Dedication (yes, another one): To Lissa, for loving even the bad parts.
Time passes quickly. But at the same time, it feels as though I am stuck forever in one moment in history, one chilling moment from my past.
They feel it too. There are more of them now, I can hear them… feel their presence, though they have yet to make themselves known to anyone but me.
Dr. Patterson, after our initial visit, instructed me to go out and buy a journal, to write in it everyday. To not think, and just let it flow. That's what I'm doing now, and like that day Fred drew the graphic pictures at Monty's disastrous party, I am aware only of the fact that my hand is moving, forming words. What these words are, however, is unknown to me, my conscious.
I'm drifting again, but I struggle for control. I can feel myself seeping to that back part of my mind, and on the way, I pass someone coming forward. We acknowledge each other, as one would any stranger, but no words are exchanged as we switch places, and he assumes control.
Instantly, my handwriting changes from sharp and angled script, to childish, loopy print.
~were sad and were lonly. we wants somebodies to play with us like at the partie. we miss monty and colorin in books even tho mark doesnt lik the things we draws. we wants a tedy like montys. we wants the man to stop hurtin us. WE NO LIKE THAT! we never gets tim to play likes the other kids. we make roger no ignor us anymores.~
I'm looking through a dark tunnel, a tunnel in my mind. I can't seem to claw my way back, and I can't regain control. Suddenly, something shifts in my mind again, changing lanes in the pathway of my brain, and the hand pauses in its writing, skips a line, and continues in neat, controlled print.
~He's not giving us the body time that Angie told him we needed, and as a result, the littles are getting angry. Devan is acting out against the body, attempting to hurt Roger for his negligence. Anna's nightmares are increasing, as are Fred's flashbacks. Something needs to be done about this, about the denial. Roger needs to accept us, as does Mark. Some of the littles are scared of Mark, he reminds them of the man from our dreams. The same blonde hair and black-rimmed glasses, he even wears the same navy and white scarf. The system is out of control. Roger, you and the littles need to have a talk with Mark, explain it to him. David and I will help you lay it all out for him, we'll be there for you. But don't shut us out anymore, none of us appreciate that.~
Shudder, switch.
~Yeh, we wanna meet Marc! Pleeese Roger we wants to talk to him and play with him like in Dr. Patercin's offis!~
Suddenly, the shrill ringing of the phone reaches me through the thick cloud in my mind. The fog begins to lift, and I try to focus, staring at one spot on the wall, as I feel myself slowly regain control. My body is once again mine.
Rereading what I wrote during my absence, I am surprised and angry at the changes I notice in both handwriting, and spelling/grammar. Something – or someone – is taking over my body, controlling my mind, and I can do nothing to stop it. It terrifies me, but all I can do is sat back and let it happen.
"Roger?"
A voice, and the tentative knock on the door, bring me back to reality, and I tear my eyes away from the writing in the journal for long enough to glance up at the doorway to see Mark's concerned face hovering just inside.
"What is it?" I ask quietly, voice thick with emotion and barely above a whisper.
He steps in closer, seeming almost frightened.
"I… Uh…" He stops, clears his throat, and I detect a slight blush rising to stain his normally pale cheeks. "Can I talk to…Fred?"
Instantly, Fred comes rushing forward and I drift away and out of my body, just barely watching the events that are taking place, from above.
Fred smiles tentatively at Mark, frightened and unsure because Mark has never asked to speak to him – or any of the others – before. I can sense his fear, I can read his thoughts.. He thinks that Mark will hurt him, will do to him as the man in our dreams has done.
"Fred.. Is that you?" Mark returns the hesitant smile, though I know he's feeling uncomfortable, to understate it.
A slight nod of Fred's – my – head.
Mark's smile grows wider, and he reaches behind him and into a shopping bag on the floor that we hadn't noticed before. Too busy focused on the scribbling in the journal.
"I got something for you."
Fred lights up at these words, and he sits up quickly, practically bouncing on the bed.
"For me? For Fred? You mean, not Roger?"
"Yes, for Fred," Mark laughs, and from a distance I feel the warmth in my chest, the love I hold for him, spread, grow wider, expanding to fill my whole body.
Fred's eyes sparkle as he jumps up and tries to peer into the bag.
"What is it, what is it?"
And I feel the breath catch in my throat when Mark reveals a yellow teddy bear, identical to the one he bought for Monty, except for the color.
Fred is speechless, and for a moment he just stands there, staring.
//'How did he know?' 'He understands, he understands us!' 'Be careful, this could be a trick…' 'No, he cares, he's trying to understand.'//
"Ro- Uh, I mean, Fred?"
Suddenly, Fred rushes forward and latches onto Mark's neck.
"Thank you," he murmurs against Mark's chest, face buried deep in his blue sweater. "We always wanted a teddy."
Mark nods and reaches out to return the embrace hesitantly. "I know."
His voice is thick with emotion, and I hear his breath begin to hitch, as though he's on the verge of tears.
Fred must realize that we're beginning to frighten Mark, as he decides to relinquish control of the body to me, and I shudder, body shaking slightly as we change places.
I pull away slightly and look into Mark's eyes, reaching up to brush away the single tear that trails down his cheek, leaving a slippery trail in its wake.
"Roger?"
I nod, leaning in close to him again, more a gesture of comfort than one of love.
"Why?"
He shrugs, looking away. "You don't sleep anymore. He cries every night, you know. I just thought… Maybe this might help. Dr. Patterson said to make them feel comforted, and I know he liked Monty's, so…"
I nod. "He did…does. Uh…" I pause, remembering the words written in my journal. Devan's anger at being ignored, abused. Mike's concern over the littles' well being, his support, his comfort, his promise to back me up. Fred's sadness, his loneliness over being isolated, his fear, his longing for a friend.
"What is it, Rog?" Mark asks quietly, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder.
"It's just…" I sigh, wondering how to broach the subject with him. Would he want to meet us? Would he be willing to give us what we desire most?
//Only one way to find out.//
"They want to meet you," I blurt out, looking away quickly, ashamed of my craziness.
"I want to meet them."
I look up again, utterly shocked.
"Roger, do you remember when we first got together? How I told you that I loved you, all of you, every part of you? Even the bad parts, even the AIDS? I meant it. And these… these… people. They're a part of you too, and I meant it when I said I was going to love every part of you."
I can't help it, I start to cry. And I can't help but think that maybe, maybe if Mark accepts them… I can try to accept them, too.