"Dissociative Identity Disorder is the most extreme form of PTSD and is the result of the child's desperate attempt to survive and adapt to an overwhelmingly confusing and cruel world."
― Lynette S. Danylchuk
"Someone, to help with the kids? How many, now?" Rick was utterly confused on how many children were actually Michonne's and how many were supposedly her sister's Suzanne. The more Michonne spoke the more he couldn't make out what was really the actual number between the two of them.
"You are not listening, or your memory is feeble. For a moment I thought you were really sharp."
"Depends on if we are comparing it to Butter Knife or a Steak Knife. The blade is important, Chonne."
Michonne paused. She tipped her head to the side wondering how well known the saying was that her Uncle Charlie would often say to the kids around the dinner table for it to spill forth so freely from this man that allowed her to sit with him in first class on the flight from Chicago to Georgia.
"What?"
"What part of Georgia are you from?" Rick asked as if it made a difference. "I am asking a simple question, Michonne. You have referred to another child like he is your son."
"Does it matter if I am the one that they count on? I have a lot on my plate and when I get this flying behind me I have to think about finding time for maybe another job on top of the two I am working. The last thing I need is to work myself to death but I am willing to do it because-"
"So there is a last thing you need? For a minute I thought you had just 10 things."
"That list only had two things from me, Love and Patience. Based on that, it is All I need."
Rick fell silent. He wasn't sure why he was upset or fuming but he was and it was growing. He was pissed.
Kick. Kick.
"All I need." Michonne repeated more to herself than to anyone else.
"You have a long list of needs."
"That list is from my kids." Michonne reiterated.
"Who has that type of Penmanship?" Rick asked.
"Carlton."
"Carlton?"
"He is 10."
"I thought they've stopped teaching cursive in school?"
"Probably so. Uncle Charley makes sure they practice. He says if he had to suffer to not know how to read it they would suffer to know how to copy it."
"Uncle Charlie? He doesn't know how to read?"
"He says he doesn't know how. Granny says it is because he is lazy. She believes that everyone should know how to read but she doesn't read either, or at least I am very suspicious if she really knows how to read. If she knows I don't think she comprehends most of what she talks about that is in the bible, she carries with her where ever she goes."
"How do you go through life and not know how to read?" Rick said more to himself. Rhetorical. He wasn't expecting an answer to his question, but Michonne felt compelled to tell him how the story was relayed to her.
"Uncle Charlie said they had a colored school. He said he had a choice to go to school for book learning with a rumbling belly or work the yard with a rumbling belly. He said he rathered worked the yard than trying to decipher words by sounding them out when all you need to know is how to make an X for your name and arithmetic. Money can be added, subtracted and divided and the..."
Michonne trailed off realizing her audience was a white man and she didn't want him to think that her Uncle Charlie was racist even though Uncle Charlie didn't like white people because of their underhanded ways.
What her Uncle Charlie would say is that the White man always makes sure a black man can't multiply. He prevents legal gain by any means possible. He would go on to say that the white man really wanted the black man to understand subtraction and dividing. Adding, was ok because it was more for the white man to take away and only divide enough that they had the majority of the pie. She was glad that she caught herself because she was almost positive that she had a growing audience with the other people sitting close by to hear her and her window seat companion.
Rick felt the kick on the back of his seat again for the third time. He was calculating that it was purposeful. He turned his head to see through the tiny slit in between his place between the seats.
"Could you please not kick my seat?" Rick asked.
"I'm bored." The small voice declared as if it was a good reason to kick his seat.
"And you are rude."
Michonne turned her head to see the small blond hair girl sitting behind the man she was waiting to reveal his name. He had yet to do it and wondered if he wanted to be unknown if the plane went down and she was the only survivor.
"Excuse me?"
"You need to be yourself."
"You need to stop kicking his seat." Michonne shot back.
The glare that Michonne gave was enough for the girl to turn her attention entirely from Rick who was trying to unbuckle his seatbelt.
"Do you know how much trouble you would be in if we were on a cruise ship? What you are doing is walk the plank worthy. Striking a captain is not permitted."
"He's not a captain." The young girl declared.
Rick was finally able to hear the snap that indicated the release of his seatbelt but not before giving the woman next to him a quizzical look.
"He has two brains. He's thinking with one-"
"Where have you been raised?" Michonne gasped. "That is a wash your mouth out worthy comment, and bleach your eyes if you were living with my Granny."
"...you too."
"Two brains is impossible. Where's your guardian?" Rick asked the young girl after a quick look at the woman who was overly animated in her scolding hush tones to a child that neither one of them knew.
"You don't know you have two brains. A brain and a ghost brain."
"Ghost brain?"
"She's here. You can talk to her now." The young girl informed Rick.
"Who?" Rick asked.
"The lady that hides away. She's been sitting with you wondering when you were going to tell her your name. Her other brain won't tell her because that brain wants to keep you all to herself."
Rick glanced at Michonne and then back at the small person that sat behind him, "I have no idea about what you are talking about, but I would like for you to stop kicking my seat. Where're your parents?"
"My parents aren't here on the plane. They are in Georgia. I am with my chaperone. He is also my Agent. My parents are afraid to fly."
"Agent?"
"I was just on the show in Chicago. I'm kind of famous. My name is Judith. I can see colors, and I can hear thoughts. I can see some things before it happens but mostly I can see and hear."
"The lady at the airport today read my palms. She says I was going to find my kids a Daddy." Michonne came off as overly excited. "Can you tell me what he's thinking?" Michonne motioned to Rick.
"He's rude. He says he is going to drop you like a hot potato when the plane lands."
"What?"
Michonne watched Rick sit back in his seat. The look of guilt.
"He thinks he remembers you and he is furious at his other brain for tricking him to staying asleep while you trick him again."
The pain was back. It was sharp and sudden. The heaviness was in Michonne's chest.
"Alright. She's here. You can now talk it out before the plane lands in Georgia in 15 minutes.
"How many kids do we have, Chonne?"
"Maybe if you hung around you would know. Instead, you go off telling us that you are going to come back and you don't. You keep looking for your wife while we are real. She calls, and you run off to her. I will NOT call you by any other name, well maybe an asshole. I will call you an asshole because you are an asshole."
"You didn't answer my question, Chonne. How many kids do we have together?"
"Eight."
Rick kicked the seat in front of him. Luckily there wasn't anyone sitting in first class in the row in front of them.
"What the fuck?" He questioned everything.
Michonne could hear clearly his southern drawl. She was wondering how long he could last pretending to be someone that she didn't recognize. Suzanne was privy to the details unshared, but Michonne had to deal with all the nuances and the mess that was left behind by her alter.
His beard was distracting her so she had to look ahead.
"How in the hell did we come about having eight kids together, Chonne?"
"I have no idea, but I think, Sinclaire has a thing for chocolate."
"Or you must be really ridiculously good in bed to keep him coming back for more." Rick conceded. He had fragments. Just very brief glimpses of peering in through what was happening in his surroundings before fading out where his alter would take over and then push him forth to fix the mess that was created.
Her dark skin all over his body. His white skin all over her body. She riding him like a bronco and he flipping her over to give it to her like a stallion. He was aroused again. Damn it. He was sure of one thing he was going to have blue balls to play with if he didn't get a hotel room soon and then he remembered...
Michonne could hear the girl that was no more than 10years old endless giggles from the seat behind Rick.
"Change the channel in your brain we got someone that is enjoying thoughts not suitable for a child under the age 17."
"You and me, Michonne?"
"Promise you it is not me. I have standards and a preference believe it or not. If I had a choice it would be Mike hands down." Michonne didn't mince words. "I have no idea what would put me in a situation to have a child with you outside of a zombie apocalypse.
"Eight doesn't make a child, Chonne. We have children. I think my wife might have known about this. I think she found out at some point." Rick was struggling with Sinclaire to release more information. He didn't want to be in the dark any longer.
"Probably because I ended up on her doorstep. I wished in that moment I had all eight with me too. More of a dramatic effect."
"The hell?"
"Nothing was going to ever move things along if I didn't step in. I am tired of staying mostly silent on this issue. I have a voice in these matters and I am going to be heard." Michonne spoke decisively.
"Move things along? What do you want from me that I couldn't give you with me in California and you in Georgia?"
"Support. Financial would be nice. You visiting and helping would be even better. Not asking for much. You read the list. The kids aren't asking for much either."
"Oh my God Woman!"
"All I need."
...