As the months flew by Moira found herself spending less time in her cramped apartment and more hours adventuring with Frank through the streets of Bedford Park. Each morning she would scarf down a small serving of bread and butter for breakfast, kiss her Ma and baby sister goodbye, and be out the door; bounding down the deteriorating stairs to the lobby floor with a smile on her face. In such a short amount of time Frank had become more than just the cynical orphan with the thick cadence; he had developed into her personal confident, her partner-in-crime, and more importantly, a friend. The nuns at the orphanage had come to recognize and know the girl over the course of a few weeks, sometimes scooting Moira an extra plate of food to bring home with her for supper. Moira's family had been worried at first about her long absences each day until plates of pre-cooked chicken and green vegetables began making frequent appearances on the molding kitchen counter in the evenings. Who were they to complain about extra meals for their already struggling household?
Moira learned quickly that Frank was sharp. Not only was he intellectually advanced in the sense of literature, but he was street smart. He spent hours each day studying people: how they walked, talked, ate, even worked. He was curious about how the upper class lived, and Moira couldn't count on two hands how many hours the duo had spent on downtown rooftops, observing wealthier families stroll through the upscale portion of Bedford Park. Sure, it was boring sometimes-Moira was the type of girl that would rather run a marathon than sit in one spot for seven hours at a time-but for once in her life she had a friend.A friend she could have an actual conversation with, share jokes with, have fun with. Moira couldn't remember the last time she had someone to play with. In fact, Moira couldn't remember everhaving a friend to play with. Even as a toddler.
Frank was her first friend, and she was forever grateful for running into him that fateful July afternoon.
Winter came and it snowed constantly. Moira saw Frank less since the sun would set at five. One of the only rules her parents had set for her was a curfew at sunset, no matter what season it was. Bedford Park was livable during the day, but once the sun sank behind the cityscape it was an entirely different setting. Mobsters were notorious for prowling the streets in the evenings, stalking for prey like hungry hyenas. Police tended to avoid the block late at night to avoid conflict with serious gangs, only interfering under dire circumstances. The citizens of Bedford Park were on their own at dusk.
By the time January rolled around Moira was antsy for longer days. The dark frightened her terribly, and Frank always wondered why she practically sprinted home if she stayed at the orphanage just a few minutes too long. It wasn't that her parents would necessarily be angry; they understood if she was a few minutes tardy after sundown. But if the sun sank too low behind the block and it became difficult for her to see the road in front of her, she would begin to feel strange. Her chest would tighten to the point where breathing was a challenge, her hands would begin to shake until her entire body would tremble violently, and the world would start spinning around her. Her adrenaline would give her legs the boost they needed to get her home, and she would slam the door to their apartment shut behind her as she panted and shook in the family's small entry way. Sometimes it would be so overwhelming that her knees would give from under her, sending her limp body crashing to the tile floor like a bag of industrial sand. Her Pa or Ma would have to carry her to the one queen bed the family shared, depending on who was home at the time, and she would cry in their arms until she would finally fall asleep in an exhausted heap of emotion.
Her parents hadn't the slightest clue why she reacted this way. It seemed only situations of high stress brought the episodes on: the nighttime, lack of sleep, even intense hunger. It wasn't until late January when it had happened for the fourth consecutive time in a week that her parents decided to see a specialist about it.
"Well, the good news is that I don't see anything wrong with her brain," Dr. Fraters informed Moira's parents, peering at the child's case file in front of him. He re-adjusted the dark colored frames perched on his nose and flipped a page. "She's your typical healthy seven-year-old girl."
"There's gotta be somethin' wrong with her, Doc," Benjamin, Moira's father, argued and shook his head. "I'mean you heard what we told ya', the girl's comin' home cryin' four times a week because of the dark."
"I remember what y'all told me, Benny," Dr. Fraters nodded, turning another page in the medical folder. He laid the documents flat on his desk. "Her blood pressure was a little higher than average, 130/90, but the range varies from child to child."
"Are y'sure it isn't a heart issue? Heart issues wrong rampant in my family tree," Catherine, Ben's wife, interjected, leaning forward in her seat. "Why, my father died at 42 from a heart attack. And his father died at 37 before him."
"Cathy, your daughter is notgonna have a heart attack before the age of ten." Dr. Fraters sighed, leaning back in his chair. Dr. Fraters had been working in Bedford Park for almost 12 years to date and knew the citizens of the town quite well. He was the only pediatrician within a ten-mile radius of his office, so he was a busy man indeed. Scheduling an appointment last minute was virtually impossible with his agenda, but he always made time for the locals of the town. Ben and Cathy had lived here for almost eight years and Dr. Fraters had birthed both of their children in their tiny apartment. Her parents were borderline paranoid about their daughter's health, to the point where Cathy would bring Moira in almost once a month until she turned four if she sneezed twice. Dr. Fraters was patient with her, mainly because he remembered what it was like to raise a first child. Hell, he had raised five of them.
"Well then what the hell is wrong with her?" Benny was beginning to grow frustrated, tapping his foot wildly against the musty carpet beneath them. Dr. Fraters was quiet for a few moments, planning out what he was about to say next carefully.
"What if she just has anxiety?"
Cathy and Benny both looked at him, confused expressions lining both of their stress-ridden faces. Cathy's head cocked to the side slightly. "Anxiety?"
"What the fuck's an anxiety?" Benny ignorantly drawled, pulling a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes from his shirt pocket and choosing one with trembling fingers.
"Well, that's just it, we don't really knowwhat it is," Dr. Fraters ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair. "It's just a concept at this point in time. We don't really know whatit is, just that it exists."
"How do you treat it, doc?" Benny lit his cigarette with his silver plated lighter. He had found it sitting in the gutter near the office building one night, it's silver exterior glistening in the moonlight just enough to catch his eye. It was the luckiest night of his life. He pocketed the lighter and took a long drag, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth with a low whistle. "Lay it on me an' don't sugar coat it. What's it gonna take to cure her?"
"Like I just said, Benny, it's a concept.There is no treatment." Benny was one stubborn son of a bitch and the entire town knew it. Dr. Fraters pinched the bridge of his nose above the slope of his glasses and closed his eyes. The worst part about it was, he could already tell Moira had inherited that steadfast trait from her father.Lord, help that girl's future husband.He thought to himself with a chuckle. "The idea is that anxiety is some sort of mental complication that causes certain people to experience moments of high panic, to the point where their physical capabilities are impaired. For example, you said that when Moira stays out past sunset, she comes home panting and crying."
"Sometimes she'll fall on the tile." Cathy added with a nod of her head.
"Exactly. She's physically impaired." Dr. Fraters confirmed. "It's not something that can disappear overnight. I've encountered some individuals with anxiety that live their entire lives with it. It's just something they deal with. It's not pleasant, but what else are they gonna do?"
Cathy and Benny were quiet for a moment. Dr. Fraters could practically see the gears in their brains turning as they processed the information. "So, you're saying she has some kind of head trauma?" Benny finally spoke through a puff of smoke. "Cause' I don't remember us ever droppin' her on her head or nothin'. And we sure as hell don't beat her."
"Mr. Maines, I am not-oh, forget it," Dr. Fraters threw his hands up in the air. This man wasn't going to understand medical jargon. Gotta put this in words he'll understand."Benny, yer daughter ain't sick. She's fine. She'll be fine. She don't have head trauma, and she don't have a disease. It ain't contagious, neither. She's just gonna have to deal with it. Try giving her some ice cream or beer when she has 'em to calm her down."
Benny's face relaxed and he chuckled in relief. "Now you're speakin' my language, Doc. As long as you say she'll be okay." He reached over to pat his wife's arm that lounged across her armrest. "Hear that, doll? LaRee is gonna be alright."
"Oh my LordyI was so worried about her!" Cathy praised happily as she took her husband's hand energetically. "I knew she'd be alright, she always is." Cathy leaned towards Dr. Fraters' desk with her free hand extended towards him with a toothy grin spread across her face. "We can always count on you, Dr. Fraters. Don't know what we'd do without ya'."
Dr. Fraters couldn't help but smile at the couple. They weren't the brightest bunch in New York, but by God they were the sweetest. The care and compassion they showed their children with the little money they had was admirable at the least. The doctor took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Always here if y'need me," he assured both parents, knowing good and well he would be seeing them again in a matter of weeks.