Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Identical (48 page)
I Stare at the Night Sky
Outside
the window.
The stars shine, as
they always do. Same
stars. Same sky. Only I am
different. Am I different? Will
my life change now? Better or worse? Will Mom come back,
save me? She can’t. She has work to do, far away
from home. Will she take me with her?
Do I want to go? And a bigger
question. Will she listen now?
Memory jabs. I accidentally
told once. Didn’t mean to make her
jealous. I was taking a shower. The soap stung
and when I said “Ow,” Mom asked what hurt. I told her,
“Where Daddy touched me.” She looked and her face grew red.
But she said,
I don’t see a thing.
I guessed Daddy was right.
She got mad, closed
her eyes. Like I
need to do
now.
I’m Still Tired
When sunlight wakes me.
I feel a little better, though,
and that’s bad. They’ll make
me go home soon. Unless I tell.
A voice inside me whispers,
“Can’t tell. They’ll be jealous.”
Shut up. You’re dead.
“Am I? Guess you’ll just
have to wait and see.”
When they finally bring breakfast,
I ask the nurse, “Am I allowed
visitors yet? Has anyone tried
to see me?” Anyone being Ian.
The nurse shakes her head, and
the voice agrees, “He ran like
the wind. You’re crazy, you know.”
I wait for the nurse to leave,
so she doesn’t think I’m crazy.
Then I tell the voice again,
Shut up. You’re fucking dead.
“If you say so.”
When Carol Comes
I’m ready to talk. “Is there such
a thing as a split personality?”
Her eyes measure me up and down.
Dissociative identity disorder
is extremely rare, but yes, it’s real.
“Do the different identities
know about each other?”
Sometimes. Usually not. Sometimes
one does, but the others don’t.
There are no definites with DID.
“Could you split into someone
you know—or used to know?”
The jury’s still out on how the alters
develop. But I suppose you could take
on aspects of someone familiar.
“Will one—what did you call it?
Alter?—do stuff another one won’t?”
My questions have definitely piqued
her interest.
Often that’s the case, yes.
Why? Do you know someone like that?
Well, duh. Why would I ask?
“I think so. What causes it?”
Usually a childhood trauma. An illness,
or an accident. Most often it’s related
to sexual abuse in the formative years.
“Does it mean the person
is crazy? Can you fix it?”
“Crazy” is hardly a clinical term.
It’s a form of mental illness, and yes,
it can be cured, or at least regulated.
It doesn’t happen overnight, though.
It takes years of treatment, and the guts
to dig down and extract the truth.
Guts? Do I have the guts? I smile.
“Guts? Is that a clinical term?”
That’s All I’m Ready to Give Today
She provided a lot of answers,
though, and I’m more grounded.
So I get a jolt when she says,
Kaeleigh, if we’ve been talking
about you, I want to get you
the help you need. The nearest
residential treatment center
is in Ventura….
Residential treatment center?
“No. I don’t want to go there.
I mean I…why can’t I stay here?
Why can’t you be my therapist?”
This is a regular hospital. There
are no beds available for psychiatric
patients. I could treat you, but only
on an outpatient basis. You’ll have
to go home, and all things considered…
“When? When are they going
to release me?” How long do
I have to make up my mind?
Your withdrawal symptoms have
mostly subsided and your vitals
are good. Probably tomorrow.
Tomorrow Isn’t Far Enough Away
“Have you talked to my mother?
Does she know what happened?”
Why haven’t I heard from her?
Your father said he’d take care
of it. Hasn’t she called you?
Well, of course he’d say that.
“My father is a liar.” Whoa.
“I’ll call her. Where’s my cell?”
She goes to the closet, digs
through my things.
Um, it
doesn’t seem to be here.
You can use mine if you want.
It was in my pocket when all this
shit went down. Where is it?
One answer: Daddy. No wonder
I haven’t heard from anyone.
Carol brings me her cell. I start
to dial and suddenly remember
Mom’s
I don’t see a thing.
“Will you talk to her? Please?”
Of course.
Carol waits, and
when Mom answers, the good
doctor pulls no punches.
Mom Promises
To get on a plane as soon as
she can. I don’t know whether to feel
relieved or not. Totally weird
to think this, but I’ve never been so
fucking scared in my life.
I’ve always believed, of the two
of my parents, she was the one I could
count on. But I had completely
forgotten that bath scene. Who is my
mother? Who the fuck am I?
Am I one person? Two?
Maybe even more? Oh, great. Maybe
there are a dozen of me,
doing drugs and sleeping around
all up and down the state.
Speaking of drugs, I could
use a big fatty right about now.
How will I ever score after
I get out of here? And which one
of me is the loadie, anyway?
I’m sure getting high
isn’t good for my “condition,”
but how can I not, if I have
to go home? I can’t imagine living
there any other way.
I Suppose I Got the Addictive Gene
From my wonderful father. Something
else to thank him for. Bastard.
“Thank him for giving you life.”
Fuck that. All he did was have sex
with Mom. Probably just one time.
“Have you noticed you’re cussing?”
Now that you mention it, yeah.
That, I’m pretty sure, I got from you.
“That, and a great sex education.”
Sex is disgusting. And I really,
really wish you’d quit talking to me.
“No can do. You need to hear me.”
Well, if you’re so smart, what do
I do about Daddy? I need to tell.
“He’ll go to prison for a long time.”
So what? He deserves it. Daddies
shouldn’t touch their daughters.
“Not totally his fault. Remember…”
Yeah, yeah. So what, am I supposed
to just say okay, it’s not your fault?
“You could have a little sympathy.”
So I just go on home, wait for him
to go on a bender, drop in for a little?
“Maybe you should confront him.”
Confront him? You mean like tell
him to his face that he’s a sick man?
“The direct approach might work.”
No damn way. He’d deny. He’d
blow up. He’d blame me.
“Face it. You’re a chickenshit.”
Damn straight. But I can’t take this
any longer. And I can’t rely on you.
“You always have before.”
Sorry. I don’t want to be pieces of me
anymore. I have to take care of myself.
“Seeing, my dear, is believing.”
I’m Deep into Conversation
With one of me when Daddy walks
through the door. He looks around.
Who are you talking to?
“Uh. No one. Myself, I guess.”
My belly starts cartwheeling.
People will think you’re crazy.
Fuck, Daddy. I
am
crazy.
“I know. I’m sorry, Daddy.”
I just got a call from your mother.
I’m going to throw up.
“I thought she should know.”
I told her we can handle this.
No! No! No! “I want her
here, Daddy. I need her.”
You’re not three, Kaeleigh.
“No. I’ll never be a little girl again.
You took that away from me.”
I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.
Wow, Ballsy
I can’t believe I found the nerve
to say that much. But I can’t
believe he told Mom not to come.
They’re releasing you tomorrow.
I’ll take the day off to bring you home.
Then we’ll have to discuss our options.
“Options?” What options? Back
to school, back to work, back to…
Oh my God. How can I go back?
I can’t have you getting stoned
and running around like a tramp. Your
reputation may be trashed, but…
“My reputation?
That’s
what you’re
worried about? What the fuck is wrong
with you, Daddy? You need help.”
