.]

  Today is the thirtieth day that I have lived at Starlight, and I have talked to Zoe zero of these days.

  I think she has forgotten about me. It's like Rachel all over again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Zero Day Zoe

  [I see you.]

  I pick up the phone and dial the number for Starlight Children’s Home. It rings twice, and I hang up straight away before anyone knows I tried. I stare at the wall, again. Cinnamon snuggles beside me on the couch. The Christmas tree sparkles as I look at the meticulous decorations Julia made, knowing if it were up to me, there would simply be a banner on the wall that says, “IT IS CHRISTMAS.”