PART ONE
- DISCONNECTED -
Charlotte
***
"Is she sedated?"
"No, this is just how she is, since she came in. You try and talk to her; you'll make her cry, eventually. Otherwise, she just sits there, like frozen."
"Is she eating?"
"Sometimes. Not if you look at her. If you take her into the shower she'll just stand there, and you have to dress and undress her like she's some stiff little doll."
"And she's otherwise well?"
"As far as we can tell."
I let the duty nurse go. Late Sunday night was not my favourite time for a psych call out. But I knew they would have to be really worried to call me on a Sunday. And this girl was worrying. Through the glass window I could see her sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the wall, arms wrapped tight around her knees, silent.
A human child, found alone in the city, no identifying possessions, no voice, no name. And no one looking for her. It was like she had appeared out of thin air. She looked like she desperately wanted to return there, disappear from the cold vinyl floors and sleek walls of the empty children's ward.
I entered the ward and sat down on the floor next to her. I studied the wall opposite. She stiffened, waiting, but I could play that game. She rubbed her arms slowly, robotically, and I wondered if she was cold or afraid. Maybe both.
"Hi," I said softly. She was aware of me speaking; she tensed minutely. I had the feeling she was listening too.
"Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?"
She made no response, as if I didn't exist. I waited several more minutes, letting the silence stretch and stretch.
"They tell me you don't talk. That's fine by me. Some people talk too much."
She was definitely listening to me now, with the stillness of one concentrating hard on your words. I wondered if she spoke English.
I let the silence gather between us til it was as heavy as a cord binding us together. She made no move to break it. I drew up my knee and rested my lips on it. She stiffened in response to my movement, so I gathered she must have relaxed a little during the silence.
It was late, the streetlights outside invading the dim night lighting of the ward through the one window. They threw two sets of shadows around every occupant of the room: the bed posts, the drip poles, the monitoring machinery. This child was healthy, but the equipment stood waiting, ever ready for her to falter. I wondered if it scared her, these unknown machines she had as her only roommates.
In one smooth slow motion, I stood and left her. I'd had enough for tonight, and I daresay she had too. I looked back through the window and saw her legs crawling under the bed.
Hiding. From what?