I pull open the heavy brown fire door, catching the slippery gold handle so the door doesn’t slam. It depends on the day. Sometimes I let it crash against the frame and feel the vibration ripple beneath my sneaker-clad feet like a miniature earthquake.
I slip immediately to the right and take the first white plastic chair against the wall. Direct line of sight to her office. The waiting room smells of new paint and freshly brewed coffee. Blue and grey waves swirl through the industrial carpet like the ocean floor, somehow both calming and faintly nauseating.
In the corner sits a water dispenser beside a small table holding tissues, herbal teas, instant coffee and a white orchid that I still can’t tell is real. One day I might pinch a leaf between my fingers just to know.
She appears between clients. Says hello. Pours coffee into a porcelain mug before beckoning me inside. Routine.
I sidle in through his door, afraid to make waves. She stands a reasonable distance to the side while I make my way to the three seater couch in front of the window. I settle back into the corner of the black couch, removing the white cushion from behind me and feeling the leather melt around me like a black hole. Heart pounding. Mouth dry. A frozen smile pasted on my made up face. Knees together, arms curled in on myself.
Her eyes look directly at me. Kind. So kind.
“What would you like my help with today?”
And then my mind abandoned the room entirely. Beyond the orchid and carpet and porcelain mug. Beyond her careful voice. Somewhere softer.
Pad, pad, pad, soft stockinged footsteps, darkness under my feet, melting to the shape of my foot. The walls begin remembering before I do.
***
Alone.
Hot and sticky. The weight of the woolen blankets drowns me in a swathe of material. I wiggle my small body upwards to try and escape them. Success. Then cold. Flailing limbs.
An emptiness begins to grow inside me. Hunger. Mewling, which escalates to a high-pitched scream. I am picked up, put down, picked up again. The echo of my own cries still ringing in my ears. Something comfortingly squishy shoved in my waiting mouth. Pursed lips. The drip, drip of warm liquid satiating my empty stomach. Then a warmth across my middle—pleasant, then cold. Unpleasant now.
The crying in my ears again. A cool draft, freedom, then containment. Muted cries. On my back in the bassinet. A familiar scent. Searching for it. A fluffy creature with glass eyes in the corner. Eyelids heavy now, drooping, then closed.
***
Moving.
I feel the cold hardwood beneath my feet. All ten toes pressing into the floor. My body rocking gently for take-off. Arms spread, brow furrowed in deep concentration. One foot, then the other. Success. Movement.
Looking for that soft creature. Hard landing. Wails reverberating in my ears. Waiting for arms. Still waiting. Picked up under my armpits and plonked down in my bed. The sound of the door closing. The echo of footsteps getting further away.
Bunny and I peered out through the rails of my crib, watching the light dance on the wall.
***
New red shoes.
Perfect blue overalls.
Running free.
Gravel crackling under my feet.
A fall, two scraped knees, one bloody nose. Tears flowing freely. Her warm breath in my face as she screams at me. Three steps backwards. Nowhere else to go. Clutching my bunny as I press myself against the wall. Knees stinging.
I gently dab the cold wet facecloth.
And push my blue overalls with the ripped knees to the back of the closet.
***
Older now.
Restless, tossing and turning, moonbeams streaming in through the slats of the blind, I welcome the light. It dilutes the darkness. Even if it comes with its own righteousness. Casting shadows like aspersions on the room and its occupant. Playing judge and jury with my innocence.
I shrug off the blankets and creep across the hallway. The door is slightly ajar as I maneuver my body inside.
I suck my left thumb furiously, my other hand clutching Bunny. Well—he used to look like a bunny. Now he is missing an ear, and the material is so worn from being carried around it is almost transparent. Still, he is my constant companion.
Suck. Suck. I pull my whole thumb into my mouth. The sound fills the room.
The air is stale. Beads of sweat form on my upper lip, tasting salt with my tongue. With an impatient sigh, I brush wisps of hair off my clammy forehead.
Beneath my feet the tiles feel blessedly cool. I shift my weight from side to side.
My focus is on the bed in front of me. The springs strain and groan under their weight. The slap of the headboard.
My gaze switches to what is happening above the bed—the cross lifting off the wall, perilously close to coming off completely.
Ah, I thought. This tiny Jesus with his tiny crown of thorns will save her. He will fall. Grant her a stay. A reprieve.
I wait and watch.
Nothing happens. The cross stays exactly where it is supposed to.
The sounds intensify. I stay to bear witness. A stiffening and then silence. Stifled tears, unmistakable to me—their mucousy wetness bridging the gap between us.
Before I slip out again through the crack in the door, I take Bunny and press him into her hand. A knowing look passes between us—mother and daughter.
***
Closer to her now.
The next morning, when all is quiet, I pad downstairs. Dirty dishes still in the sink. A vase on its side. Drip, drip, drip. Weeping.
I right the vase, then go upstairs in search of everyone else. My bedroom door stands open.
Bunny. In pieces. On my pillow.
I finger the soft material, bringing it to my face, inhaling the familiar scent. Downstairs, the commotion signals the start of the day. Gently I gather up all the pieces and place them in my drawer under my socks.
I pull on my favourite pants and blue jumper and go down for breakfast.
Alone again.
***
The room returns slowly. Her porcelain mug cooling between her hands. I drift towards the door.
“See you next week.”