"The Secret Love of House"
House and all characters belong to Fox except Mallory. Mallory is NOT for public use without permission. I also do not own the "Transformers."
This is a first person point of view story. It's House's POV. He has a secret to share. This is one secret not even the Ducklings and Wilson aren't privy to.
Ahh yes. Thank God I don't have that dam clinic duty to do today. I have more important things to do. I'm off to a place where I try to go at least every day and if not every day, every other day. It's a place where a very special person in my life lives. No one but my parents knows about this special person. I've known this special person since she was born. In fact, she is my sister. I was twenty seven years old when she was born and my mom refers to her as a "change of life" baby. Perhaps. I never got into that theory though.
My mom wasn't real happy when she found out she was pregnant so late in life. I was happy. I figured I could have a sibling that loved me. I would raise this sibling. We'd be the best of buddies. I can safely say that we are the best of buddies to this day.
She was born during the great "Transformers" craze. Yes, even *I* was a fan of that unique, fascinating cartoon. It was pure genius to come up with ideas of trucks, planes and trains transforming into robots that sort of took human form. I begged my parents to allow me to name her. We came to a compromise. Mom would give her a first name and I would give her a middle name. OK. I could live with that. Back to the "Transformers." My favorite is an Autobot Aerial Gunner who was one of five "Technobots" and the Left Arm of the big robot "Computron." His name was Strafe and I thought he was cool! Actually, I have a Strafe in a collection of First Generation Transformers. I never got into the more updated fancy ones. I like the originals. I keep them tucked safely away because if anyone knew about them, I would probably be teased to the ends of the earth and back for being a fan. They just wouldn't understand being that they don't know about my sister.
What does this have to do with my sister? Well, a lot. My mom finally settled on a first name of Mallory. She told me had I been a girl when I was born, that was the name I would have been given. Cool. For some reason, I thought Strafe would go perfect with Mallory. It took some major doing but I finally convinced both my parents to allow me to give her the middle name Strafe. Mallory Strafe House. Man that has a nice ring to it! It is even on her birth certificate.
Very early in her life, she didn't develop just right. She had problems from the get-go. Major difficulties swallowing, no muscle tone, it was clear she couldn't see, many problems. Add the fact that her growth was seriously stunted, I swore to myself during the time she lived at home if my father EVER lifted a hand to her there would be SERIOUS and I mean SERIOUS hell to pay. It was bad enough he abused me as a child. I would NOT allow him to abuse her. My parents made a decision very early in her life that she would have to go to a special care facility because she required round the clock attention. She was all of 18 months old when they placed her in the Sunshine Facility, where they have taken excellent care of her. That was twenty years ago. Today, Mallory is no better off than she was when she left. She is now fed through a G-Tube in her stomach, she has been determined to be totally blind, profoundly retarded, cannot walk, talk, sit up by herself, isn't anywhere near toilet trained. But yet, her and I have a connection that cannot be denied.
She's about as big as a five year old so it makes it easy to hold her in our favorite spot, the rocking chair. I have her a nickname from her middle name and I am the only one who calls her by the name of "Strafer." When she's sitting up in her wheelchair, with the help of a shoulder harness attached to Velcro in the back of her chair or resting in her crib, she always comes to life when hearing my voice and the name "Strafer." I don't know where I came up with that but I did. It's now very special between us. She doesn't get many visits from mom and dad because they can't handle having a less than perfect child. We're kindred spirits, her and me. I love holding her, in the rocker, telling her about the idiots I encounter when I work the clinic, if I'm working on a puzzling case, I'll tell her about that too. She listens, responds with smiles and plenty of drool. I often wonder how much she takes in and understands. I know one thing. All my secrets are safe with her.
Sometimes, I take my guitar to play it gently for her. I taught myself a couple of nursery rhymes on it. Or, if I arrive later and it's close to her bedtime, I might play a lullaby or two on it and she falls off right to sleep. She's so angelic when she sleeps. She's my angel. She knows who loves her. And I as I leave, I make sure Strafe sits on her bedside table to watch over her through the night.