Never Alone

Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

I looked out at my friends from my position in the treatment chair. My contact lenses were already in and the pill was sitting in the center of my palm. I'd tried to end my life because I'd had no reason to hope I'd ever feel normal again. But that was before.

Marco's eyes met mine one last time and then his throat constricted as he swallowed his pill. I held my breath, knowing the strength it was taking him to face his past and allow us into the dark corners of his mind. It was as if he'd lost the negotiation with the SWAT team and had decided to meet them at the door to allow them entry without any of his demands having been met. He just wanted help.

Dr. Crimm's voice soothed as she lead Marco into his memories.

I heard the sound of children playing and realized that if I concentrated, I could see a small figure in the darkness on the screen. A very young Marco stood in sand, his head turning in search of something or someone.

Like plants sprouting from soil, Marco's world rose from the sand piece by piece. Walls quickly closed in on the younger version of him, containing the vision to a small classroom. Tables emerged, as well as a handful of classmates, disrupting the smooth surface of the sand and making the compact room feel crowded. A sign hung above the door, welcoming fathers to a Father's Day breakfast. Now I could see the proud men standing with their children, and the smiles on the faces of Marco's peers. What was missing was Marco's father, and the smile I imagined would be on young Marco's face if he'd been there.

Marco moved to sit at a table alone. His eyes welled with tears that never fell. While the other kids ate breakfast with the men they'd invited, Marco folded his arms on his desk and rested his head on them. Some of the fathers looked his way, clearly unsettled by his father's absence, but no one moved to help the little boy who sat alone. My heart hurt. I wanted to pull the small child into my lap and hold him. Why hadn't his father come?

As the room grew louder with talking and laughter, Marco turned his head and looked out the window. Outside was a playground with lush green grass, and a swing set sitting empty in a sandbox. The tops of the walls around him began to blow away like sand from the top of a dune, quickly disappearing as his mind pushed him to another place.

"I told you to mow the lawn!" A loud male voice yelled, causing me to jump in my chair.

"I was going to do it later," Marco answered. He was only a few years older now, no more than ten.

"You never take responsibility. How are you going to become a man if you can't put your needs aside for the sake of what's best for the family?" Marco's father asked him. The physical resemblance was uncanny. "You need to start growing up."

"Yes, sir." Marco answered. He slipped from the swing he'd been playing on, this one in the backyard of a small house. As his feet sank into the white sand beneath him, the world around us changed again.

The small feet that had previously been encased in worn sneakers now raced atop packed dirt in cleats. Marco ran full speed toward home plate, guarded by a menacing catcher. His father's voice carried above the crowd as he yelled, "Faster, Marco!" The tension in the air was so thick it made breathing difficult, and I wondered whether it was the illusion of humidity, or anxiety that pressed hard against my lungs.

Marco lunged forward, sliding across the dirt with his hands outstretched. The snap of the ball cut the air as it hit the catcher's mitt. Marco flew beneath the catcher's legs and over the base. He was safe, but the umpire couldn't see clearly from his position and called him out.

Defeated, Marco stood and headed back to the dugout. His father stood at the bottom of the stands near the entrance to the dugout. Marco didn't turn his head in his direction and his jaw was clenched so tightly it ticked. He didn't want to speak to his father or even give him the opportunity to make a comment.