The Battered Heiress Blues (19 page)

“I’m sure Kate will come to her senses and be back by Christmas. Just promise me that you won’t let time stand still waiting. You need to have a back up plan just in case she flakes out and returns to London.”

“So do you.”

“That train has already left the station, I assure you. I’ve moved on.”

“You say that like you almost mean it.”

“I do.”

“I’m happy for you and a bit envious.”

“Time heals all things,” I said, encouragingly.

“Not really. The pain just dulls, somewhat.”

I started to walk back toward Mattie, hoping movement would change the subject. I couldn’t continue to be Kate’s cheerleader when I was so upset with her. Gabe was sharp. Eventually, he would crack the façade if I wasn’t on my toes and Kate’s true feelings would spew like vomit from my mouth.

“What would you say about me taking Mattie to his therapy appointments? I mean, if that’s agreeable to you. I’ve missed spending time with him…you too. That big house can get lonely- it needs a kid like Mattie to fill it with the exuberance of youth.”

“That would be fine. He’d love it actually, but sometimes I have to work late or pull a night shift, and I couldn’t be back at a decent hour to pick him up. The church volunteers usually take him home and I get him in the morning. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“Don’t be silly. I have ample rooms for guests. Mattie can stay over. You can get him when you get off or just come by in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course. You can even stay at my house with Mattie instead of waking him up, if you’d like.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“When do you want to start taking him?”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“No. He goes to horse therapy from 3:00-4:00 PM on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Sensory therapy is Tuesday and Thursday. That seems like a lot for one person to volunteer for.”

“We’ll play it by ear. You can take him on your off days. I’ll share your son with you.”

Gabe laughed. I responded with a chuckle.

“What’s going on with you, Julia? Something is different, but I can’t quite put my finger on it?”

“Can you stop being Sherlock Holmes for even a second? You have an overactive imagination.”

“I don’t think so.”

Thank God I’d brought some old bread for the birds. I reached in my knap sack and pulled out a couple of loaves that had been put in the freezer by the caterers during Connor’s funeral. The birds scurrying around for the tossed bread captured Mattie’s attention. He even looked like he smiled. My make-shift family was pieced back together.

13

M
attie and I spent our days romping through the big house, finding new ways to play with old objects that belonged to my mom. He loved to take things apart. We spent several days dismantling an old typewriter. Then, we broke down a beat up radio that no longer worked. He was very good with screwdrivers. As each piece was removed, he laid it out to the side in some order that I didn’t understand. His typical inventory was left undisturbed. We simply stepped over the pieces as we moved through the rooms. This mechanical work usually occupied our mornings.

After lunch, we would take a walk to the chapel. I would try to organize my thoughts and pray as he ran through each pew. I prayed for that little boy with so much heart and conviction that I was almost brought to tears on occasions. Sometimes, after my prayers, we’d go in to the cemetery to sit with Connor and my mom. While I held down the bench, with my ever growing girth, Mattie would step into the fountain and walk in circles around the statue of Jesus. The fountain had become almost coin-free thanks to him. He didn’t like them cluttering up the bottom. I thought about getting some fish, but I wasn’t sure if the change would go over well.

Therapy consumed our afternoons. The evenings that he stayed over were special to me. We’d pop popcorn and I’d watch old movies while he colored in his sketch pad. Before mid way though the flick, he’d be sound asleep on a mountain of crayons in my bed. I lay next to him, watching his chest rise and fall, envisioning a life full of adventure and love for us all. Gabe had placed his happiness in the palms of this little boy’s hands. Apart from Mattie, he would have no joy. His contentment with Mattie’s current level of functioning made me admire him all the more. The same big dreams that I held for Connor, I now held for Mattie.

I was still unclear as to why a good God would inflict such a mystery on an innocent child. Gabe was in a better place of acceptance than me. I was struggling to find peace with losing Connor. I was still sad and depressed, but I was fighting the good fight, and getting on with life for the sake of the baby. Gabe trudged through difficulties every day. Nothing was ever easy with Mattie, but Gabe continued to remain strong and assured of better days ahead. I was starting to believe that Mattie would come back to us. I prayed night after night for God to unlock his world. Was he hearing me? Would he see him amongst all the other hurts and sorrows of the world and heal this one particular boy? I was betting on a miracle.

Horse therapy was interesting. I had been taking Mattie for several weeks. The horse trainer was wonderful with the kids, but I didn’t love the therapist. I voiced my concerns to Gabe, but he brushed me off, telling me that he’d investigated her credentials and equine therapy was proven to be helpful for autistic children. I was very much a skeptic, based on her disposition.

There were about ten kids in his therapy class with varying degrees of autism. From first impressions, I would say that Mattie’s struggle fell somewhere in the middle. Two of them could verbally communicate with others while another two, on the other end of the spectrum only had the capability of non-verbal communication.

Mattie was able to meaningfully engage in play, although it was usually by himself. He seemed to find his own environment interesting even if he chose not to interact with the outside world. He was able to communicate his needs by banging his cup on the kitchen counter or by standing in front of a cabinet that held an object he desired. If he didn’t want to participate in an activity, he disconnected from the situation and went inside himself.

Mattie was in there somewhere. This was never more evident to me than when we fed the birds. I could never give him the bread fast enough. He would toss piece after piece and stand still until the birds landed on the sand. Once they drew close, he would chase them up and down the beach, delighting in their flight. I knew he was smiling on the inside. Perhaps with his therapy, he’d be able to tell us someday.

After four weeks of smooth sailing in the horse arena, Friday’s therapy did not go as planned. Mattie had decided, before we even left the house, that he had no interest in going. He gave Gabe trouble when he tried to dress him and he hit his hand against the car window as we passed the ice cream parlor. I didn’t know whether to pull over or just try to make it to the farm as quickly as I could. I tried to appease him by promising to take him for ice cream after his ride. The overture did little to detour his actions.

When we finally arrived, he refused to get out of the car. The therapist walked over, trying to discover why we were holding up her class. She tried to coax him out, but he wouldn’t cooperate. I was severely out of my element. Never having known a child with autism, I had little experience in knowing how to motivate him to achieve a positive outcome. I had even less experience and success with behavior modification techniques. Getting people, like Henry, to do what I wanted wasn’t really my strong suit. I had a poor track record.

Bribing him again with a trip to the ice cream store didn’t do the trick. I honestly felt bad for sinking to those depths. I could easily remember times, even still as an adult, when I didn’t want to do things either. Bribery never moved me to act as others expected, if I truly believed in my opposition to the task. Why was it not possible that Mattie just didn’t feel like riding this particular day? His feelings seemed reasonable. He had participated in all the other therapy sessions; he wasn’t just being obstinate. On this day, he wasn’t up to it and I could feel his pain. Wasn’t the boy entitled to one day off?

The therapist became impatient with both of us. Legally, she explained that she wasn’t allowed to physically pull him out of my car. She informed me that physical correction was the sole responsibility of the parent. She instructed me to pull him out and then she and her staff would take it from there. I didn’t like how that sounded.

I noticed one of the other moms dragging her son, kicking and screaming, across the parking lot. The sight of their interaction bothered me greatly. The mom probably didn’t feel like she had a choice with the therapist touting her opinions so freely. Using intimidation and the need for conformity, the therapist had every parent falling in line with her way of thinking; everyone, but me, of course.

Unfortunately for her, I didn’t have the years of sorrow that were wrapped up in both heartache and hope. I’m sure that everyone wanted Mattie to reach his full potential. I think we differed on the most advantageous way to go about that. Even with him refusing to cooperate and clutching the door handle, as if his life depended on remaining in my car, I loved him. The therapist was letting her expectations get in the way of unconditional love. If Mattie could solve this, he would.

Whatever happened to meeting people on their level? We make decisions for our lives based on the goods that we have stored in our soul. If the goods are pure, we positively enrich the lives of those around us. If the goods are tainted, we bring misery to the world. Mattie was pure. He enriched Gabe’s life. He enriched my life. Understanding his level of functioning only made his gift that much more precious. Then there are the tainters- people like Jackson. He made crappy choices intentionally because he was a crappy person. His goods were directed to better his own existence, regardless of the personal cost to the world around him. There are good people and there are Jackson people. Mattie was good- a real treasure. Jackson was a tainted scumbag. My condemnation of him probably meant that I fell somewhere in between.

The therapist began to get visibly upset. Her face became strained. She gritted her teeth and balled her fists as they rested at her sides. We were standing next to one another, a few feet from the car, giving Mattie the space he needed to avoid feeling threatened.

“You need to pull him out of the car,” she demanded angrily as she stepped toward the open door.

“You need to step back,” I said as I wedged myself between her and Mattie.

“He needs to know that he doesn’t have a choice about participating in therapy.”

“But he does have a choice,” I protested.

“No he doesn’t. He’s a child.”

“He’s a child with a choice,” I corrected.

She lunged past me and began trying to peel his fingers from the door handle. Mattie became agitated and started rocking and turning his head from side to side.

“Take your hands off him…now,” I demanded.

“All you’re doing is setting low expectations for him.”

“Lady, you’ve already met my low expectations quota for the day. Remove your hands from his fingers if you’d like to keep them.”

“I can’t hold off this lesson any longer. The other parents have their children ready.”

“Don’t let us keep you.”

“I’m calling Sheriff Martin.”

“Do you need the number?”

“You’re only hurting him by allowing this. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“The only thing I know for sure is that you won’t be hurting him today. As far as knowing what I’m doing; I can assure you that I have no idea, but love covers a multitude of sins.”

She stormed off and disappeared into the indoor arena. Mattie was still rocking as I knelt down and stroked his cheek.

“How would you feel about bird therapy today, Little Man? Would you like to go to the beach and feed the birds with me?”

After a silent stand off, Mattie let go of the door handle and sat back, grabbing a hold of his seat belt strap. I closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side wondering if I needed to call Gabe myself, before the mean and nasty therapist beat me to the punch. Regardless, I had no intention of forcing Mattie to participate in horse therapy or any other kind of therapy- not on my watch. Even if Gabe asked, I wouldn’t pull him out of the car and drag him across the lot, kicking and screaming. There was something inhumane in that option.