Chapter Four
‘I was reading about a new approach to help kids like you, Keisha,’ Sam said while munching on her muesli.
‘But I’ve tried everything possible – psychiatrists, different medications, everything. I’m not that bad now anyway.’
‘You’re certainly better, but I thought maybe this new approach I’ve read about could help cure you.’
‘Cure me? I don’t think that’s possible, but okay, you can tell me about it if you like.’
‘Well, it’s called “The Four Steps”,’ she said putting her spoon into the bowl. ‘Dr Jeffrey Schwarz is the one who introduced it. It looks really good. Perhaps you could look into it. You like researching different illnesses, especially your own. What do you think, Keish?’
‘I don’t think anything can cure me, Sam. You know I did all that research after Mum died, and it seems the only thing keeping my illness at bay is the medication.’
I didn’t see Dr Robbins anymore.
Eight years was more than enough.
He had been amazing in his own special way though. He always seemed to know the right questions to ask, and how to get right to the very core of the problems I was having even when I didn’t want to tell him.
It was like me and Chemistry.
My Chemistry teacher tried hard to teach me the basics but the basics just didn’t want to unveil themselves to me. Mind you, I wasn’t very assiduous when it came to probing my teacher.
Dr Robbins, as nice and smiley as he was, scared me sometimes though especially when he seemed to look at me for long times.
‘It’s funny,’ he said one day, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs and putting his hands behind his head, ‘but you do remind me of a girl I had a crush on in my class when I was about your age.’
I didn’t know what to say.
I was stunned.
‘Oh, ok. That’s nice,’ was the best I could do.
I often wanted to desensitize my mind, but had no idea how. Dr Robbins said Zoloft could help because it worked on the serotonin levels in the brain. Trouble was my serotonin levels caused havoc with my brain cells even when they were controlled. The two were in constant conflict like Alex and me.
Alex was my serotonin.
I was my brain cells.
Serotonin is the chemical that allows brain cells to communicate with other brain cells. After the serotonin is released it is taken back up quickly so it can be used again. Zoloft interferes with the way serotonin is recycled so that when serotonin is released it is given a chance to spend more time outside the cells.
I didn’t want Alex to spend any more time with my brain cells than what she had to.
Dr Robbins hadn’t been the only one.
Kids stared at me on the bus too.
People in shopping centres stared at me.
I never knew where to look so I played with my belt or counted my teeth.
‘Why do you think people look at me, Sam?’ I asked when we were walking through the mall one day with Dad.
‘They’re not looking at you, Keisha. You shouldn’t be so paranoid.’
‘But they are!’ I said watching a girl study me as she passed us. ‘See, she looked at me.’
‘Keisha, when you pass someone sometimes you automatically look at them without realising. Stop getting yourself so worked up about it.’
‘Well, believe what you like but I reckon they’re looking at me because they can see how deranged I am and they’re waiting for me to start chanting some loony tune. Maybe I should do it just to give them the satisfaction. What do you think?’
Dad shook his head and said, ‘come on, Keisha, you’re starting to get silly now.’
‘Ok, but I still think they’re looking at me.’
I was tempted to start jumping up and down and sing ‘I can’t get no satisfaction’ at the top of my voice while playing the air guitar. Give me some tight rocker jeans, collagen in my lips and tease my hair and I would have been well away.
That would have given them something to look at.
I placed my spoon in the bowl making sure it was parallel with the edge of the table. Sam watched and sighed.
‘See what I mean, Keisha. It’s things like that. No-one else even thinks about how they put their spoon in the bowl.’
‘It’s because I’m meticulous, Sam. Stop picking on me.’
‘I’m not picking on you. I’m just looking out for you, and really I think you should read “The Four Steps” theory. It might help you.’
Why did she have to keep going on about it?
I didn’t want to read about her stupid theory.
‘Alright, I’ll give it a read, but when I’ve finished all the reading I’ve got for English.’ The words just seemed to pour out of my mouth without any thought for my poor brain cells.
And it was a lie. I finished the reading for English weeks ago.
‘Okay,’ she said and gave me a side-glance like she didn’t believe me.
I watched her stack the breakfast bowls.
‘Why did you put the empty bowl on top of that one with the Cornflakes in?’ I asked.
‘I’m going to wash them up so does it really matter?’
‘No but now the bottom of the top bowl is dirty and it didn’t need to be.’
Sam was my favourite sister even for all her lack of common sense. I didn’t love her any more than the others. I just had a stronger connection with her. She was so kind to me, and when she smiled her whole face lit up. She was beautiful - twenty-nine – and had Mum’s piercing blue eyes. She always wore a suit and makeup to work, and was the chief editor of a fashion magazine.
Dad should have been proud of her.
But he wasn’t.
He and Jessica treated her like an outcast.
‘Sam’s right, you know,’ Jessica said, buttering her fifth slice of toast like she was icing a huge cake soaked in butter icing. How she managed to eat so much always had me stumped.
‘Look, I understand where you’re both coming from, but I have a lot of schoolwork at the moment. I’m in Year Ten for God’s sakes. I’ve got so much work that even my illness hasn’t had time to rule my brain.’
The last part wasn’t true.
Biting into the toast, Jessica looked at me and chewed. Her mouth was open and I watched the oily butter seep off her teeth and onto her lips. If she wasn’t careful she would have had long yellow drops all down her orange jumper. Yellow and orange just didn’t match.
This was our Saturday morning ritual. Usually all four of us – Dad, Sam, Jessica and myself – sat down to breakfast. Of course Alex never made it because she was at her boyfriend’s. Why he stayed with her I had no idea.
‘She treats you so badly,’ I said to him one day when he was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Oh, she’s okay. She just likes to have fun. That’s all,’ he said.
‘And what about that thirty-year-old millionaire she kissed?’
‘That was a one off and she said she’d never do it again. I believe her, Keisha.’
He was the only one who did.
He was brainwashed.
Brainwashed like my mind.
Boys were drawn to Alex like I was to routines. I knew she was beautiful but embedded deep under those perfect looks was a sly little feline.
She was definitely my least favourite.
Unfortunately, Dad wasn’t here today either. He was working. He was a barman and had to go to work to help with the deliveries. I loved him being at home. He was always so kind to me.
He was a big soft bear.
A big soft bear in a fantasy world.
He thought all things were good even when they weren’t.
That’s why I loved him so much.
‘What are you both doing today?’ Sam asked getting the detergent from the sink cupboard.
‘I was going to the movies with Dougall but his parents won’
t let him go now, so I’m just going to lounge around and do some homework,’ I said smoothing the margarine over with a knife to make the surface nice and level. I was surprised there was any margarine left after Jessi had plunged her chubby little fingers into it.
‘I’m going shopping with Karen,’ Jessica said pushing her chair back.
Sam turned around.
I stared at Jessica.
We never knew her to go shopping.
We never knew her to do more than bury herself in lard.
‘Oh,’ Sam said. ‘And um… are you going to buy anything in particular?’
‘I’m going to buy some clothes. Must rush, I’m going to be late.’ She bustled through the kitchen doorway. She was either oblivious to our shock or had eaten so much breakfast it had gone right through her.
Sam turned to me and smiled. ‘So, kiddo, what are we doing today?’ It wasn’t often we had time to spend alone together.
‘I really don’t know. Do you have any ideas?’
‘Well, I was thinking about the movies. Maybe see that new film with Brad Pitt in. You like him, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, but I think that film goes on forever.’
I couldn’t sit in one place for longer than two hours. After a while I became fidgety and found myself counting my teeth three times over. That was one of my childhood habits that went hand in hand with my ant checking ritual. It started after the orthodontist wanted to cage my teeth in with revolting metal because my two front ones had a gap the thickness of a fifty-cent piece.
‘You’ll need braces, I’m afraid, Keisha. It’s all we can do now. It’s because you’ve been sucking your thumb for too long,’ the dentist said.
I panicked.
I wasn’t wearing braces.
I had to suck my thumb differently.
When I went back to the dentist two years later he said, ‘hmm, that’s amazing, Keisha. That gap has really closed up.’
‘Yes, I sucked my thumb on the right side instead of in the middle,’ I spluttered while his rubbery fingers poked and prodded the inside of my mouth and while I tried hard not to think about gagging.
‘Very good,’ he whispered to himself.
Now I had a gap at the front the thickness of cotton thread and a small gap at the side, but anything was better than having all that metal in my mouth.
I still had my teeth counting ritual.
Only when I was bored or stressed though.
And it was always three times.
‘How about shopping? I can buy you some new clothes. I think you need some actually.’ Sam frowned as she looked down at the bottoms of my jeans. They always seemed to be riding up my ankles. I was growing too fast.
‘Yeah, that sounds good, but are you sure it’s okay? I can buy them myself.’
Sam loved to treat to me to new clothes.
‘Of course it’s okay,’ she said stroking my head. ‘I don’t think you’re getting enough pocket money from Dad anyway, Keisha, and I know how girls of your age love clothes.’
‘Thanks, Sam. Dad gives me what he can though. He is only a barman and doesn’t earn heaps like other dads do. He works from six every night until two in the morning.’
‘I know. That’s why I want to help you a little myself. Poor Dad never seems to have any money.’
Sam was my merchandiser.
I was her favourite sister.
*****