by Mike Hopper
Dr. Klesel didn’t say anything.
“You know what things.” Olivia raised her voice, “I’m telling you what things. You’re not listening to me.”
“You’re talking in generalizations.”
“No, I am not.”
“You’re all over the place.”
“I’m explaining things.”
Dr. Klesel listened.
“I’m telling you that my children are making my life a walking, breathing, hellish nightmare and they’re both individually and collectively driving me nuts. I’m serious. I think they want to kill me.”
“That’s a very strong statement.”
“It’s true.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Samantha Leigh and Steuart James have morphed from sweet little angels into scary little monsters. They look normal to you and they look normal to everyone else, but there is nothing normal about the way they’ve been carrying on these past weeks. Underneath everything, they are wild children possessed by demons. They waited for me to adopt them just so they could ruin my life.”
“Do you honestly believe…?”
“I do. They’re trying to kill me.”
“No hyperbole? No sarcasm?”
Olivia shook her head.
“Perhaps you’re overly tired.”
“I’m exhausted. I’m not feeling well today.”
“And you’re worried about Steuart?”
“Of course, I’m worried about Steuart, but he’s being taken care of. I’m the one carrying the load. Samantha Leigh and Steuart James are the stressors in my life that are going to finish me off early. I won’t make it to forty. I know it. My adopted children are killing me with stress.”
Dr. Klesel stared at Olivia.
She nodded vigorously, “They are. I’m serious.” She shook her head, “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“That. You think I’m exaggerating.”
“I do.”
“I’m not. Okay, maybe a little bit. Maybe I’m exaggerating to a degree, but that doesn’t alter the facts. Samantha Leigh and Steuart James know how to behave, but they refuse. I continually tell them what they need to do. I drill these things into them every single day. I spend hour upon hour teaching them how to act properly, but they roll their eyes and refuse to listen. I’m getting exactly nowhere. I’m accomplishing nothing.”
“Perhaps Sam and Steuart need an opportunity to be children.”
“They are children. They are badly behaved, uncontrollable children who refuse to listen. No one listens to me. I’m begging for your help. There are people in the world with children who not only manage, but also thrive as they maintain a normal, peaceful, and loving existence. Why can’t I be one of those people?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you. Why can’t my life be all perfectly wrapped up and tied with a beautiful bow like a lot of other people I know? I always put my best foot forward. Why do these things always happen to me?” Olivia stopped. “Don’t say it.” She stood and moved towards the door.
Dr. Klesel waited.
Olivia returned to the sofa and sat down. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m having a rough day. I feel like you are making everything much harder than it has to be.”
“What do you feel like I’m doing?”
“My children need help now. Why do you refuse to give them medication?”
“They don’t need medication.”
“I want my children fixed.”
“You continue telling me that the children are broken and that I need to repair them; that they need medication.”
“So, you are hearing me?”
“Your children are not machines.”
“Steuart James has a broken arm.”
“I feel certain that his attending physician has prescribed medication for his arm. Would you like for me to talk with him? I’ll be happy to give him a call. What’s his name?”
I’m not asking for medication for Steuart’s arm. I’m asking for medication for his broken behavior. Broken behavior is your responsibility.”
“Olivia, medication is not going to repair your children’s behavior. We go through this every time you’re here. Their actions are symptoms. They are not the problem.”
Olivia shook her head.
“The encouraging news is that parents can be trained.”
“Oh, great. Here we go again. I don’t know what you’re getting at. I continue to tell you that I do not need training. I do not need to be taught how to be a good parent. I am a good parent. You talk about training. You want to teach me things that I already know. For some incomprehensible reason you not only refuse to prescribe medications for my children, but you also think that dolls are the answer to our problems. I don’t get it.”
“What’s confusing you?”
“Dolls—dolls are confusing me. Dolls are not going to fix our problems. I don’t understand why you encourage my children to play with those ridiculous things.” Olivia pointed to her chest, “It’s my responsibility as their only participating parent to choose the toys that my children play with. Why do you continue wasting my valuable time and money with dolls?”
“You’ve not been charged for the dolls. You know that. I’d like to know why you find the dolls so repulsive.”
Olivia stared towards the door.
“If you were here more frequently, we could talk about this in greater depth. These are issues that we need to address and explore.”
“They’re repulsive.”
“What do you find repulsive? Why are you so focused on the dolls?” Dr. Klesel stared at Olivia, “What is it about them that upsets you?”
“I’m not upset. I don’t like them. Is there a written rule that says I have to like everything?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“So, I do not like the dolls. That’s it. I don’t like them.”
“Why don’t you want your children to have relationships with anyone other than you?”
“What? Where did that come from?”
Dr. Klesel reached for the water bottle on his side table. “It appears that you may not want your children to have relationships with anyone other than you.” He unscrewed the cap and took a sip.
“Who are you? Where do you get off saying these sorts of things to me? Of course I want my children interacting with people. We’re not talking about people. We’re not talking about relationships. We’re talking about stupid, dirty, disgusting, nasty toys. Toys and people are not the same thing. How do you make the leap?”
“Why are you so upset?”
“I am not upset!” Olivia balled her fist and began to shake as she put it against her teeth and bit down. “I’m asking that you do something other than provide toys for my children—toys that I do not find appropriate, or stimulating.”
“Why do you feel so strongly about the dolls?”
“I don’t know.”
Dr. Klesel waited.
“I don’t like them.” Olivia looked away.
“What do you dislike about them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your reaction seems a bit intense not to know.”
“I don’t like them.”
“If you knew, what might it be?”
“That is a ridiculous question.”
“Not when you’re blocking—I think you know.”
“I don’t.”
“Olivia, the dolls allow your children an opportunity to practice relationships with others. They need the experience. This is safe and healthy for them.”
“I can teach my children how to behave. I can teach them how to interact with others. They do not need dolls for that. My handbook teaches everything they need to know about functioning properly in our society.”
“Handbooks don’t provide practical experience. The dolls provide Samantha and Steuart with an opportunity to play, practice, and apply ideas. They need this.” Dr. Kles
el took another sip of water, looked at Olivia and asked, “Don’t you want your children to have relationships with people other than you?”
“Dr. Klesel, you are insulting me.” Olivia looked at her feet, “Of course I do.”
“Then, what is your problem with the dolls?”
There was a long silence before he repeated his question, “What is your problem with the dolls?”
“I don’t like them.”
“Okay,” he nodded, “You don’t like them. Tell me the first thing that comes to mind. What exactly do you dislike?”
“I, I, I,” Olivia stuttered. “They’re extremely unattractive.”
“What else?”
“They look rough around the edges. The workmanship is poor. I prefer handmade items that are perfectly crafted, finely crafted. I want my children to be exposed to fine quality. Perfection is our goal in all that we do. We are intended to strive for perfection.”
“Who defines perfection?”
“Right, Good and Appropriate. It’s all there. You should read it. When I create something for my children, I make sure that everything is perfectly matched and perfectly stitched. I’ve told you all of this before. If I make something and it is not one hundred percent right, I will take it apart and begin again. I do not take it partially apart—I am telling you that I take it completely apart. I handle everything in my life the same way whether I’m at home or at work. No matter what I’m doing, I continue until I have an end product that is perfect.”
“This is a recurring theme with you.”
Olivia nodded.
“It’s very important?”
“Certainly,” Olivia relaxed. “I believe it is impossible to live life properly unless one follows all the rules. We get one shot at this. There is no room for error. Perfection is my personal benchmark. It dictates everything that I attempt. If I take on a responsibility, or accept an assignment, I do it only after I am certain that I can do it correctly. I’m doing my best to pass this philosophy along to my children. Those dolls are an insult to my value system and to all the things I hold dear. There is nothing uniform about the dolls.”
“Life is not uniform. People are not perfect.”
“Of course, I know that, but these dolls are beyond imperfect.”
“What do you mean?”
“They remind me of something my mother would make.”
“What about your mother?”
Olivia stiffened, “We’re not going to talk about my mother today.” She shook her head, “No, I’m not going there.”
“Why not?”
“You are not about to make this all about me. I know where you’re heading.”
“Where’s that?”
“This is an attempt to pressure me into scheduling extra appointments.” She raised her voice, “Listen to me. Hear what I am saying to you. I am not here to pay for your new sports car, nor am I here to finance your next exotic vacation. I am here because of my dear, troubled, children. I am here because I want you to help them.” She looked towards the clock, “Is our time up?”
“We have a few more minutes.”
“I say it is. Dr. Klesel, our time is up for today.”
* * *
Trista was napping comfortably on Sam’s bed when Olivia burst into the room. “I’m going to have a talk with that girl.” Olivia turned off Sam’s bedside lamp. “Maybe I should insist she pay for electricity.” Ed sat on the windowsill watching the snowfall. Olivia watched Trista, “Dr. Klesel may be brilliant, but he has no idea what he’s talking about as far as you go. I know what you are, but I don’t understand what he’s trying to do. Doll therapy is a joke. How dare he suggest that I have issues with my mother.” Olivia picked Trista up, waved her around and then pulled her in close. “That man has no idea with whom he is dealing.”
Olivia stared at Trista. “You are, without question, the ugliest thing I have ever seen in my life and you do look like some pathetic piece of garbage that my mother would throw together.” She dropped Trista onto the bed. Trista didn’t move. “Why does he want my children to have dolls like you? How can you make anything better? I have a child in the hospital with a broken arm. You stupid dolls did nothing to keep that from happening. Practice relationships with dolls? The last thing they need is to practice relationships with trash. You should be locked away.” Olivia looked at Trista, “ick.” She reached down, picked the doll up again and squeezed tightly before drawing back, and, with full range of motion, throwing her into the bathroom. Trista hit the tile and screamed on impact. Olivia stood shocked.
Ed sat helplessly as Olivia rushed into the bathroom. Trista’s head was crushed—the entire left side of her skull was broken. Olivia sank to the floor, “What have I done now?” She looked at the mess, “I broke you stupid doll. I was correct about your crappy construction.” She took a deep breath, “My daughter will be a wreck.” Olivia began picking up the pieces, “I can do this. I’ll repair you.” She studied the mess. “No, I can’t. Mother could do this.” Ed sat stunned.
“Pull yourself together,” Olivia lectured herself. “You’re upset and emotional because of Steuart’s accident. I can’t believe that I did this. What’s wrong with me?” She sat on Sam’s bed and stopped herself as she began to cry. She took another deep breath and began again. “Pull yourself together. This was an accident. You didn’t do it on purpose. Who are you kidding?” She shook her head as she spoke to Trista, “This wasn’t my fault.” She took a deep breath, stood in front of the bathroom mirror, pulled a tissue from the box, and wiped her eyes. She studied her reflection. “Stupid doll. This is about Steuart’s accident and your visit to Dr. Klesel.” She looked down at Trista. “I think that man has a lot of nerve upsetting me on such a stressful day. He should have been supportive. He put me in this frame of mind. This is his fault—not mine. I’ll see to it that Samantha Leigh understands. All I’ve done is make the world a neater and cleaner place.”
Olivia forced another deep breath, turned sideways, and straightened her clothes. She straightened her hair. “It was a doll of no value—a silly, useless, toy.” She checked her hair once more, “What is Dr. Klesel going to say?” She checked her teeth, “Why do I even care what he thinks? It serves him right. What would Right, Good, and Appropriate advise?” Olivia sighed, “It would tell me that I am the mother in charge. Crap. I hope Harry doesn’t try to charge me.” She picked at her teeth, “Just let him try. I’ll have a word for him. I’ll fire him. It was a toy. It was an accident. I don’t care what he says. He works for me. The point is that I can fire him anytime I decide it’s in the best interest of my family. Maybe that’s what I should do. Fire Dr. Klesel—it was just a doll.”
“She wasn’t just a doll,” Ed whispered through his tears.
Olivia went into the kitchen and returned with a dustpan and broom. She swept up the broken pieces and dropped them into a plastic bag. She laid the bag on Sam’s dresser before leaving for the hospital.
Ed wept.
* * *
Ceil walked into Steuart’s hospital room. “Hey you, how are you feeling?”
“Ceil, I broke my arm. I had an operation.”
“I know.”
“They put metal pens in my arm,” Steuart pointed to the spot.
“That’s what I heard.”
“You knew? How did you know?”
“I ran into Mr. Felphul at the grocery store. He told me about your accident. That must've been scary.”
“I don't know. It happened too fast.”
“How does it feel now?”
“It hurts bad sometimes, but not so much. It’s already feeling better.”
“I brought you a surprise. I hope you like it. I tried to find something extra special.” Ceil handed Steuart a wrapped box that he quickly opened.
“Captain Crandall Comics! This is great. He’s my favorite! Did you know that Captain Crandall is the greatest superhero of all time?”
Ceil smiled, “I think I heard that somewhere
. You’ll let me read it when you’re finished?”
“Of course I will. I’ll be happy to share. I’ll even read it to you if you like.”
“Perfect,” Ceil looked around the room. “Where’s Sam? Where’s your mom? Are you here alone?”
“Mother had an appointment. She’ll be back in a while. Sam’s here, but she’s off exploring.”
“That’s okay. You’re the person I came to visit. I’m so sorry to hear about your accident.”
“Why are you sorry? It wasn’t your fault.”
“Because you’re my friend and I never like seeing bad things happen to the people I care about.”
After a while, Ceil stood up to leave, “I’m sorry that I missed your mother and Sam. I’ll try to get back over here tomorrow. Do you know when you’ll be going home?”
“Maybe tomorrow but they said it depends….”
“On what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry about any of that. You just need to concentrate on feeling better. Can I get anything for you before I leave?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking. I think I’m going to sleep for a while before I read my new comic books.”
“Good idea—sweet dreams. I’ll call tomorrow before I head over.”
THIRTEEN
Steuart was unable to ride his bike with a broken arm, but that didn’t keep him from getting out and having fun with his sister. Sam borrowed an old purple, twin, child carrier from a neighbor. She hooked the thing up to her bicycle and put Sparky in the back for extra padding. Because he was small, pulling Steuart was a breeze. He sat eagerly in the carrier and held a rolled drawing for Ceil. He leaned next to Sparky, after carefully moving him to the side, “I don't want my pal to get squashed.”
Even with his broken arm, Steuart had great fun. He enjoyed riding in the carriage behind Sam’s bike while he pretended to be royalty from another world. He imagined himself busily surveying his personal kingdom. “Faster Sam.”
While she found Steuart’s imperious attitude a bit annoying, Sam also enjoyed the time with her brother. She was thankful he was out of the hospital with nothing more than a broken arm. If only things had been so good for Trista. Sam continued to grieve over Trista’s accident while keeping the information secret from Steuart. She and Ed had agreed that it was a bit early for Steuart to hear the bad news. Sam realized her brother was going to begin asking questions soon. While she looked forward to visiting with Ceil, Sam was also hoping for information. She was on a mission and needed to find a doll maker who could repair Trista.