The Perfect Solution-A Suspense of Choices (12 page)

From the matching car/truck motif on the wall paper border and comforter on the racing car shaped bed, and to the shelf of toys against the wall showed that the entire room had been decorated with a little boy in mind.

"Brhin will love it here. He'll be glad that I brought him home and he'll love this room when he sees it."

She danced around in her joy. Her every thought and action in decorating the room had been geared by thoughts of Brhin. From the very first sight of him, four months previously and every day since, Brhin had become her reason for living. The first time she saw him she had thought he seemed so cute putting in his breakfast order at the McDonald's across from her house.

That 'little redhead' (she refused to even think of the skinny little woman as his mother) had been holding him at eye level to the cashier and he had stated his wishes in a clear concise manner. The cashier had giggled good-naturedly when Brhin insisted on ordering nuggets for breakfast and he had laughed along with her. Eaves dropping on their short conversation, she had gathered the information that Brhin and the cashier went through the same little drama every Saturday morning and she had silently chuckled along with them. Amused with the verbal exchange and entranced with the joy for life that the child exhibited, she had become enamored with him. From then on, it had become her business to be at the Mc Donald's on Saturdays when the 'little redhead' brought Brhin in for breakfast. She would sit in a different area and watch his every move.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact day that had made her decide she wanted the child as her own, but deep in her soul she had known. The need to have Brhin had gotten so absorbing that she knew there was no way she could live without him. Saturday became the only day in the week that gave her reason to go on.

There had never been anyone in her life to care about or who cared about her. Growing up, she had been an only child reared by an angry over protective father that was now dead. Her mother gave her up at birth and never returned to visit and her father never let her forget. As a child she was blamed for the fact her mother had run off. When she became older she found out she was not the biological child of the man she called father and that her mother had run away in fear from the horrendous physical and mental abuse. Why a woman would leave a child with such a man, was beyond her.

While she was growing up she promised herself she would have many babies and give them any and everything they wanted. She would give them lots of love and freedom to grow and enjoy themselves. Now that she had him, she would give Brhin anything he asked for. He would want for nothing.

Putting a toy truck on the floor, Mona remembered how happy she’d been when she was a child playing with her toys. She played with dolls, giving them the care and names that she would one day give to children of her own. Those dolls had been the only things she’d loved in the world. She’d put so much time into those dolls, making their clothes with ragged little girl stitches, combing their hair and spending so many of her days hourly fantasizing, her father began to call her a crazy lunatic, and any other insult which came to his mind.

On her eighth birthday, he gathered all of her dolls and burned them. He made her stand and watch as he took each carefully made piece of clothing, laid them out on the barbecue pit, poured lighter fluid on them and set them on fire.

Remembering how hurt and angry she had been with her father, Mona paced the room holding her chest. Walking always seemed to help her get control of the situation. Whenever she was angry, the heat which was smothered inside of her made her want to burst and destroy everything around her. She could almost feel the same pent up rage she’d experienced the day her father forced her to stand and watch her things burning. She had felt the rage trying to boil over her self-constraint as she had fought him that day. Much in the same way she was sure Brhin had felt as he fought her, to not be put in her car, that afternoon. The only difference between her and the animal that had reared her was the fact she had not beaten Brhin to a bloody mass.

Over the years she learned to deal with her anger. Anger made her a stronger person. It helped her to survive the physical, mental and sexual abuse she endured while living with her father. She grew to hate the man with a deadly passion and for five years she had prayed constantly for him to die.

Three months after her fifteenth birthday, he did. And she practically jumped for joy, at least in her mind she had. It hadn’t mattered to her that it had been one of the most harrowing deaths she could imagine. She was just glad the life as she had known it was over.

It had been her choice to have sex in a car with a guy from school and she had felt that her so say father had no right to think he could tell her what to do when he cared nothing about her. How he found out where she and her choice of lover were parked, she had no idea. She only knew she was made to feel degraded beyond words when the person she thought of as her father, called her all kinds of names in front of the boy before yanking her from the backseat and practically throwing her into the passenger side of his car. Nothing he had ever done to her had eaten at her self-worth so totally until he had demeaned her in front of another person.

At that moment, she finally realized she meant nothing in the world to anyone and she no longer cared whether she lived or died. She hadn’t cared that she ended up in the hospital for two months after the car incident. She felt no remorse or sorrow at the knowledge, the man she damned for being her father had burned to death trapped in his own car and she damn sure hadn't cared his accident might have been seen as partly her fault. It hadn't even bothered her to spend the remainder of her teen years in the foster care system. She just knew that she was free of him. Served him right for trying to argue and fight with her in the car.

At first her father had just driven and berated her with cutting, belittling, and soul eating words as he compared her to her mother. When she made no replies and sat like a statue, he began, administering numerous quick back handed slaps which burst her lips and broke her nose. After about the third or fourth blow she had lost control of her emotions and reached for the steering wheel and he swung at her again. Avoiding another swing directed at her face, she realized she would forever be in a fight for her survival and she lost it. In her mind, nothing mattered, she no longer cared whether she lived or died. She just knew that this would be the last day he would slap her around.

Grabbing him by the hair and ears, she had done her best to pull him towards the passenger side of the car, which resulted in the car slamming into the guardrail of the highway and flipping over into the raven beneath. It was a miracle she survived. He on the other hand deserved everything he’d gotten. The fool lived as if he had come straight from Hades and his going by fire seemed to be justifiable.

Once she was released from the hospital she lived out the rest of her teen years being shuffled from one foster home to another until she’d run off with a truck driver who promised her the world. She decided that if she couldn't have her dolls to lavish her love on, she would have a baby of her own. But no baby had come.

After many men friends, three horrible unsuccessful marriages, and turning forty years old, the conclusion that none would be forth coming had finally penetrated. She would never have children of her own. That was until four months previously, when Brhin entered the picture and ever since then; Beaumont had become her way of life.

Brhin became everything to her. She had watched him on Saturdays like a hawk. Listening and remember every little thing about him. He loved nuggets, sausage biscuits, the mechanical merry-go-round, a little girl named Melody that attended the same childcare center and the stuffed brown dog he carried around. It had taken her a while to find one that matched exactly. She found out he attended The Perfect Solution Daycare Center. She’d seen the name of the center on a T-shirt he’d worn a few times. After seeing the shirt, she visited the center herself, on the pretext of wanting to place a child there. During her tour of The Center, she had mentally given the 'little red head' her kudos. The place was beautiful. The reception area was a decorator's dream.

A roll top desk, holding small plants, and tiny framed pictures was set aside for would be clients to use when filling applications. The longest wall in the room was decorated with a large flower shaped mirror centered and surrounded by framed pictures of children attending the P. S. Center and enjoying various activities. Peeping around the three thick leaved potted plants, the eyes and sometime ears of small ceramic models of baby animals strategically placed to entice an inquisitive child to come and play.

The navy blue sofa and loveseat that sat in the middle of the room, practically begged all who entered the center to sit on their plush cushions and enjoy the magazines or children's books placed on the low coffee table, while the two thick cushioned rocking chairs invited parents into their arms to share a last minute hug or a forgotten conversation. All of this, she had taken in with avid hunger. The place was cozy and inviting. She had wanted to be a part of everything Brhin saw or touched. The clincher, which had probably drawn the 'little redhead' and other potential clients, were the six flat-screened television monitors, set into the short wall of the reception area. With their ever changing view, they showed the activities of every room in the building and the outside play area.

Barely breathing and not daring to blink, Mona had desperately scanned each monitor for a view of Brhin. And he had been there on that day, playing trucks on the floor with his little girlfriend. While all of the other children were running around like little savages, Brhin and Melody were quietly pushing their tiny vehicles around on the streets of a miniature city. Mona had become so overwhelmed with the idea of taking Brhin right then and there, she'd had to make excuses to the director and quickly leave The P. S. Center.

"And now he's here."

Mona danced around the room in exultation, making hopping, twisting movements in her rapture and only stopping at the sight of Brhin standing in the doorway.

"Is this your little boy's room?" Brhin looked around as he walked in the room. Running and jumping onto the bed he made loud car noises while bouncing and laughing in his enjoyment. "I like this bed. I wanted one, but Momma said I couldn't have one 'cause I will grow out of it too soon. She bought me a pretty wood bed; it has bookshelves on the top and little sliding doors I can hide things in and two big drawers on the bottom. I keep my favorite toys in them. You can keep a lot of different things on the shelves, though. I love that bed. Is your little boy smaller than me? Where is he? Is he with his daddy? I have a daddy. I don't see him for real though, only in the pictures in my momma's book. I wish I could be with my daddy sometimes. My momma says some day I can go and visit him."

"Yes, this is my little boy's room." Mona ignored his other comments. She didn’t want the thoughts of the other woman spoiling her day "I have a package here for you. Go ahead and open it. Everything in this room is for you. You're my little boy now."

Brhin's tiny fingers had begun to tear into the wrappings, but stilled at the last part of her answer.

"You're not my momma." He stated emphatically. "And when my momma finds me, you'll be in trouble. I won't stay here." Jumping off the bed, he ran to the door. Looking over his shoulder at Mona he continued talking. "My momma will look for me forever. She said so."

Mona stared at Brhin's defiant little form standing poised to run from the room. She massaged both of her temples and closed her eyes for a second. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes, crossed the room and knelt at his eye level.

"Maybe you're right. I'll have to think about that. Maybe we'll leave town. Let your hair grow out and change your name. We'll do whatever it takes. Right now, I want you to open your gift."

"I need to go to the bat'room." He stepped through the door.

*****

“
Bertha Wall”

Bertha Wall angrily slammed the receiver of the telephone back into its cradle, yanked open the drawer to her desk and threw in the little brown book which contained the telephone numbers of The P. S. Center's staff. She had just finished calling and ordering the staff to get to The Center as soon as possible. Threatening them with the fact their job was in the deepest of jeopardy, if they did not come. She cursed loudly in irritation when she backed the wheeled armchair and her knee hit the solid wood underside of the edge of the desk. She felt like screaming, throwing her hands into the air and stumping around like a maniac. Why is this happening to me?

"Damn it." Bertha threw an ashtray across the room and watched as it shattered on contact with the wall. "I should just close down that damn center. I am really getting tired of the constant problems. The hassles are just not worth it." She fell into her habit of mumbling aloud. "I can’t stand the whining, runny nosed little brats and the majority of the staff happens to be dimwits. I don't even know how half of them got hired in the first place."

Bertha loudly listed the faults of The P. S. Center as she combed her hair.

"First, it was the stupid little kid that purposely stuck something in the light socket and almost fried her brain. What in hell the teacher was doing when the child was so near a socket was unexplainable. And what had happened to the socket covers? I’ve spent a minor fortune on the things and they were constantly being misplaced. Thank God no one noticed anything more than the child's hair sticking up. Good thing the child's parents hadn't been told about that little shocker. A few months before that incident, Mrs. Lacey had forgotten a child at the park. It was a miracle the mother never made any charges or reports. That fiasco by itself would have definitely been a reason to have The P. S. Centers closed. It always amazes me when parents don't report things to the authorities. It is their ignorance that was keeping The P. S. Center open.” Bertha closed her eyes briefly thanking God for their carelessness.