by Amy Piers
“I KNOW! Why do you think I wouldn’t know what drowning meaned? I was there. I know what means drowning!” Dallas yells. “Also, this story is fake because that’s not what happened. I killed him.”
I put my arm on Dallas and he shrugs it off. Sitting beside him, without eye contact, I calmly stray from the written story, explaining succinctly, “You didn’t kill Grey. Nobody killed Grey. Grey died from a head injury, which caused him to drown. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Them are lies,” he whispers. “Why did Mommy say I killed Grey? Why did Daddy tell me that too? And Jacob?”
I don’t want to blame Sarah, but then again, if she was there, none of this would have ever happened. “Buddy,” I say, “Mommy was supposed to be watching you in the pool. She made a mistake, and she felt really guilty. Do you know what guilty means?”
Dallas shakes his head.
“You know how sorry you feel when you think about not saving Grey? That feeling you get when you’ve done something wrong? That’s called guilty,” I explain. “Mommy felt guilty about leaving you and Grey in the pool, so she blamed you and your daddy believed her. She didn’t kill Grey, but she didn’t take responsibility for leaving you alone. Mommy made a mistake, Dallas. But the bigger mistake was when she said it was your fault.”
“But I remember it,” he says.
“You remember this version of the story, because that’s what Mom and Dad told you. Your parents should have been watching you and Grey in the pool, and they weren’t. Grey died by accident, Dallas,” I inform, somewhat desperately. “It was an accident.”
“You’re a liar!” he yells, standing up, waving his finger in my face. Blood rushes to my head, and I brace myself for the impending meltdown. Alicia pats her lap, then gestures for Dallas to sit with her. To my surprise, he perches himself calmly, and allows Alicia to wrap her arms around his waist. I know he’s triangulating—trying to make Alicia the good guy, and me the bad guy—but he’s contained, and far more calm than I had anticipated. He spent most of the last few days giving Alicia the cold shoulder, so I’m glad he’s made me the bad guy in this situation. For Dallas’s life to change, he needs a secure attachment to Alicia.
“I know it’s really hard to change your thoughts, Dallas. I can’t even imagine having someone tell me that my memories weren’t real. The problem is, little kids’ memories are made stronger by adults. Imagine you saw a blue square, but your Mom told you it’s a green circle. Before you’re big enough to know what you saw, you’ll remember the green circle because that’s the story you’ve been told,” I ramble, knowing this is all going over his head. I’m speaking for my own benefit now. I want him to understand, but I’m not sure it’s developmentally possible.
“Finish the story,” he grumbles, with his foot rapidly tapping the floor. Alicia is holding his arms across his body, which makes all the difference to his ability to regulate his behavior. I bring the tablet back, and now there’s a picture of Grey’s grave. I’m not sure Dallas ever saw it, but it’s a photo of a photo I saw in Sarah’s closet. Subsequently, it’s blurry, because I felt dirty for stealing a picture of a grave.
“Grey isn’t with us on Earth anymore. He lives in our memories. It’s OK to miss him, it’s OK to cry, it’s OK to talk about Grey. I need to talk about Grey, so I can grow into a healthy kid, a healthy teenager, and a healthy man,” I pause, taking in the expression on Dallas’s face. He’s staring at nothing in particular, sucking on his left middle and ring fingers. His right-hand twirls his long, curly mane, and I watch him tug at individual hairs. He’s this odd mix of infant and disturbed adult; a child caught in a moment far above his maturity level, with the coping skills of a baby. Alicia gently removes his hand from his hair, and I remember that I need to ask her about getting him a long overdue haircut. Now, he’s just sucking his fingers and staring.
He takes his hand out of his mouth and says, “OK.”
Alicia and I look at each other in disbelief.
“OK… meaning…?” I check.
“OK, I’ll talk about Grey,” he shrugs. “Is the story over? I want to play the zombie game.”
Alicia reaches for his star chart and swiftly adheres a sticker in today’s space. “Dallas, thank you for using your words!”
I take another sticker, “You get a second sticker for controlling your body.”
We’re careful to reward without praise, crafting each sentence by fact, instead of judgment. We know that too much celebration brings him crashing down in a wave of self-sabotage, so we keep our tone relatively neutral. He half-smiles, unwilling to acknowledge his successes in this area, yet something deep inside of him basks in the recognition. Alicia hands him the tablet, and he flips through the story again, pausing on the picture of himself with Grey. His eyes are different in this photo—different than they have been since I’ve known him, but certainly a stark departure from what they are today. His face holds a sunken quality that no six-year-old should know, a worn-out expression, like a fugitive running with no rest. He takes a deep breath, then changes the screen to the zombie game.
Dallas looks up and says, “I forgot how Grey looked.”
[I see red.]
Today I learned some things:
How to make a peanut butter sandwich. I am not good at knifes yet, but of course, we don’t use sharp ones. You know why? Them alarms I already explained.
In PE I learned more of soccer, and one day maybe I can play on a team. I learned about service dogs and how them need to behave. I am happy to keep Cinnamon here, even if we need to do a lot of work for him to stay.
I didn’t kill my brother. Nobody killed my brother. Him just died because it was a mix between a mistake and an accident.
The zombie game is more fun than I remember.
#
[I see you.]
“I miss you,” Ezra echoes from the other end of the phone. “How many more days?”
“Six,” I croak.
“Who am I going to kiss on New Year’s Eve?” he whines.
“You better not kiss anyone,” I laugh. “Kiss your hand.”
He laughs, and I realize I truly miss him, too.
“I… love you,” I blurt nervously. There’s a pause on the other end.
“I love you, too, Zoe,” Ezra admits.
#
I breathe easier tonight, staring out the guest house window to the snowy plains stretching as far as the eye can see. I brought some dinner back with me from the residential house, and while it’s warming in the microwave, I open the bottle of red wine Dr. Martinez left in the guest house for me. It came with a handwritten note that says, “You are brave. Thank you for coming to Starlight.” The small gesture looms large on a day like today, even though I know one glass will be enough for me. I shove the cork back in, hoping it will keep for tomorrow night.
Cinnamon chows down on kibble, before curling up on the couch. I sit with him, knowing this furbaby won’t be mine for much longer. He never really was mine, just a borrowed soul who got me through a rough time. Something tells me we’ve turned a corner today, locating Team Dallas on a map, working together to get to the next destination. I lift Cinnamon’s floppy ears and let them drop. He looks like a cartoon character sometimes, especially when he’s fast asleep and I’m making him do funny faces.
I whisper, “You are brave, Cinnamon. Thank you for coming to Starlight.”
It’s not like he had a choice, but I have a feeling he was born for this.
#
[I see red.]
Today is the last day of the year, which is called New Year’s Eve. Zoe has been here for six whole days, and here are some things what are happening for New Year’s Eve:
(1)We put up streamers and balloons at the living room in the house. Ten kids are back now, but fifty are still at them’s parents houses. Seth is ten, but him is scared of balloons, so he won’t come into the living room. I telled Alicia I would help him, but since Seth was kicking his legs, her said to stay away.
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(2) We got new calendars. Alicia buyed me a yoga dog calendar, which is so funny. Every page has a dog doing a funny pose that them can’t do in real life. Alicia sat with me and we wrote all special dates on the calendar, like; my birthday (February 28), Zoe’s birthday, Alicia’s birthday, Dr. Poop Face’s birthday, Christmas, Easter, Grey’s birthday, Grey’s death day, and we also invented International Armpit Day. That’s June 5th if you wanted to know.
Tomorrow is a new year, and Alicia telled me that it would be a good chance for me to start my life fresh. I want to go back to the stables to find my acorn. The seed is ready to break, so the big fat oak can grow.
[I see you.]
I laid low most of the morning. Dr. Martinez thinks it’s wise for me to step back a little as the visit comes to a close, so I stayed near the guest house until lunch. Alicia worked with Dallas on his calendars, as our next step towards honoring Grey’s life with some kind of memorial. The team agreed that Dallas would benefit from creating a monument of some sort at Starlight, and we’re working on commemorating Grey’s birth and death days. We suggested a garden, a statue of something Grey loved, or planting a special tree—none of which seem to appeal to Dallas. We have so few reliable memories of Grey available, so inevitably, some of what we’re teaching him to remember is fictional.
All of the memories that Dallas expressed about Grey, I’ve stored them in my heart. I’ve done my best to sort them into reality and fantasy, but nobody will ever really know the difference. Sarah won’t answer the phone, so I have no choice but to answer the proverbial call to assist Dallas’s healing. We’ve created as much of the story as he’s going to get, and this is the foundation on which the new house of Dallas will be built. He won’t have the big house in San Francisco, but he will have a renovated house in his heart. Somewhere inside, he knows this is more important, and whether we like it or not, Starlight is where he needs to be right now.
Dallas is more resilient than we realize.
#
[I see red.]
We aren’t allowed to stay awake until midnight, which is when the new year actually happens. But we stay up until nine o’clock and make a pretend Happy New Year. I have never done this before, and I didn’t even know it was a thing. Alicia throwed a streamer at me, and she said it’s OK to do that on a special occasion like Happy New Year, but in regular life, you shouldn’t throw stuff. Zoe kissed me on my head, and I wiped it off straight away because I was so super embarrassed that her kissed me in front of the cool kids. Her said that new year’s kisses are a thing.
Just after the long hand is on the twelve and the short hand is on the nine, the guy in charge of the party tells us it’s bed time. I already had my shower, so I go back to me and Matthew’s room with Zoe. She stays outside until I’m changed into my PJs and tells me, “No stories if you pretend to be dressed but you’re actually naked.”
(Matthew is still away.)
“Are you decent?” says Zoe.
“Yep,” I answer, and it’s the truth because I want stories. Also, now I know that decent means 'clothes.' She climbs into bed while I choose three small-ish books from the shelf, then I jump over her and into my space beside the wall. She starts to read, but I stop her.
“Zoe,” I say, “Where does my Mom live now?”
“I don’t know,” she answers. “I tried calling her but she won’t pick up the phone.”
“Who takes care of Aurora?” I wonder.
“I’m not sure about that. I know she was living with a relative for a while, but I think your mom planned on keeping her,” Zoe tells. “I know she doesn’t live with Jacob, though.”
“I want the baby to be safe,” I explain. “I hope Mommy do’s a better job growing her up than her did with me and Grey. She only keeped us both until we were six, so she better not give ‘Rora away when her is six. Kids are supposed to need their moms.”
Zoe kisses me on the head, and I don’t wipe it off. She doesn’t say anything for a while, then says, “You are brave, Dallas. Even though you don’t have your mom, you have me, Alicia, and Dr. Martinez. You have people who love you.”
“But you’re going home soon,” I say. “You’ll forget me again.”
“I’ll never forget you, Dallas. Your name is written on my heart forever,” she tells, and I wonder what that means. “I won’t be here for you, in person, every day. But I will leave you Cinnamon, and I’ll write you letters. You can call me any time Alicia agrees—and I will visit you again in a couple of months.”
She didn’t do any of those things when I got here, and I wonder if she’s telling the truth. “Do you promise?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says, squeezing my hand.
“Why do you need to go home, anyway?” I whine.
“Well, I have a job so I can make money to live. And...I have someone very special in San Francisco. He’s a grown up man, one I love very much,” she explains. Yuckkkkk, Zoe is in love! I get a bit scared that him will steal all her kisses and she won’t have any left for my head.
“Who is him?” I say, sitting up with my hands on my hips.
“Ezra.”
“How many candles does he have?”
“Twenty-three.”
“You’re more numbers than him,” I tell.
“I really am,” she smiles all big.
“Bring him next time, OK?” I say.
Zoe agrees, then I get her to start reading the stories. But it’s so late, and I’m so tired, I hardly hear anything other than Zoe’s heartbeat as I fall asleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Grey’s Good Garden
[I see you.]
I’m heading home on the red-eye tonight; stoked to see Ezra, but nervous to leave Dallas. The new year is three days young and blissfully meltdown-free. He hasn’t peed his pants for four days now, either (here’s hoping he stays dry for the new year). Knee deep snow piles outside the guest house, and I have to call Luis to shovel the snow so I can get out the door. Part of me is hoping the flight is delayed by the weather, but most of me was ready to leave the minute I arrived. I’ve made peace with the idea of Starlight House, and I’m truly glad to see Dallas here. This is the best place for him to grow.
Yesterday the house hairdresser came by, and Dallas had his wild mop shorn. We had him pick the style from a magazine, because giving choices is imperative for a child like Dallas, who’s had everything chosen for him. This morning he greets me with a short back and sides, fading to a longer top with a side part and long bangs. He’s had tracks cut on the sides of his hair like lightning bolts, and I laugh, because that’s what you get when you ask a six-year-old what kind of haircut he wants. Dallas is a step closer to being more of himself, and that’s all that matters.
The ban on stable visits has been lifted, and today we finally get to hang out with Arrow and Lester. On the plus side, we have a ratio of two adults to one child, which seems appropriate for Dallas. We play a game on the way to the stables, which is fun for him, and imperative for us.
“Go!” Alicia yells, and Dallas runs.
“Stop!” I scream, and he stops. Just like obedience training for dogs, we’re testing his ability to comply with directions, even though we know he’s a wild cannon during a meltdown. I tell him to go this time, because Alicia should be the one getting him to stop. Goodness knows she’ll be saying it a whole lot over the next year.
Dallas’s face lights up at the sight of Arrow, and I swear he looks brighter today. He stands a little straighter; he smiles a little wider, he breathes a little deeper.
Truthfully, so do I.
[I see red.]
I run to the acorn, and put it in my pocket before anyone sees. I have a plan for this little guy—something real special.
“Arrow is the brown one with the arrow shape white bit on him’s nose,” I explain, because Zoe has never ever seen these horses before. “Lester is black and white, and I have no clue why him’s called that name.”
I climb on
the fence to pet Arrow. He’s gentle and kind, and he lets me kiss his nose.
“Yuck, Dallas,” Zoe says with her face all screwed up. “You probably shouldn’t kiss horses.”
“But I love him,” I say. “You kiss my head because you love me, and I kiss Arrow’s head because I love him. That’s what kisses are for.”
Anyway, I wipe off my mouth because her meaned that horses have germs. I show Zoe around and we feed the horses some carrots. We stay for a hundred years, then it’s time for lunch.
[I see you.]
I sit across the lunch table from Dallas, as he scarfs his chicken, rice, and vegetables. I can barely believe he’s eating such healthy food, and Alicia can hardly believe he’s eating so much. We roll with it, crossing our fingers that this progress continues.
“Did you like them horses?” he sputters, with a piece of rice flying out of his mouth.
“I loved them, thanks for taking me to the stables,” I say.
“Will you miss them when you go home?” he tests.
“Not as much as I’ll miss you,” I smile. He smiles too. With only a few precious hours left together, I wonder how we can keep things as meltdown-free as possible. I’ll put him to bed tonight, and in the morning, Alicia’s on her own.
“What should we do this afternoon?” I ask.
“I have a plan,” he replies with an eyebrow raised. History tells me I should be wary of Dallas’s plans.
[I see red.]
I eated the proteins, also the rice. Now I grab Zoe and Alicia’s hands and take them outside. Them are freaking out because them don’t know what’s about to happen.
“Dallas, where are we going?” Alicia says. Next, we’re at a garden which is dirt and nothing else is in it. I take the acorn out of my pocket and open up my hand.