Chapter Five

"Mollie, Mollie," My teacher, Miss Yates, repeated as I day dreamed at my desk. I finally looked up at her and the rest of my class stared at me, giggling. I looked down at my desk, back to the picture I had been drawing, as Miss Yates walked toward me.

"Who is this picture of, Mollie?" she asked quietly as she looked at the drawing on my desk.

"Marjorie," I told her. She nodded.

"Please see me after class," she said, while my classmates giggled more.

As soon as the classroom cleared I approached Miss Yates as she had asked. She asked to see my drawing, and I reluctantly handed it to her.

"Who is Marjorie?" she asked kindly.

"She is my schoolmate," I told her, though we both knew that there wasn't anyone by that name in my class.

"What about the other pictures you've drawn? Are they your schoolmates, too?" she asked, pulling out the three other drawings that she had confiscated that week.

I nodded.

"What are their names?"

I pointed to each drawing. "Henry. Eleanor. Victor."

She was quiet for a moment.

"Mollie, how do you know these people?" she asked, genuinely concerned. I shrugged my shoulders, not quite sure how or why I'd come to know these people from my dreams, and I was too embarrassed to tell her.

She asked me to have a seat while she wrote out what seemed like the longest letter. She placed it in an envelope, sealed it, and handed it to me.

"Please give this to your mother or father," she said.

Howard was waiting on the steps when I left, drawing in the dirt with a stick. I walked right past him, not wanting to talk about the letter in my hand, and what would likely happen when I gave it to my mother. But he didn't ask, and I was thankful for that.

The day after I gave my mother the letter she was waiting outside my classroom just as Howard and I were about to walk home. I heard Miss Yates invite her to have a seat as I waited quietly on the other side of the wall just inside the door.

"Hello Mrs. Cutright, thank you for seeing me," Mrs. Yates started.

"Certainly," my mother said, in a sweet voice.

"I wanted to talk to you about Mollie," Mrs. Yates continued, "She is a very bright young girl, the most advanced in her class, but lately...she has been demonstrating some...odd behavior, and it seems to be affecting her concentration in class."

"Oh, dear," my mother said, in a concerned tone I hardly recognized.

"She has been talking about other students, students that we don't know here at Academy, but she insists that she goes to school with them. Do you know what this is about?"

"No, I know nothing of this," she said sternly.

"Well, she mentions particular names often, like..." she paused and I could hear her unfolding pieces of paper, likely my drawings that she kept.

"Marjorie, Victor, Henry, and Eleanor. Do you know anyone by these names?"

"No," my mother said, dragging the word out. I peeked around the door frame and I could see her adjusting in her chair. My heart raced at the thought of how she would choose to punish me for this.

"I don't mean to upset you, Mrs. Cutright. Like I said, Mollie is a very smart young girl, but these other students she is talking about seem to be distracting her. I just thought you should know."

My mother smiled briefly, but kept her eyes on her hands clasped tightly around the small embroidered purse she always carried. Once she stood, Miss Yates did too, and they both politely nodded at each other.

"Thank you for informing me," I heard my mother say as I walked quickly to the front door of the school so she wouldn't know I was listening. I made it to the front steps and sat down just as she exited the schoolhouse. Howard was sitting there, too, waiting for me just in case my mother made me walk home.

As soon as she opened the front door she reached down and wrapped her hand tight around my upper arm As her nails dug into my skin, she yanked me to my feet. She walked down the steps of the school so quickly that I lost my balance and my knees hit the cement. I barely had my feet on the ground by the time we reached the car, and she kept her grip and thrust me into the passenger seat. She slammed the door and walked around to the driver's side without looking me in the eye or saying a word. Howard, still sitting on steps, saw everything.

The look of sadness on his face hurt me more than the anger my mother felt. I didn't understand why she was upset, but I had learned long before that to not expect approval from her, no matter the situation. But I caused this, and now Howard would have to walk home alone, and that hurt me the most. As my mother pulled away, Howard waved good-bye, and instead of waving back I just hung my head in embarrassment. I knew Howard knew how I got the bruises I had, but he never actually saw it. When my mother pulled out onto the main road she finally spoke.

"Don't you ever humiliate me like that again," she said.

"I'm sorry," I said timidly.

"You better be sorry, Mollie. You know the reputation I have in this town, and you better not ruin it."

I did know the reputation she had, I only wished what everyone else saw was true. She was the daughter-in-law of the well-known mayor of Buckhannon, John Cutright, and she lived the perfect life.

"I know-," I began to say before she interrupted.

"I can't have people thinking my daughter is strange," she said. "And who are these damn kids you talk about at school? Maggie or Henry or whoever...who are they?"

I paused, hesitant to answer her question truthfully. But I wasn't sure which of the two choices would cause me worse punishment; the truth or a lie.

"They're nothing," I finally said, "I made them up."

My mother looked at me with her eyes squinted.

"Don't lie to me, Mollie," she growled, grabbing my arm again, squeezing the marks that were already throbbing.

"I'm not," I whined, "I dream about them in my sleep, they're not real," I said softly, hoping my answer that time would be good enough for her.

She scoffed and slowly shook her head.

"Great. Just like Joan's boy," she said softly to herself. I didn't know who Joan was, or her boy.

"You know what happened to Joan's boy, don't you?"

I shook my head.

"He was always strange, just like you. So they sent him to the hospital and he never came home. Is that what you want?"

I shook my head again, faster. My mother smiled.

"Well, maybe...maybe that's just what you need."

She drove the rest of the way home with a smile on her face. But what she didn't know was just how enticing it sounded.

That night I was not given supper, and my mother stayed in my room to brush my hair longer than she ever had before. She made sure I knew what the consequences would be if I humiliated her again in front of Miss Yates or anyone else. She made sure I knew how it all affected her.

As I was in bed I heard my mother talking to my father in the kitchen.

"Even her teacher called her odd, Dale, everyone sees it. She talks about people that she sees at night when she's asleep, and she's named them. Named them, Dale. It's not normal."

"She's a child, Peg," he slurred. "Don't you remember being a child?"

My mother paused, but didn't answer his question.

"If she keeps this up the whole town is going to know, and then they'll all talk about us just like they did with Joan, and... I just can't deal with her, Dale!"

"I'm sure she'll get over it."

"And what if she doesn't? Then what?"

My father paused and let out a sigh.

"What are you suggesting?" he finally said.

"Weston," she said without any hesitation.

"Well, that seems completely unnecessary, she doesn't need a crazy hospital."

"No. No, I think it's just what she needs. She can see what will happen if she keeps this up."

"She's not even done anything, Peg. You know what happened to Joan's boy when he went there."

"I know. But he was much older, what, sixteen? I just think she needs a good scare, something to get her on the right track."

"If you think so," my father finally said, quietly. All things considered, he put up a good fight.

"I do. I will take her there tomorrow. See what they can do."

The rest of the night I spent halfway between sleep and awake, thinking about the boy that was sent away to Weston. With how this town was, even if he came home from there he would have to live with the whole town talking about how he was sent to the crazy home. Maybe not coming home was exactly what he wanted, and I knew how that felt.

My mother woke me up the next morning and dragged me down the stairs to the kitchen table. I ate the one fried egg she put on my plate and sat patiently until she finished hers. My father had already gone to work at the rail yard and wouldn't be home until dusk, which meant there was no one there to make my mother change her mind. I flashed my eyes around the room nervously, waiting for her to finish, wondering if I would ever come back from Weston.

"Don't look at me while I'm eating, it's rude," my mother said, as I glanced towards her.

"Didn't you hear me?" she said, dropping her fork loudly on her plate. I looked away from her as quickly as I could, but in an instant she was out of her seat and standing next to mine. Her hands were shaking with anger. She took my hands violently, clasped them together, and pushed them firmly in my lap.

"That is how a lady sits at the table," she growled, as she pushed my head down so I couldn't look anywhere but at my own hands.

"Maybe the doctors can help you with that, too."

So I kept my hands in my lap and my eyes on my hands, and I swear it took her longer to eat that day than it ever had. Eventually she cleared the table and took me upstairs to change my clothes. She chose something she considered "presentable" so I wouldn't humiliate her again, she told me in a snippy tone as she threw the dress at me. I slipped on my dirty pair of brown leather lace-ups, and the smile on my mother's face when I came downstairs told me she was eager to leave.

It took just under half an hour to drive to the hospital in Weston, West Virginia. The large iron sign at the entrance read Weston State Hospital and the moment we passed under it was when I truly felt afraid. The building was larger than any I had ever seen. It was much wider than it was tall, and it was endless in either direction I looked. Rows of barred windows lined the brick and went up for five stories. The pointed ornaments at the peak of the building brought a formidable presence. In contrast, the grass was green and perfectly groomed, and bright flowerbeds lined the hospital entrance which made it, of all things, inviting. As I stood outside the car I felt a sense of ease; it didn't seem quite as scary as I imagined. But as I looked up at my mother and she gently held my hand while we walked inside, I remembered that looks could be deceiving.

When we walked through the tall front doors we were greeted by a stout woman with short, dark hair sitting behind a cement desk the shape of a half circle. The woman stood up and smiled hesitantly at me, in the hand of my pregnant mother, dragging me at her hurried pace.

"Hello...," the nurse said in a questioning tone. "Are you here to visit a patient?"

My mother was still holding my hand, and her grip became increasingly tighter the longer we stood there.

"No!" my mother squeaked, as if she were offended by the question. "I'm here to see a doctor," she said, pausing, then quickly corrected herself . "I mean my daughter. My daughter needs to see a doctor."

The nurse's eyes bounced between me and my mother before she finally said, "I'm sorry Ma'am, but we do not admit children into this facility. We only care for adults here."

"Oh, no need to admit her," my mother said matter-of-factly. She looked behind the nurse at the other nurses and doctors walking behind her "I just want her to spend a couple days here...see what it's like..."

"Ma'am, we can not do that," the nurse said sternly.

My mother's eyes widened as she took a deep breath in. She leaned over the counter towards the nurse, who in turn leaned away.

"Please," she whispered. "She needs help. She claims to...see people. People who aren't really there."

The nurse looked at me again and sighed.

"She's just a child. Children have exuberant imaginations, I can assure you that you have nothing to worry about."

My mother released the tight grip on my hand and moved it to my arm, shaking me like a dish cloth as she moved me closer. She quickly moved her hand to my back before speaking again.

"But..." my mother whined, trying her best to conjure an excuse.

"She hurts herself," she finally said, smirking at her own wit. "The people in her head tell her to do it."

The nurse rolled her eyes and took a deep sigh before walking out from behind the desk. My mother watched her cautiously.

"May I have a moment with your daughter?"

"Yes, yes of course," my mother said, smiling.

The woman bent down next to me so we were face to face.

"What's your name?"

"Mollie," I answered.

"That's a lovely name, Mollie. I'm Ann. How about we take a walk?"

I nodded my head and took the woman's hand. She walked me down a long hallway that was lined with closed doors, stopping half way. She made a show out of looking around, and only after a nurse had wandered around the corner did she speak. "How old are you, Mollie?" She asked as she bent down and looked me in the eye.

"Seven."

She gently took my hand and extended my arm, lifting up the short sleeve of my dress.

"Tell me about these bruises on your arm."

I shrugged. The bruises on my arm were just as much a part of me as the hair on my head. They were always there, for as long as I could remember.

"It's okay, you can tell me. How did you get them?"

"I don't remember," I said, afraid that my mother would somehow find out if I told them it was her.

"Okay, sweetheart, that's alright. Tell me about the people you see."

I took a moment to study Ann while I thought about what to tell her. Her eyes were dark brown and friendly, and in that moment I trusted her more than I ever trusted my own mother.

"I see them when I close my eyes," I said.

"Can you see them now, if you close your eyes?"

I nodded.

"Are they here?" she asked, looking around.

I shook my head.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know."

"Are they in a nice place?"

I nodded again.

"Do you wish you could be there, too?"

"Yes."

"Okay, Mollie. These friends you see, I need you to keep them secret, okay? You can't tell anyone else about them."

"Okay."

"Promise me, okay?"

"I promise."

After I promised Ann that I would not to tell anyone else about my friends, she gave me a sincere, empathetic smile. I could see in her eyes that she felt sorry for me. I did not know it then, but the promise she made me keep was for me, not her. It was to save me from my mother. Before she stood up she reached her arms around me and gave me a hug. Even the gentle contact of her arms against my bruises made me wince.

When we returned to the lobby my mother was talking with a doctor in a long white coat, and I could tell by his darting eyes that he was preoccupied. I could hear her using big words like irrational and delirious, all the while his eyes kept wandering everywhere, and he seemed relieved when Ann and I approached him. My mother continued talking as he turned away, and I could hear the distress in her voice.

"Doctor Byrne, can I speak with you a moment?" Ann said quietly.

"Yes, Ann, what is it?"

Ann guided the doctor a short ways down the hall, just out of earshot. My mother tapped her finger nails on the counter impatiently. Eventually she leaned over the counter conspicuously, craning her ear in their direction. Finally the Doctor came from around the corner with Ann at his heels.

"Mrs..." the Doctor started.

"Cutright," my mother said, "Peg Cutright."

"Very well, Mrs. Cutright. Your daughter's behavior is...perfectly normal for a girl of her age. Most of the adults in this facility have been ill longer than she has been alive. You need to give her a chance to be a child before you try to treat her like an adult."

Without blinking an eye he turned around and walked away.

Ann looked satisfied by the Doctor's words, but my mother's cheeks were burning red. She lowered her head, took my hand violently in hers, and walked quickly to the exit. She pulled open the passenger door as fast as she could and almost shut it before I was in. Once she sat in the drivers seat she began to cry. I wasn't sure if the tears were that of sadness or embarrassment, but when she finally spoke I was surprised at which it was.

"I just want help for my daughter, is that so much to ask?" she sobbed. "I'm such a failure!" she wailed. It was the first time I felt sorry for her, and the first time she seemed to accept the failure as her own. I was shocked at this unexpected show of emotions for me.

Our drive home was just as silent as the drive to Weston, but there was now a satisfying release of tension in the air. I didn't feel the sense of utter disappointment that I was used to feeling when I was around her. Instead I felt pride in knowing that for once she was finally proven wrong.

My father was still at the rail yard when we arrived home around six o'clock. My mother went straight to their bedroom and closed the door. I'm not sure how long she stayed there, but once six thirty came I walked to Howard's figuring I was more likely to get fed there.

Howard and his family were all on the porch. The music that they always played together after supper tickled my ears, and when I walked up to join them, Mrs. Flynn whispered, "Help yourself to whatever's left." So I made myself a heaping plate of potatoes, beans, and beef, and sat on the porch step with the plate on me knees to eat it. It wasn't much after that that the sun began to set, but something told me it didn't matter if I was late. My mother wasn't planning on making supper for anyone.

Howard walked me home around eight o'clock. The last time I saw him before that night was when I was being dragged by my mother off the steps of the school house. As I remembered that moment a flood of embarrassment came over me and I could feel my face burning.

"Where were you today?" he asked me. It was the one thing I really didn't want to talk about, and of course he brought it up as soon as we were alone. Though I trusted him, I was still too embarrassed to tell him the truth.

"I went into town with my mother." I said.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

His question caught me off guard, and it almost seemed as if he knew something.

"I, Uh," he stammered, "I just can't remember the last time your mother took you into town."

But I was still defensive, not wanting him or anyone else to know that I was at Weston, and keeping my promise to Ann.

"Sure, I'm alright, why would I not be alright?"

"I don't know," he said timidly, "I was just making sure."

"Well, I'm fine. Everything's fine."

"Okay," he said, unconvinced.