Within just days, Roger was back at the orphanage doing exactly as he had done in the hospital—lying on his bed, staring blankly at the wall, feeling nothing but waves of fear and shame ebbing across his brain. Eleanor checked on him often. But he wouldn't interact much with her at all. It seemed that even the biscuits had lost their magic touch on him. He was stone-cold, flat, and deeply, deeply broken. It was obvious to Eleanor that he was at the very beginning of a steep decline in his emotional and mental state—something that had to be corrected before things took a turn for the worse.
It had now been several months since Roger had come to the orphanage's care after being released from the asylum. Eleanor was very fond of him, more than she thought she'd ever be, simply because he had a lot to overcome but had the will inside of him to do so. However now…it was almost as if he'd been struck by a bolt of depression and was robbed of all inhibition. He'd made so much progress. And yet now it was as if he fully regressed and went into a guarded, fearful state permanently.
It wasn't often that he actually got more than a few hours' sleep, but when his body would finally shut down and force itself to rest, Eleanor would quietly observe him all tucked away in his bed. He slept curled in a tight ball, hugging himself, sometimes absently stroking his own hair unconsciously to self-soothe. She could tell when the voices in his head would command him to do things because his eyes would half-open abruptly but then fall closed at the realization that there was no one actually speaking. He'd lost even more weight than he'd started with, which wasn't much. His cheeks were hallowed, his eyes dark and heavy, his chest fractionated by prominent ribs encapsulated by pale skin. He was refusing almost every meal now—she couldn't remember the last time he actually ate more than a few bites off his plate.
And the crying.
That's what would break her heart the most.
When she'd see him curled up upon himself, letting out silent sobs alone in a corner of the dormitory, or in the bath when no one was around. The way he shook as he cried, the way he'd look at his hands or his body with such disgust and apathy and hatred. Seeing this intense emotion from such a young child made Eleanor feel helpless—she couldn't imagine what he was feeling and trying to rationalize and work through in his young mind. This in turn made her very angry as well, because she hated knowing that the world turned its back on someone like Roger because of preconceived notions or assumptions about him—that he was insane, that he didn't understand or process what people were saying to him, that his deafness equated him to having a purposeless life and that he wouldn't be able to ever function normally. The world had literally given up on a child. It wanted a twelve-year-old boy to rot away until he gave in to whatever madness it was that they claimed he was possessed by. There would be no justice for him. No kindness shown. He was damned, and sadly enough, he was beginning to know it too.
Eleanor was pondering his current state as she sat at her desk shortly after dinnertime one evening—another meal that Roger hadn't even touched. She glanced down at a file of papers that she'd been given earlier that day from her supervisor, the director of the orphanage. The director had mentioned that since it had been more than six months of Roger's existence (the wording itself made her cringe) in the orphanage and he hadn't been taken for fostering by any family and was deemed a medical "risk" due to his psychiatric and physical conditions, he would have to be permanently marked as "unadoptable", making him a permanent ward of the state until he became an adult and was emancipated. The papers on Eleanor's desk were exactly what she needed to fill out to make this official. She didn't want to do it. She firmly believed that every orphaned child had a home that they belonged to, even if they hadn't found it yet. But it was true—Roger had never even been considered by any families that had come looking.
The telephone rang on her desk, slightly startling her out of her tired trance-like state of emotions. Briefly, Eleanor considered not answering the call in fear that it would be the director of the orphanage demanding her to sign away a boy's life, hopes, and dreams without any further hesitation. But as the receiver clattered on the hook with each buzz, she realized that she couldn't just escape this issue without a scratch. Drawing a deep breath, Eleanor picked up the phone. "Hello there?" she asked.
"Hi, this is Dr. David Bell and I'm calling to speak with a Miss Eleanor Reaves?"
"Yes, speaking. Dr. Bell? From Sampson Hospital?"
"Ah, Eleanor, it's you. Yes, yes, Roger's doctor while he was here for um…the…mumps."
"Yes sir, it's good to hear from you. May I ask why you needed me? It's been some time since we were there."
"Yes, its…not necessarily about Roger's health, per se, but…I just…alright, I'm going to be completely honest. But Roger's case was so interesting and was on my mind for so long even after I was no longer treating him. I couldn't get him off my brain. I'd often go home talking incessantly about it and about him and…my wife was always there to listen. And I suppose that over time…she came to know Roger almost as well as I did without even having met him. She's very good at that, you know. She's keen on picking up people's personalities and emotions. Anyway…it's…been some time since I've seen Roger. And just a few weeks ago, she told me that she missed hearing my stories about him when I'd return home from work. It turns out that…apparently she'd just completely fallen for him."
"For Roger? Does she know about…everything with him?"
"She's fascinated by it all. She had a sister who was deaf as well and knows all about communication with the deaf and dumb, she's an excellent homemaker with the largest heart of anyone I've ever met and…she understands some of the struggles that come with deteriorated mental health." At this, Dr. Bell paused for a moment. Eleanor restrained herself from filling the silence and instead waited for him to return to the phone. He spoke quieter this time, lower. "She's always wanted to have children. We both always have. It's…been challenging for her to conceive and carry a pregnancy though, with everything that's going on in her body. I'm afraid she's…she's not well. Not particularly plagued by anything physical, but more of a mental perception of herself. No matter what she does, wears, uses—she always sees herself as heavy. My darling is bone-thin and the most beautiful woman in the entire world…yet she hates herself. She's lost so much weight that her body can't hold a pregnancy. So years ago we discussed the prospect of adopting children instead. Roger's…a bit of an older child…but that doesn't mean anything. She has her heart set on him for so many reasons."
"Has…Has she…had to go to an asylum for this disorder as well?"
"I prevented it. She doesn't leave the home much because she's quite afraid of the stares she'll get from people who want her locked away for not being able to even eat right. But I won't let her go to one of those places where they do more harm than good for those with the most need for love and care. You know those are my honest feelings because I wouldn't let them take Roger, even when he was having episodes in the pediatric wing under my care."
"Are you…looking to take Roger in?"
"We would absolutely do everything in our power to make that happen. I told my wife that I would call to inquire about the process, but I just don't want to get her hopes dashed again."
"Dashed? Why would her hopes be dashed?"
"…We've been married for eight years. We've been down the adoption road before. But as soon as anyone meets her in an interview and determines that she is suffering from a psychiatric condition, they deem her as 'unfit for motherhood'. Which couldn't be any farther from the truth."
"Believe me, I know what those labels can do to a person's entire future."
"She's the epitome of a saint. Gracious, loving, giving, devoted, a true angel on earth. However they see one tiny surface flaw and completely toss her aside for any opportunity of achieving her dream of motherhood, my dream of fatherhood. But that's where I need to ask for your help. Is there any way…that we could perhaps work together, you and I, to get this needy child into the arms of a couple who knows him and cares for him so deeply already, even though the couple may not be the picture of the perfect modern family? Could you…help us?"
Eleanor glanced down at the file on her desk. Unadoptable. How could anyone deem this child unadoptable when he had a perfectly kind and understanding family ready to take him in at the drop of a hat? How could anyone deem a woman who simply didn't view herself as 'enough' to be unfit for motherhood? Who were these great judges of society that decided these labels for people like Roger or for Dr. Bell's wife? She let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "We'll have to be so careful," she whispered into the phone. "One wrong move and your wife or Roger could be sent away to an institution. But…I think we can do this. We'll just need…we'll just need to be sure we keep everything as quiet as possible until the very last moment when nothing can be undone." On the other end of the phone, she heard the doctor breathe a sigh of relief, followed by a small sniffle. "Where can I start the application process?" he asked. Eleanor smiled.