I See Red

by Amy Piers

  Throwing strategies back and forth across the table for an hour, we finally settle on some ways in which to start a formal treatment plan. We have cumulative reward systems, plans for time-in (instead of time-out), focused attention plans, a set of consistent phrases we’ll all use to keep our communication on the same page—a basic playbook. The what-ifs have all been covered. We’re stepping into the war with full armor and loud battle cries. This intervention has never been so watertight because Team Dallas is strong and unified. This process is a billion times easier without Sarah on board.

  Step one: Fifteen minutes of scheduled attention, following his lead in play, not pushing the conversation. Session three we’ll start asking questions.

  [I see red.]

  After PE and lunch, I see Zoe and Alicia coming to get me. I launch myself at Zoe like a grenade, exploding on her with a hug. I hear the breath go out of she’s lungs, like ugh! Alicia takes me off Zoe’s body, then we all go into the soft room. We set fifteen minutes on the special timer with the red, and Alicia tells me that I can choose any game (as long as it’s appropriate) and the three of us will play together for that time. I choose blocks (duh), get the bin off the shelf, and tip it all over the floor. It sounds so loud, and both the girls look at it like they wish I didn’t do that. I wonder how long it will be before one of them says, “You know you have to put all of them away when you’re done?”

  It was five seconds; then Zoe said it. I telled her, “I KNOW.”

  I start building, and they do, too. Sometimes we talk about what we’re making, and sometimes we’re quiet. For once they’re not asking me to talk about my feelings. Before I know it, the red on the timer gets skinny, and it beeps. That’s the end of fifteen minutes.

  “We are going to play like this every day this week after lunch,” Zoe reminds me. We all pack up quickly, and like magic, out come the gold stars. I getted one for packing up on time, another one for packing up with a good attitude, and another one for sticking with one activity the whole time. If I get ten stars, we can add five minutes to the playtime. I wonder how to get twenty stars, so I can add ten minutes?

  [I see you.]

  We take Dallas to his music class, and Alicia gets permission to leave him unattended as long as she keeps her cell phone on her at all times. Kevin, a floating staff member steps in to provide Dallas with extra support. We make ourselves coffee and grab some cookies from the kitchen—fuel for a full day of intervention.

  “Have you ever written a story for Dallas before?” she asks. "One about expectations?"

  “Yeah—we had one for our trip to Discovery Country. Obviously, it was super effective,” I say. She’s trying not to laugh, so I laugh instead. She does too, and I’m glad the ice between us is starting to melt.

  “Just so you know,” I admit, looking down, “I’m really glad you’re on the frontline of this intervention. I know it must feel weird with me here, but I’m being honest when I say I don’t want the responsibility of Dallas. I will support you in any way I can; I will be as involved as much as it helps him. Once I leave you’ll gain traction, when he comes to terms with our roles in his life. He needs you; a strong, consistent figure in his life. I’ll fade to the background.”

  “Don't disappear too quickly," Alicia desperately chokes, "I need your guidance in this. I’ll also probably need to call you when you go home—you’re literally the only other person who understands—who sees—Dallas for who he really is."

  I hug her, “Of course.”

  #

  Alicia leaves twenty minutes into the session because Dallas called the music teacher a bitch. She’s gone for ten more minutes, doing time-in with him (it’s like time-out, but the adult stays). He’s not angry, just frustrated, and they breathe deeply together. I watch through a two-way mirror, admiring the harmony in which their bodies breathe and move together. I see what was a seed of a relationship blossom to a sapling, with tiny roots going deep. She ushers him back into the music room, and I assume he’s repairing the situation by performing an apology of action. He hands her a piece of paper, and I read his lips say, “Sorry.”

  Alicia returns, and Kevin steps in her place. We pore over pages, motivated to give Dallas the most accurate story about his trauma. These kinds of stories are narratives written by adults to convey, often difficult, messages to kids. They project best case scenarios, they honestly outline events, and explain how life looks, or will look. Like two authors meticulously crafting a best-seller, we begin writing Dallas’s history in a way he’ll understand. Through the two-way mirror we see Dallas transition to playtime with the group, Kevin herds him like a sheep dog. I’m amazed at his ability to be part of the group today—he looks like the most normal kid in the world. Well, he’s a dandelion in a field of thistles at least.

  #

  Four hours, three calls, one pee-break for Cinnamon, and five cookies later—Dallas’s story is written.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Irrevocably Tethered

  [I see red.]

  Today is the third day that Zoe has been at Starlight. After dinner, I have a special treat—Zoe is going to help me through my night routine and read my bedtime stories. Here’s the things what I do:

  Eat enough dinner to be allowed to leave. Eat the protein.

  Go to the shower. I need some help getting the hot right—not too icy, not too burny. Alicia normally sits outside the shower saying, “Use soap,” and waits with her back turned, so her doesn’t see my wiener. Zoe will be the Alicia tonight, and I can only half promise not to run out of the shower all naked. Alicia is so funny when her accidentally sees my weenie. She’s so angry, like a toy with red lights flashing. It’s so funny. Her’s like, “GET BACK IN THERE AND GET DRESSED.”

  I usually go into my room with Matthew, and we can read books on our own for ten minutes, and at 7 pm the lights go out, out, out. Normally it’s dark at 7 pm but Matthew said in summer the sun stays up later than us, but that’s why we have fat curtains to make it dark. The House Dad, Pete, says goodnight to us and him says, “If you need me, press the button, and I’ll come to you.” You know why? An alarm happens if we open the bedroom door in the night. He said it’s so kids don’t run away, but Matthew telled me it’s so kids don’t kill anyone with knifes. Also, Matthew wears a diaper to bed, and him is a whole year older than me.

  #

  [I see you.]

  Dallas runs out of the shower stark naked, and my hands go over my eyes as fast as lightning. Alicia warned me about his new found love of flashing, and I’m sure she’ll find it hilarious that he gave me the same surprise.

  “Shower. Now!” I command emotionlessly. He dances around for a while, realizes I’m not going to laugh at him, then gets back in the shower. When he’s out of sight I giggle to myself and send Alicia a text message:

  Thanks for the heads up about the nudie run. Dallas: 1, Zoe: 0.

  She replies straight away with several laughing emojis, and I realize that all the hours we’ve spent without Dallas have turned us into comrades rather than competitors. Dallas turns the shower off, and I get ready to prompt his next move.

  “Are you decent?” I ask.

  “What means decent?” he yells, and I hear him splashing around in the puddle of water on the tiles.

  “Do you have clothes on?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I turn around, and you’re naked, we can only read two stories instead of three tonight. I’ll ask again—do you have clothes on?”

  He rustles around and delays his answer.

  “Wait—um,” he says in an elongated tone, then quickens his speech. “Dressed!”

  He is technically dressed, but I think he skipped the part where he’s supposed to dry his body. I try not to laugh, as he stands there in his adorable pajamas with his damp skin sticking to the fabric. His hair is wet and stuck to his face.

  “When’s the last time you had a haircut, Buddy?” I giggle.

  He looks up to the left and puts
his finger on his chin, “Hmmm. When you took me in San Francisco.”

  That was the day before Discovery Country. I don’t know how things like haircuts work here, so I make a mental note to ask Alicia when we can get his mane trimmed. Dallas hangs his towel and grabs my hand to lead me to his bedroom. When we get inside, he gives me the grand tour.

  “This is my bed; that’s Matthew’s bed. That’s our books. Them’s our clothes. Matthew is at him’s parents house, but that’s where him normally sleeps. You can sleep in him’s bed tonight if you like?” he suggests, with big, puppy dog eyes.

  Speaking of puppy dogs, I say, “I’d love to—but I need to go back to the guest house and look after Cinnamon tonight.”

  “Can you bring him over here tomorrow?” he pleads.

  “Let me check with Dr. Martinez first, but if he agrees, I think it would be super fun. Now, which books do you want to read tonight? Three small-ish books is our limit.”

  He stumbles out of bed to the room’s shared book collection. I wonder if they belong to Starlight or Matthew, because none of them are Dallas’s. He selects three fiction stories, none of which are about vicious animals. Hope rises, as I realize not everything has been a regression. His academic skills are more advanced, and he has an age appropriate appreciation for literature. He gets in bed and pats the space next to him—I lay beside, just as we used to snuggle on the trampoline. I hear his heart racing, and I kiss him on the forehead. He half-smiles, then his breath deepens and slows. His heartbeat catches itself, now steadily drumming inside his chest. I’m reminded of how little affection he’s received since Grey’s death—Dallas is nobody’s son. His love tank is dry, and with Alicia’s help, we will start to fill him up, step by step, bucket by bucket.

  #

  By the end of the third story, I notice he’s asleep. I stroke his wild hair, and lay beside him for a while, enjoying the closeness without fear of vacillation between sweetness and rage. My heartbeat steadies too, the symbiosis between Dallas and I strengthening with every beat—he heals me as I heal him.

  For better or worse, my life is irrevocably tethered to this child.

  #

  Pete places his hand on my shoulder and wakes me. It’s midnight, and I’ve fallen asleep beside Dallas, holding his hand.

  “Zoe,” he says, “Sorry to wake you, but you need to go back to the guest house now.”

  I sit up and rub my eyes, swiping my hair out of my face.

  “Thanks,” I mumble to Pete. I pull the blanket over Dallas to make sure he’s warm enough, and place a spare pillow in the gap I’ve left. He stirs but doesn’t wake. I kiss him on the forehead.

  #

  Cinnamon bolts out the door when I return, desperate to go pee. Poor thing, I’ve left him too long today, and he’s left me a turd on the carpet in return.

  #

  [I see red.]

  Zoe has been here for five whole days now, and her brought Cinnamon to see me. A visitor comes from the place who trains service dogs, and she does a test to see if he can be my service dog.

  “Thanks to all the training that Zoe put in early on,” the lady says, “Cinnamon is a good candidate for becoming a service dog. We’d like to involve Dallas in the training—is that OK Luis?”

  I wonder who Louise is, then I see her looking at Dr. Poopy.

  “Dallas, if you want to keep Cinnamon here at Starlight, you’ll need to train him five days a week with Lynda,” Dr. Poop Head says. “Do you agree to commit to the training? That means you stick to it, and don’t give up.”

  I nod my head. I really want to keep Cinnamon. Dr. Poop talks a grown up conversation to the dog lady. He tells her about money because her said usually parents pay it, but mine can’t because nobody told them about it.

  “...Starlight has grant money that will pick up the costs associated with the training. You’ll come here Monday through Friday, 4-5pm? That’s free time in Dallas’s schedule,” he tells.

  “Perfect,” Dog Lady says, then she goes.

  [I see you.]

  After lunch, Alicia and I usher Dallas to the soft room for our focused attention session. He’s earned ten extra minutes, which is mutually beneficial since today we add a little more agenda. He hasn’t flipped out with us since the first day, so we tread lightly, deciding not to ask questions. We’ll introduce the social story at the end of the session.

  “Set the red to twenty-five,” Dallas instructs, and I’m amazed at his ability to mentally add his regular time plus his reward. Mere months ago, his report card stated he couldn’t count to ten. I move the hand on the timer, as Alicia sits on the floor with Dallas. She and I share a glance of nerves and excitement, and I’m glad we’re in this together. He chooses blocks, again, and we do our best to stay present while following his lead. Honestly, I’ve never met an adult who enjoys playing with kids. Being on a rug, surrounded by blocks is my own specific kind of torture, especially when anticipating the moment where we begin reshaping Dallas’s life story. If a watched pot never boils, a watched timer never moves. My stomach churns.

  [I see red.]

  “I maked a river, Zoe! Hey, Zoe! ZOE!” I yell, waving my hand in her face. “Earth to Zoe!”

  She shakes her head and tells me sorry, then says, “Wow! Yeah. I see a river.”

  I have made a thousand things with blocks, and always I put them away at the end, and it’s like they never existed. Every day I make new things, and I never get bored.

  “BEEP BEEP, BEEP BEEP, BEEP BEEP!” goes the timer. I kick the blocks with my foot to break them down, but I’m not angry. That’s just how I pack up now, it’s my new way.

  “Let’s see who can put most blocks back in the bin,” Alicia says, then all three of us start putting blocks away. I notice at a toy car I’ve never seen before, and it looks awesome. I zoom it on the ground, and its wheels keep spinning like crazy.

  “It looks like Alicia and I are winning!” Zoe yells, and I remember what I am supposed to be doing.

  “No! I win!” I say, and put a hundred thousand blocks away. When we are done, I walk to the door, but Alicia takes me to the beanbags. Zoe and Alicia sit both sides of me, and bring out a game tablet. I think we are going to play that Zombie game with guns.

  [I see you.]

  I scoot my beanbag across the threshold to the door, the room’s only exit point. Apart from a few toys, everything in this room is safe and soft. Even the blocks are made of foam, so if he throws them at us, they won’t hurt. I tell myself not to be afraid of his meltdowns, knowing that I’ve been through the worst of them already. It’s quite possible that I’ve just locked us in a room with a tiny murderer, but today’s the day we erase his past.

  Did he kill his brother? I’d sooner think his alcoholic mother made it up than believe the shaggy haired kid I fell asleep beside last night was capable of cold-blooded murder. Maybe he was just curious about what would happen, and wasn't developmentally ready to understand cause and effect. Maybe Grey just hit his head, and nobody is to blame. But, I’ll blame the lady who gave him up, and take my doubts about Dallas to the grave. Regardless of the truth, a three-year-old can’t be held accountable for something like that. Dallas loved his brother, of this I am sure.

  “Hey Buddy,” I say. “We’re going to read you a story.”

  [I see red.]

  I never get to play the zombie game anymore! UGH.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  This is Your Life

  [I see you.]

  I open the story app and start reading the first page, “My name is Dallas, I am six-and-three-quarters years old, and I live at Starlight House.”

  “Hey! That’s me!” he comments, pointing to a picture of himself with Arrow the horse.

  “A long time ago, I lived in San Francisco with my mom, dad, and brother Grey,” I swipe to turn the page, seeing Dallas tense his body in my periphery.

  “That was a thousand years ago. BORING!” he snaps. “Can we do the zombie game now?”

&nbs
p; “I tell you what,” Alicia bargains. “If we can get through this story together, you can play zombies afterward. But that deal only works if you’re paying attention to the story. Deal?”

  He rolls his eyes, and says in the whiniest voice, “Fine.”

  It’s not a deal I would’ve made myself, because I’m pretty sure it’s not going to end well—but Alicia is his person now, so I need to let the rope out a bit. The next page is a photo of Grey and Dallas, one I stole from the house while Sarah was at work. I may or may not have found it in her closet while Dallas was pooping. He pooped, I snooped. Hey, the end justified the means, didn’t it?

  “Grey and I were best friends. We had bunk beds, we played on the trampoline, we swam together. One day Grey and I were swimming,” I pause, because Dallas has his fingers in his ears.

  “Think of how fun the Zombie game will be,” Alicia encourages, and to my surprise, he puts his hands by his side and pays attention. He taps his foot, because he knows what’s coming.

  “... And Mommy left us alone in the pool. When kids swim, adults are supposed to watch to make sure they’re safe. Everybody makes mistakes, and Mommy thought we would be OK for just a minute. Grey jumped from the side of the pool and hit his head on the bricks which made him fall asleep. I thought he was being silly, and it was part of the trick he was doing, so I laughed,” I continue, cautiously. Dallas is shaking his head furiously, but saying nothing.

  “Hey Buddy, looks like you’ve stopped listening. Do you need a break?” Alicia prompts. Dallas stops shaking his head.

  “No,” he says. “Keep reading.”

  “People need to breathe air, and when Grey was underwater for so long, he had no air. He breathed water, which went in his lungs. He died because he spent too long without air in his lungs, and this is called drowning,” I read.