Chapter Three
Penny set up an appointment for me for the very next day. I didn't want to go back at all, let alone so soon. Dr. Collins was nice enough; it was just that his house seemed to trigger a lot of memories for me. I used to think I wanted to know what had happened to me before I came to live with the Ferguson's but the more I remembered, the more I just wanted to forget.
Who was this Carrie girl? She looked a lot like me, had my curly blond hair and blue eyes. Her head was even slightly too big for her body just like mine.
Penny drove us home in silence. I think she was afraid of what I would do. I wondered if she wished she had never taken me into her home. I loved Penny and Craig, they were the only parents I could remember. Although I suspected that Cathy was my mother. But if that were true then why didn't I call her Mom?
Everything that happened just confused me further.
At home I went out to the stable to talk to Spunky. I often talked to him when I had a memory flashed. I had tried to talk to Penny about it when they first started but she didn't seem to want to hear about my former life. I knew I could never talk to Craig about it. He wasn't the kind of parent who liked to bond with his child. Maybe he would try harder if I were his real child.
"Hi Spunky," I said sitting down in the hay beside him. Penny would scold me for getting my clothes dirty but right now I just didn't care.
"I had a couple more memory flashes today at the doctors," I told him. He snorted and turned his face to me. I patted the top of his head and grabbed the horse brush from the shelf. He seemed to like it when I brushed him. His coat was very shiny; I had been out here a lot lately.
I hugged Spunky around the neck and got up from the ground. I had to go inside for supper. I knew what it would be like. I would sit there quietly, trying to ignore how the gravy had a weird red tinge to it. Trying to taste to delicious roast Penny had made instead of the cold fried chicken.
Suppertime had never been my favourite time of the day. I wanted it to be over as quick as possible so I took small portions and never had seconds. I was skinny for and eight-year-old. Sometimes I saw Penny looking at me at dinner as I picked at my food. I knew she was worried about me, and I hated doing that to her.
Craig came in for dinner tonight. He didn't ask about the doctor's appointment, I doubted he even knew about it. I loved Craig but we weren't close. I wasn't close to Penny either. She tried to bond with me. She took me to a movie once in awhile. We went to see one where two cartoon people were shipwrecked on a desert island and they didn't speak to anyone for months. It disturbed me a great deal and I cried for two days straight after that. Penny stopped taking me to the movies after that. I couldn't blame her. I was very temper mental; no one ever knew what would set me off or when. Not even me.
After dinner I went straight up to my room. I could feel Penny's eyes burning a hole in my back. I didn't want to go back to the doctor's office tomorrow. I was dreading it.
I sat at my desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside there was a black recorder. Last year in school my music class learned how to play them. I could play songs like Mary had a little lamb from the second I opened the case. I didn't need help learning the notes like the other kids.
Music helped me express my emotions. At least that was what my music teacher, Ms. Valentine told Penny. She said I had a natural gift for music and even said she would give me private lessons on the violin or the piano. I wanted to very much but Penny said no. She rarely said no to me but she didn't like music. She was strange that way. We didn't have a record player in the farmhouse and the old piano had a cover on it at all times. She never told me why she didn't like music, and I never asked. I only played the piano when she was out of the house and I thought I was teaching myself pretty well.
I wished sometimes that I had my own record player that I could listen to classical music on. Surely Penny wouldn't disapprove to that. Classical music was beautiful. My personal favourite was the Nutcracker. Whenever I heard it I saw a beautiful girl dancing in a pink tutu. She spun around on her toes and leaped across the attic. It was strange, but I never saw her dancing anywhere but in the attic. On the old wood of the floor where I sometimes got slivers.
I remember getting slivers and running down the stairs crying for my mother. The blond girl came and comforted me; she took the tweezers and pulled the tiny piece of wood out of my finger. Funny how something so small could cause pain so much bigger. I would look into her blue eyes, eyes the same as mine and ask, "Where's Momma?"
I snapped out of my reverie and I was back in my room at the Ferguson's.
"She wasn't my mother," I realized out loud.
Since I had remembered the beautiful ballerina who danced in the attic and fed me my supper I had believed that she was my mother. But she wasn't. I never saw my mother. It was like she only came to visit once in awhile. But how could that be true. Doesn't a mother want to be with her children as much as possible?
The ballerina is Cathy, I realized.
I gasped in surprise. I was remembering a lot today and I didn't know if I wanted it to go away or if I wanted to remember more. I was torn between the good and evil of my memories. Some of them were so frightening that I wanted to get so sick again that I would never remember any of it again. But some things I wanted to cherish in my memory forever. Like the little girl who looked like me. Her soft blond hair and how protective we were of eachother. I hoped I would never forget her.
Every night since Carrie's face had shown up in my dreams, I would pray that I would see her again. I knew somehow that we loved eachother more that life itself and both of us would do anything to save the other.
I prayed to dream about her again. I wanted to dream about the beautiful ballerina and my blond protector. But somehow I felt like something was still missing. It had taken me a long time to remember Cathy and Carrie and I still only had parts of memories. Who was the tall, lean shadow who stood behind Cathy in my dreams. He had his hand on her shoulder. His face was a dark shadow and when I tried to think of his name I drew a blank.
I knew he was important. I could tell he would protect any one of us with his life. He would rather die himself than see anything bad happen to any of us, especially Cathy. Sometimes in my dreams he would be reading a book. I saw him stretched on a bed with his nose buried inside an encyclopedia, but his face was always a dark shadow. I wanted to remember him. It made me feel safe to think of him watching over me.
I lay in bed that night, holding my recorder to my chest. I suddenly felt good about going back to see Dr. Collins. I wanted to remember everything, I decided; the good and the bad, because you can't have happiness without first going through the hard part. I couldn't learn from my mistakes if I couldn't remember them, and I wanted to learn.
Penny set up an appointment for me for the very next day. I didn't want to go back at all, let alone so soon. Dr. Collins was nice enough; it was just that his house seemed to trigger a lot of memories for me. I used to think I wanted to know what had happened to me before I came to live with the Ferguson's but the more I remembered, the more I just wanted to forget.
Who was this Carrie girl? She looked a lot like me, had my curly blond hair and blue eyes. Her head was even slightly too big for her body just like mine.
Penny drove us home in silence. I think she was afraid of what I would do. I wondered if she wished she had never taken me into her home. I loved Penny and Craig, they were the only parents I could remember. Although I suspected that Cathy was my mother. But if that were true then why didn't I call her Mom?
Everything that happened just confused me further.
At home I went out to the stable to talk to Spunky. I often talked to him when I had a memory flashed. I had tried to talk to Penny about it when they first started but she didn't seem to want to hear about my former life. I knew I could never talk to Craig about it. He wasn't the kind of parent who liked to bond with his child. Maybe he would try harder if I were his real child.
"Hi Spunky," I said sitting down in the hay beside him. Penny would scold me for getting my clothes dirty but right now I just didn't care.
"I had a couple more memory flashes today at the doctors," I told him. He snorted and turned his face to me. I patted the top of his head and grabbed the horse brush from the shelf. He seemed to like it when I brushed him. His coat was very shiny; I had been out here a lot lately.
I hugged Spunky around the neck and got up from the ground. I had to go inside for supper. I knew what it would be like. I would sit there quietly, trying to ignore how the gravy had a weird red tinge to it. Trying to taste to delicious roast Penny had made instead of the cold fried chicken.
Suppertime had never been my favourite time of the day. I wanted it to be over as quick as possible so I took small portions and never had seconds. I was skinny for and eight-year-old. Sometimes I saw Penny looking at me at dinner as I picked at my food. I knew she was worried about me, and I hated doing that to her.
Craig came in for dinner tonight. He didn't ask about the doctor's appointment, I doubted he even knew about it. I loved Craig but we weren't close. I wasn't close to Penny either. She tried to bond with me. She took me to a movie once in awhile. We went to see one where two cartoon people were shipwrecked on a desert island and they didn't speak to anyone for months. It disturbed me a great deal and I cried for two days straight after that. Penny stopped taking me to the movies after that. I couldn't blame her. I was very temper mental; no one ever knew what would set me off or when. Not even me.
After dinner I went straight up to my room. I could feel Penny's eyes burning a hole in my back. I didn't want to go back to the doctor's office tomorrow. I was dreading it.
I sat at my desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside there was a black recorder. Last year in school my music class learned how to play them. I could play songs like Mary had a little lamb from the second I opened the case. I didn't need help learning the notes like the other kids.
Music helped me express my emotions. At least that was what my music teacher, Ms. Valentine told Penny. She said I had a natural gift for music and even said she would give me private lessons on the violin or the piano. I wanted to very much but Penny said no. She rarely said no to me but she didn't like music. She was strange that way. We didn't have a record player in the farmhouse and the old piano had a cover on it at all times. She never told me why she didn't like music, and I never asked. I only played the piano when she was out of the house and I thought I was teaching myself pretty well.
I wished sometimes that I had my own record player that I could listen to classical music on. Surely Penny wouldn't disapprove to that. Classical music was beautiful. My personal favourite was the Nutcracker. Whenever I heard it I saw a beautiful girl dancing in a pink tutu. She spun around on her toes and leaped across the attic. It was strange, but I never saw her dancing anywhere but in the attic. On the old wood of the floor where I sometimes got slivers.
I remember getting slivers and running down the stairs crying for my mother. The blond girl came and comforted me; she took the tweezers and pulled the tiny piece of wood out of my finger. Funny how something so small could cause pain so much bigger. I would look into her blue eyes, eyes the same as mine and ask, "Where's Momma?"
I snapped out of my reverie and I was back in my room at the Ferguson's.
"She wasn't my mother," I realized out loud.
Since I had remembered the beautiful ballerina who danced in the attic and fed me my supper I had believed that she was my mother. But she wasn't. I never saw my mother. It was like she only came to visit once in awhile. But how could that be true. Doesn't a mother want to be with her children as much as possible?
The ballerina is Cathy, I realized.
I gasped in surprise. I was remembering a lot today and I didn't know if I wanted it to go away or if I wanted to remember more. I was torn between the good and evil of my memories. Some of them were so frightening that I wanted to get so sick again that I would never remember any of it again. But some things I wanted to cherish in my memory forever. Like the little girl who looked like me. Her soft blond hair and how protective we were of eachother. I hoped I would never forget her.
Every night since Carrie's face had shown up in my dreams, I would pray that I would see her again. I knew somehow that we loved eachother more that life itself and both of us would do anything to save the other.
I prayed to dream about her again. I wanted to dream about the beautiful ballerina and my blond protector. But somehow I felt like something was still missing. It had taken me a long time to remember Cathy and Carrie and I still only had parts of memories. Who was the tall, lean shadow who stood behind Cathy in my dreams. He had his hand on her shoulder. His face was a dark shadow and when I tried to think of his name I drew a blank.
I knew he was important. I could tell he would protect any one of us with his life. He would rather die himself than see anything bad happen to any of us, especially Cathy. Sometimes in my dreams he would be reading a book. I saw him stretched on a bed with his nose buried inside an encyclopedia, but his face was always a dark shadow. I wanted to remember him. It made me feel safe to think of him watching over me.
I lay in bed that night, holding my recorder to my chest. I suddenly felt good about going back to see Dr. Collins. I wanted to remember everything, I decided; the good and the bad, because you can't have happiness without first going through the hard part. I couldn't learn from my mistakes if I couldn't remember them, and I wanted to learn.
