Daisy - innocence; childhood; purity
Stiles was 5 when the meetings started. Almost weekly we heard that he was disturbing the class and that they had to get him under control. Or get him tested. So we did. ADHD is what the doctors told us. He would have to take pills so he would shut up. Imagine that, forcing a pill down your child’s throat every morning so teachers don’t get annoyed.
The best part of it was, the first few pills didn’t even work. By the time Stiles was 8, we had tried several already. Our little boy had been called a freak by teachers and students. Annoying. Frustrating. An idiot. All because he had some focusing issues. The spark in his eye had dimmed a bit, but it was still there. And still powerful.
But then Claudia got sick. It started small. She would forget where she put the silverware, despite having set the table moments before. She’d forget if she dropped Stiles off at school, despite the fact that she was about to leave to pick him up.
But as it started small, it would slowly grow. I once came home to Claudia on the couch, and Stiles was nowhere to be seen. She had taken him to the park, but had forgotten to take him back home when she left. Luckily he had remembered to stay where he was until I came to pick him up, and he was safe. But as we drove home, I could tell he was worried. My little boy asked me if mom was okay, if she had left him on purpose and if he had done something wrong. That’s a part of him, he’ll never get back. I reassured him, and he showed me the daisies he picked while he waited. Funny how you can never see those innuendos until it’s too late.
It got even worse after that. The worse Claudia got, the less Stiles was himself. He contained himself. He behaved at school, only letting his energy out when he really couldn’t hold it anymore. He had his friend Scott, who helped him regain some part that was truly my boy. But as soon as he saw me, or his mom, he was quiet. Unmoving. Odd.
Especially after the first time she had attacked him. She cut him, and herself. I don’t remember if I even took care of him after that incident. I was focused on calming Claudia down, taking the knife from her, and making sure she knew she was safe. Did I even take care of him? How can I not remember if I did?
It wasn’t the last time she attacked him. Once she had to stay in the hospital, Stiles once said he had two mothers. He had his real mom, who would listen to his stories, and smile and hold him if he fell asleep. And there was the other one. The mean one, who would yell and scream and throw things at him. The one that called him a monster, and claimed Stiles was trying to kill her. That day I remember very well.
I had joined them both in Claudia’s room after my shift. She was asleep, and Stiles was in a chair across the room. His little eyes were glazed over, and he looked sad. He told me he never tried to hurt her, that he would never, that he didn’t try to kill her. All while he begged me to believe him. His little eyes looked haunted, far too haunted for a boy his age. I didn’t understand, nor like what he was talking about. All I could focus on, was comforting my son and praying he would forget the words his mother had apparently screamed at him. He didn’t.