The Wayward Gifted - Broken Point (22 page)

After surgery, but before Steuart was
out of recovery, Olivia handed Sam money for the cafeteria, “I’m going to see
Dr. Klesel.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Can I go?”

“No, I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Stay here.”

“When can I see Steuart?”

“When I get back. Don’t worry. Whatever
you do, do not leave the hospital grounds.”

Sam sat for a long while watching the
crowd. Ready to close her eyes, she opened them quickly when a deep purple gift
bag grabbed her attention. She jumped from her chair and followed the
bag-carrying stranger, turning and moving throughout hospital corridors onto
the elevator, and up several floors. She walked through a skywalk and into
another part of the hospital before entering the cafeteria.

Keeping the bag in sight, Sam bought a
small carton of milk, a sandwich, and a cupcake before finding a seat by the
window where she waited for the bag-carrying stranger to finish lunch. One
behind the other, the stranger and Sam exited the cafeteria. Sam continued
following the stranger down another hall and then waited quietly outside a
ladies room before following further towards the elevator, up two more floors,
and midway down a long corridor where the woman finally entered a hospital
room. Careful not to be seen, Sam walked past the room, turned back, and
silently waited. Eventually, the woman, no longer carrying the bag, exited the
room and disappeared.

Sam peeped into the room and saw a
young girl sleeping. She had a large, brightly colored bandage across her head.
The purple bag sat on a bedside table at the far end of the room.
 
Quietly, Sam walked towards the table, sat
next to the bed, and unzipped her backpack. An aide walked into the room just
as Sam took out her scissors and began reaching for the tissue. Sam held her
scissors and smiled as she pretended to be a visiting family member. The aide
walked out. The little patient, now slightly awake, looked at Sam and asked, “Are
you from my school?”

“No,” Sam answered. “My name is
Samantha Leigh DuBoise. I’m a volunteer.”

“I’m Dotsie Caples. I guess you know
that.”

Sam nodded, “It’s a pretty name.”

“Do you deliver cards or flowers?”
Dotsie looked around the room. “I don’t see anything new.”

“No,” Sam shook her head.

“You said you’re a volunteer.”

“I am. Actually, I’m visiting my
brother. He broke his arm. I decided to do a little volunteering while I’m
here.”

“I’m sorry about your brother. I hope he
gets well very soon.”

“Thank you.”

“What do you do?”

“I deliver songs.”

Dotsie smiled. “Do you know the song
Love Makes You Feel Happy?”

“No,” I don’t know that one.”

“How about
I’m Happy Today?”

Sam shook her head, “No.”

“
Sing,
Sing, Clap Your Hands?”

“I don’t know that one either.”

“What songs do you know?”

“I have one that I made up just for
you.”

“What’s it called?”

“
Love
Is Here With You.”

Dotsie smiled. Sam took a deep breath
and sang,

Please
don’t feel bad

Please
don’t be sad

Love
is here with you

Don’t
feel lonely

You’re
not only

Love
is here with you

Days
can be sad

Days
will be bad

But
there are happy days too

You’re
not only

Please
never feel lonely

Love
is here with you

With Dotsie once again sleeping, Sam
bent down and snipped the color, slipped it into her pocket and stood to leave
the room. A nurse watched from the doorway. Sam walked slowly to the door,
looked up, and whispered, “I’m sorry. It was just a color snippet.”

“It’s okay,” the nurse nodded. “Your
song was sweet, but I think you should go now.”

Sam walked quietly down the hall. Along
the way, she stopped an aide and asked directions to surgical waiting.

* * *

The first three minutes were silent as
Dr. Klesel waited for Olivia to speak. Time for her family update, she sat
miserably on the sofa, her feet side by side, elbows on her knees and her head
in her hands.

The doctor began, “How’s Steuart?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“What did they do?”

“Two pins and a plate in his right arm.
It was a terrible break.”

“Sounds like it.”

“We’re looking at a lengthy recovery.” Olivia
shook her head and sighed, “I don’t understand these things.”

“You spoke with his surgeon? He didn’t
answer your questions?”

“I’m not talking about the surgery. I’m
talking my life. I’m talking about why these things always happen to me.”

“What things?”

Olivia looked up. She let out a deep
sigh, “You know, the broken arm.”

“He’s fortunate it wasn’t worse.”

“True enough, but there are families
who sail through daily life without ever confronting these types of issues; families
where things never go wrong. I don’t understand.”

“We don’t always see what others are
dealing with.”

“I know that. I’m not brain dead,” Olivia
let out a sigh. “I’m just saying that a lot of people never have to deal with
the type of things that are continually thrown on me. I never get a break. It
never stops.”

Dr. Klesel listened.

“I love my children. You know that,
don’t you?”

“I do.”

“I do my best every day. I give more
than one hundred percent. But, it doesn’t seem to matter because things
continue to happen.” She sighed again. “I don’t understand why everything
always happens to me.”

“Is there something you’re not telling
me?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking
about,” Olivia snapped. “Why do you always insist on giving me this crap?”

“What crap?”

“That crap. The
what things
, the
what crap
.
The
what comes to mind,
and
how does that make you feel crap?
I
feel like you’re running me in circles. I’m completely exhausted. I’m tired. This
move has not been easy for me. I am totally worn out, spent—do you hear
what I’m saying?”

“I hear you.”

“Why don’t you just tell me how to keep
them from doing these things?”

“You’re talking about the children?”

“Who do you think I’m talking about? Why
don’t you tell me what I need to do? I want my children fixed. Better than
that, why don’t you just do what a
real
doctor would do?”

“I’m not a real doctor?”

“Of course you’re a real doctor.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Write prescriptions. Give me a
prescription. Real doctors write prescriptions.”

“I just told you I’m a real doctor.”

“And I just agreed with you. Why are
you so defensive.”

“You seem combative.”

“I’m saying that most doctors actually
write prescriptions.”

“I write prescriptions.”

“Not for me. You refuse. You never
write prescriptions for me.”

“Are we talking about you or the
children? I’m confused.”

Olivia exhaled loudly, “Steuart has a
broken arm. This is a nightmare. I am completely exhausted. We need drugs.”

“What does Steuart’s broken arm have to
do with your wanting prescriptions? What type of prescriptions do you want?”

“I have no idea. You’re supposed to decide
what type of prescriptions we need. Why are you asking me to diagnose myself?
You just told me that you’re a real doctor.”

Dr. Klesel pointed to the diplomas and
certificates on his wall.

“Write a real prescription for my
children. Give me a prescription—or both. I need to relax.”

“I thought you were here for family
updates.”

“No—maybe—no,” Olivia sighed
again. “Forget it. I don’t know. I’m tired of these things always happening to
me.”

Dr. Klesel didn’t say anything.

“You know
what things
.” Olivia raised her voice, “I’m telling you
what things
. You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re talking in generalizations.”

“No, I am not.”

“You’re all over the place.”

“I’m explaining things.”

Dr. Klesel listened.

“I’m telling you that my children are
making my life a walking, breathing, hellish nightmare and they’re both
individually and collectively driving me nuts. I’m serious. I think they want
to kill me.”

“That’s a very strong statement.”

“It’s true.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Samantha Leigh and Steuart James have
morphed from sweet little angels into scary little monsters. They look normal
to you and they look normal to everyone else, but there is nothing normal about
the way they’ve been carrying on these past weeks. Underneath everything, they
are wild children possessed by demons. They waited for me to adopt them just so
they could ruin my life.”

“Do you honestly believe…?”

“I do. They’re trying to kill me.”

“No hyperbole? No sarcasm?”

Olivia shook her head.

“Perhaps you’re overly tired.”

“I’m exhausted. I’m not feeling well
today.”

“And you’re worried about Steuart?”

“Of course, I’m worried about Steuart,
but he’s being taken care of. I’m the one carrying the load. Samantha Leigh and
Steuart James are the stressors in my life that are going to finish me off
early. I won’t make it to forty. I know it. My adopted children are killing me
with stress.”

Dr. Klesel stared at Olivia.

She nodded vigorously, “They are. I’m
serious.” She shook her head, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“That. You think I’m exaggerating.”

“I do.”

“I’m not. Okay, maybe a little bit.
Maybe I’m exaggerating to a degree, but that doesn’t alter the facts. Samantha
Leigh and Steuart James know how to behave, but they refuse. I continually tell
them what they need to do. I drill these things into them every single day. I
spend hour upon hour teaching them how to act properly, but they roll their
eyes and refuse to listen. I’m getting exactly nowhere. I’m accomplishing
nothing.”

“Perhaps Sam and Steuart need an
opportunity to be children.”

“They
are
children. They are badly behaved, uncontrollable children who
refuse to listen. No one listens to me. I’m begging for your help. There are
people in the world with children who not only manage, but also thrive as they
maintain a normal, peaceful, and loving existence. Why can’t I be one of those
people?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking
you. Why can’t my life be all perfectly wrapped up and tied with a beautiful
bow like a lot of other people I know? I always put my best foot forward. Why
do these things always happen to me?” Olivia stopped. “Don’t say it.” She stood
and moved towards the door.

Dr. Klesel waited.

Olivia returned to the sofa and sat
down. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m having a rough day. I feel like you are
making everything much harder than it has to be.”

“What do you feel like I’m doing?”

“My children need help now. Why do you
refuse to give them medication?”

“They don’t need medication.”

“I want my children fixed.”

“You continue telling me that the
children are broken and that I need to repair them; that they need medication.”

“So, you are hearing me?”

“Your children are not machines.”

“Steuart James has a broken arm.”

“I feel certain that his attending
physician has prescribed medication for his arm. Would you like for me to talk
with him? I’ll be happy to give him a call. What’s his name?”

I’m not asking for medication for
Steuart’s arm. I’m asking for medication for his broken behavior. Broken
behavior is
your
responsibility.”

“Olivia, medication is not going to
repair your children’s behavior. We go through this every time you’re here.
Their actions are symptoms. They are not the problem.”