get my clothes. Uncle Ricky went and got clothes for me like he know what I like to wear. He pick up some things and shove them in a bag. So what going to happen to the place now? I know we were renting it from Mr. George so I suppose he will take it back and rent it to someone else. In fact I heard the receptionist from the dentist office already asking if the place go be free soon because she looking for something in the area that not too expensive. Mummy not even bury yet and people want our home. And what going to happen to Boo-Boo? Nanny and Aunty Indra both hate dogs. Apparently Miss Celia looking after him for now. Lord you know how much I miss my puppy.
I am so mad at Mummy. She should have stayed under the shelter. It was raining too hard to know if it was a taxi from so far. She should have stayed under the shelter and see what it is when it reach us. And that stupid, stupid man. I know they sometimes have cows in the field near the shelter but how he could think Mummy was a cow? She wasn’t even fat. In the hospital the doctor said she died instantly. At least she didn’t feel the blood flowing from her head. But she had no right to die and leave me here alone. And to die without telling me who my father is make me so vex. How he going to find me now and take me home with him?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The endless nothing days at St. Anthony’s stretched out to ten weeks, shaped by therapy sessions and mealtimes. Bea saw others come and go, and was no longer surprised by who might join their ranks. A few from her original group were still there. Sarah was back home and seemed to have accepted she would not become a mother. She still attended sessions twice a week. Dave remained, slowly gaining weight and getting colour into his sallow cheeks. He looked less like a lost child. A Japanese diplomat joined them for two weeks. She never said much and rarely left her room, but it was understood that she had stopped taking her medication for manic depression and had suffered a difficult and public relapse. A college student entered their world for a few days plagued by obsessive, compulsive anxiety that was making it impossible to do his courses. His mother swooped in from Texas and took him home before anyone had made friends with him.
Bea still had days when the escape route of suicide would overwhelm her and she would be unable to leave her room. She gradually learnt to be grateful for the longer gaps between such days. New patients, unsure of the routines, found her quietly helpful. It gave her some fleeting self-worth, to be useful like this. She had more privileges now. She could go for walks in the grounds outside by herself, though the freezing conditions made that a redundant concession. The staff occasionally took patients at Bea’s stage of recovery for accompanied walks to the coffee shop nearby or the Wal-Mart for essentials that were not stocked by the on-site kiosk. She was allowed a laptop and cellphone.
But Bea was working up the courage to ask for another concession. She was ticking all the boxes – taking her medication, practising daily mindfulness, and taking her therapy seriously. It was time to put this progress into practice. When Dr. Payne came for one of his now twice-weekly visits she was ready. In spite of all the lines she had rehearsed the words tumbled out just minutes after he sat down.
‘So what do you think?’ she asked, anxiously searching his face for approval.
He looked at her for a long moment then smiled.
‘You have no idea what a big step this is. I’m really delighted for you.’
‘So I can go?’
‘Of course.’
It felt like Christmas in February. She was being allowed to go out on her own to have her hair done and walk around the shops. Her whole demeanour changed. She could not have been happier if she had been given a trip to the moon.
‘You’ll make sure the nurses know I have permission to go on my own?’ she asked.
‘I’ll do it right away.’
The
I am so mad at Mummy. She should have stayed under the shelter. It was raining too hard to know if it was a taxi from so far. She should have stayed under the shelter and see what it is when it reach us. And that stupid, stupid man. I know they sometimes have cows in the field near the shelter but how he could think Mummy was a cow? She wasn’t even fat. In the hospital the doctor said she died instantly. At least she didn’t feel the blood flowing from her head. But she had no right to die and leave me here alone. And to die without telling me who my father is make me so vex. How he going to find me now and take me home with him?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The endless nothing days at St. Anthony’s stretched out to ten weeks, shaped by therapy sessions and mealtimes. Bea saw others come and go, and was no longer surprised by who might join their ranks. A few from her original group were still there. Sarah was back home and seemed to have accepted she would not become a mother. She still attended sessions twice a week. Dave remained, slowly gaining weight and getting colour into his sallow cheeks. He looked less like a lost child. A Japanese diplomat joined them for two weeks. She never said much and rarely left her room, but it was understood that she had stopped taking her medication for manic depression and had suffered a difficult and public relapse. A college student entered their world for a few days plagued by obsessive, compulsive anxiety that was making it impossible to do his courses. His mother swooped in from Texas and took him home before anyone had made friends with him.
Bea still had days when the escape route of suicide would overwhelm her and she would be unable to leave her room. She gradually learnt to be grateful for the longer gaps between such days. New patients, unsure of the routines, found her quietly helpful. It gave her some fleeting self-worth, to be useful like this. She had more privileges now. She could go for walks in the grounds outside by herself, though the freezing conditions made that a redundant concession. The staff occasionally took patients at Bea’s stage of recovery for accompanied walks to the coffee shop nearby or the Wal-Mart for essentials that were not stocked by the on-site kiosk. She was allowed a laptop and cellphone.
But Bea was working up the courage to ask for another concession. She was ticking all the boxes – taking her medication, practising daily mindfulness, and taking her therapy seriously. It was time to put this progress into practice. When Dr. Payne came for one of his now twice-weekly visits she was ready. In spite of all the lines she had rehearsed the words tumbled out just minutes after he sat down.
‘So what do you think?’ she asked, anxiously searching his face for approval.
He looked at her for a long moment then smiled.
‘You have no idea what a big step this is. I’m really delighted for you.’
‘So I can go?’
‘Of course.’
It felt like Christmas in February. She was being allowed to go out on her own to have her hair done and walk around the shops. Her whole demeanour changed. She could not have been happier if she had been given a trip to the moon.
‘You’ll make sure the nurses know I have permission to go on my own?’ she asked.
‘I’ll do it right away.’
The
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