c. January 2021
I'm late.
Again.
I roll out of bed and grimace at my phone that refused to go off an hour ago. "Traitor," I mutter as if it can hear me.
Do I have any clean masks?
Doesn't matter. The office will have some. For now, I need pants.
My cat, Lewis, meows at me, complaining about his empty food bowl. "And you're a traitor too," I tell him, pulling on my bottom-of-the-hamper black pants and going to my studio apartment kitchen.
We have a new kid this morning. She was turned in by the police who found her wandering in front of an old factory. I'm the lucky bitch who gets to be her psychologist. I'm not used to cases like this. I'm used to kids with heroin-addicted mothers and fathers who can't keep their hands where they belong. Not mysterious white girls walking at the side of the road.
I don't know why they didn't give this girl to a center that actually has funding.
"Yeah, yeah," I say to my phone after it suddenly goes off. "I'm on my way."
I'm late. I'm late. I'm fucking late.
---
"Alice, she's been waiting half an hour."
"Well, at least it wasn't an hour. I'd call that a win. Wouldn't you?" I say, blazing past Miss Paula and into the restroom to check that I don't look too unprofessional.
Not bad. Not bad. My hair is immovable anyway, but for someone who rushed her, I don't look too sweaty. I quickly go back into the hallway, pulling on my heels as I walk.
I see my assistant waiting by the juvenile interview room.
"How old is she?" I ask, walking up to her. If I remember correctly, her name is Petra. I wouldn't forget a name like that.
Lakeisha bit her lip. "Dunno."
"What you mean by that?" I asked.
"You'll know when you see her," my assistant responded. "Weird kid. We're waiting for tests to come back on mercury poisoning. And she won't talk to anyone. All we know is her name is Petra because of a note on her."
Mercury poisoning? That's not something you see every day. Poor kid.
I look through the one-way window for the first time and look back at Lakeisha. "She's wearing two fucking hats!"
Not just hats. Proper 19th century top hats made with what could be my grandmama's curtains.
Lakeisha shrugs. "Maybe it's a comfort thing."
The girl is sitting at the small white Fisher-Price table that's been scribbled on by countless traumatized children over the years and she's acting like she's sipping out of a teacup while reading the New York Times crossword section upside-down.
Sighing, I open the door and walk towards her. The room has always been too cheerful with its fading yellow walls and sky blue sidings. Coloring pages line the walls and floor--some barely hanging on with cheap scotch tape. The lines are ignored in nearly all of them. Disney princesses scribbled over angrily in a single dark color or Ariel with purple hair and neon orange Crayola skin. Old puzzles are all scrambled together hopelessly against the back wall alongside board games with most of the pieces missing.
The little girl eyed me. How old is she? Apparently, she never told those who found her, and now I know why they didn't hazard a guess. She seems ageless and could as easily be five as she could be fifteen. Not older than sixteen. Definitely not. A child in every way with no signs of maturity.
She's...white. And I don't mean white as in race. I mean every inch of this girl is the color of snow. Her hair. Her eyelashes. Her skin. Her lips. The only color on her is her clothes/hats and the deep green of her eyes.
"Hello, Petra," I say kindly. "My name is-"
"Hello, Alice," Petra said, smiling as if she was preprogrammed. "You're late."
We're off to a bad start.
"I'm sorry about that."
"But are we ever late?" she asked. "Why do we try to mark the time when the seconds are only illusions? Isn't it a curious thing? That time is the only thing we can chase in order to run from it? Time doesn't exist, you know. So are you late?"
I'm finna drop-kick this girl out the damn window.
I smile though. "You have an interesting perspective on things. Do you want to talk about it?"
What did they mean this girl wouldn't talk to anyone? She's talking fine now. I glance back at the window knowing Lakeisha is watching me and make a face before turning back to Petra.
"No, thank you. We will have time for that," she says in a matter-of-fact tone. "Forgive me. I've been so inhospitable. Would you like some tea?"
She pretends to pour a glass and hands it to me. "Remember," she says. "Pinkies up." She pretends to sip her own glass with her tiny white pinky in the air.
I accept the invisible teacup with my pinky up and pretend to sip it. "It's delicious, Petra."
She scowls. "Of course it's not! It's not real!"
And she throws her invisible teapot to the ground even though it isn't "real."
Is there a diagnosis for this kid? Or am I just forgetting the DSM entirely? I don't get paid enough for this.
Breathe, Alice. Breathe. This little girl is just traumatized from something. She isn't trying to anger you. She needs compassion. Not your bitchy inner voice talking shit about her. She's just a kid.
"No, I'm not," Petra huffed suddenly.
I startle. "Not what?"
"A kid."
Oh HELL no.
Taking a deep breath and trying not to freak out, I stand. "Will you give me a few moments?"
"Asking me to give you time? Why would you ask for the same thing you're running from?"
I'm not paid enough for this shit. I'm not paid enough for this shit.
"Lakeisha. The girl is crazy."
My assistant tilts her head, confused. "Yeah. You're supposed to figure out why."
"No. I mean...I'm crazy or something."
"Therapists need therapists. Why don't you have one?"
I look back in the room. And Petra stares back with near crocodilian green eyes like she can see me through the glass. "Something's not right with that kid," I say half to myself.
"Yeah she's weird. But nothing you haven't handled before, right?"
I catch myself before I laugh. "Nothing like I've ever handled before. I'm going to head to the record room and see if there's anything on that factory."
Before Lakeisha can stop me, I'm off. And I relish the sound of my heels clicking on the tile. One of life's simple pleasures.
The community center used to be the old courthouse, so it's still designed like one. The main hall is in the center of the building and lined with courtrooms A and B with a large clock overlooking it all.
A tall woman is standing in front of the clock. For some reason, she catches my attention. No one else seems to notice her standing there. Everything around the room is moving except her.
I slowly approach her, not quite sure why.
She has medium-dark skin and deep green eyes. The first thing I notice about someone is usually not their bone structure, but hers is striking. Like her face is carved out of a precious stone and put on display at a jeweler. Her dark hair is silky.
I've never seen anyone like her. She looks back at the clock.
The woman looked at the clock with despair in her eyes and looked back at me. "It wasn't meant to be this way."
"Wh-what way? Are you her mother?"
She looks confused. "Whose?"
The woman looks nothing like Petra. I'm not certain why I asked. "Just curious. You can't be. Sorry. I was mistaken."
"Whose?" she asks again like I hadn't said anything. "Tell me."
"Alice! There you are!"
I turned to see Lakeisha and quickly looked back to the woman to find that she was gone.
"Girl, what happened to you? You look like you seen a ghost."
Maybe I did.
I forgot what I left the interview room for.
Splashing water on my face, I push my hair back and stare at myself in the mirror.
What's with today? I need an MRI or something. Ghosts. Creepy little girls reading my mind. It's above my pay grade.
I'd tell anyone else to get through the day. Why can't I take my own advice for once?
I can get through today. What Petra said was just a coincidence. Yeah, that's it. And the woman in the hallway was just playing a prank.
"Hello, Alice."
I groan and turn to look at little Petra. "Hello, Petra. Are you looking for something?"
Why doesn't she have a chaperone? She shouldn't have gotten here alone.
"I'm looking for you, silly!" she said with a giggle before skipping to the sink beside me and leaning forward to look me in the eyes.
Pulling myself together, I smile. "Did Lakeisha come here with you?"
"No," she says. "I snuck out."
The door locks from the outside. How the hell...it doesn't matter.
"Okay, well, let's go back."
"But I want to show you something!" Petra says, pouting.
I'm being very careful to not think anything, so I don't really have the ability to think better of saying, "Okay."
"Follow me!" she gleefully squeals before running off.
"Hey!" I yell. "Wait!" I chase after her and run through the hall of the community center. "Petra!"
I barely notice there isn't anyone in the hallway anymore. I follow the white streak who can run much faster than any kid I've ever known. She disappears into a door on the opposite hallway that I think leads into storage.
What the hell...
I burst through the storage door, and I'm greeted by stacks of dusty cardboard boxes. When was the last time anyone came in here? Every movement I make involves pulling away cobwebs. This room shouldn't be like this.
"Petra?" I call. "This isn't funny."
No response.
"Petra?"
I hear a giggle and shiver. This is the stuff of fucking horror movies.
Turning the corner around a shelf, I accidentally knock over a mountain of boxes and yelp, barely avoiding the avalanche.
Now trapped behind a pile of boxes, I notice a hole in the cement floor. Shit, did the kid fall in there? Fuck fuck. I'm gonna get sued for this. What is this thing anyway? A ventilation shaft? Surely not.
I kneel beside it and call down. "Petra?"
How far does this thing go down? I put my hand in the hole and start to flail my arm looking for some sign of a bottom. Or a turn. Something.
"Petra! Please. Tell me if you're hurt!"
Suddenly, I hear a child's wheezy breath in my ear. "I'm right here, Silly Alice. I've got you. And I'm never, ever letting you go."
Before I can respond, two tiny hands land on my back and push me forward into the hole.