The Universe is a Very Big Place (5 page)

"It’s about time you got here,” Mrs. Felding said, releasing the boys, who immediately began racing each other around the desks. “You’re almost as unreliable as the father."

Spring cringed. She was a taxpayer. Sort of. Mrs. Felding could be nicer to her. “I’m so sorry, I had to work late. Long story I’m sure you don’t care to know about.” Spring scooped the boys up in her arms as they made a pass and headed towards the door. “We’re going now. Sorry.”

"Ms. Ryan, Jason says you are taking them to the counselor for their attention deficit problem today."

Spring stopped.
 
Mrs. Felding had been harping on her for months now, about the boys' problems in school. High energy. Inability to sit still. Wanting to do things their own way. Though Spring had never attended formal classes herself growing up, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. "I’m no expert but I still don’t think we need to involve a counselor in this. Can’t we just work this out between ourselves?"

Mrs. Felding crossed her arms and gave Spring a hard stare. “I’ve been an educator for twenty-seven years, Ms. Ryan, and I have to say these two have the worst case of hyperactivity I have ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot! I’m going to tell you just what I told their father. If you don’t get them some sort of help I will be forced to contact child protective services again and let them know of your parental negligence. Is that clear?"

Spring’s throat tightened and she nodded. Mrs. Felding fetched a large spiral notebook from her desk. “I’ve written up my observations to help expedite the process,” she said, shoving the notebook at Spring.

"The whole thing?” Spring shuffled through pages of frantically scrawled notes complete with stick figure drawings.

"If you thumb through it fast enough it becomes a flip book.” Mrs. Fielding explained. “That’s in case the counselor doesn’t have enough time to read it in its entirety."

"Thanks,” Spring smiled half-heartedly and slunk out the door.

Spring watched the twins through the rearview mirror. They were identical in every way except for the perpetual cowlick on Blaine’s head and the two missing front teeth in Shane’s mouth, courtesy of a basketball hucked by his brother. They were thin for their age, almost frail-looking. But looks were deceiving. They were scrappy little guys who had no trouble standing up to anyone if they felt their pride, or their toys, were threatened. It had taken the both of them, but they had even wrestled down Jake Turner, the fifth grade bully, when he tried to load up his pockets with their hot wheels. They had either gotten that from their father or their grandmother.

Spring cringed as Blaine picked at the holes in the knees of his jeans. Jason never paid attention to what he dressed them in. No wonder Mrs. Felding thought they were negligent.

Spring clawed at the side of her face, trying to stave back the itch that was creeping across her head. This was a new development in her body’s repertoire of stress management. At least the eye twitch had gone. Mrs. Felding had threatened to call child protective services on her and Jason again. She had done so at the beginning of the year when she thought the boys looked abnormally skinny and were being starved at home. She had done so again around Christmas-time when Blaine had admitted to the class that his daddy’s home was sometimes a tent. And again after spring break when Shane had come to school with a black eye, courtesy of a mock sword fight with his brother, but ‘highly suspicious’ according to their teacher.

Though child protective services did not find any evidence of abuse, it was always on Spring’s mind that someday they could snatch her children away. She had seen this happen with some of the parents in the carnival circuit––kids taken away in unmarked station wagons for being dirty or missing school as their frantic parents chased behind, promising to get them back. The memories
 
of childhood friends being snatched up by badge-wearing adults still made her get up at night and check to see if her own boys were still in their beds.

"Shane’s making faces at me,” Blaine tattled from the backseat. The hair on the back of his head stood up extra high today, as if wanting to call attention to itself.

"Am not, you stupid-head,” Shane defended, sticking his Kool-Aid coated tongue out at his brother. Their father was always touting the healing effects of Kool-Aid and often sent the boys to school with a packet for snack-time. He argued that this would give them each a full day’s supply of vitamin C, according to the package.

Spring stared in quiet fascination as a French-fry was launched across the backseat, hitting its mark. “Ouch!” Blaine said. “You hit me with the pokey end!"

She parked the car and sat for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “This is how people go insane,” she mumbled as something larger and fuzzier flew within her peripheral. When she had counted to ten she turned to give them a stern look. “Boys,
please
be good for Mommy when we see the counselor. Pretty please?"

The twins paused, a ketchup packet poised for assault. “Counselor?”
 

That caught their attention. They had seen many school therapists during their two years in Elementary School and knew the drill. “I love counseling,” said Blaine, the schemer of the two. "They give you candy and toys and you get out of class."

"We aren’t in class, dummy,” Shane, who loved to be right, corrected his brother, leaning over to stab Blaine with the foot of a G.I. Joe.

"Mommy. Shane’s being disruptive!"

"Boys please?” Spring pled, her voice heavy with desperation. She hated bargaining with the twins, but wasn’t sure what else she could do. The only punishment that seemed to work on them was Time Out, but they were already buckled in. "If you are good we can go to McDonald's after, okay? But if you are bad then there is no McDonald's. None."

Blaine unfastened his safety belt and leaned over to whisper something in his brother’s ear. Shane nodded. “Okay,” Blaine said, extending a hand for his mother to shake. “Deal."

The counselor was a prune of a woman who introduced herself as Ms. Droll. Her hair was graying and secured in a neat bun near the nape of her long neck and her skin was the color of skim milk diluted by water. She had the look of something that had been left in the freezer too long. In stark contrast to her own appearance, her office was warm and colorful. The walls were painted a soothing lavender and the windows were large and smudge-free. Smiling pictures of children hung on the wall and classical music played tastefully in the background. Spring sat on the beige couch across from Ms. Droll and nervously tapped her hands in her lap.

"There are some plastic dinosaurs on the floor that you are welcome to play with,” Ms. Droll informed the boys, motioning to a small plastic bucket in the corner of the room.

"Yay!" The twins cheered, racing towards the dinosaurs. Spring resisted the urge to remind them that they were toys, not weapons. There was no need to cause Ms. Droll to think of them as violent before she saw the proof.

"Now, what brings you here?" The counselor asked, turning her attention to Spring.

"A car,” Spring laughed uncomfortably. When Ms. Droll did not respond she shifted her weight and considered her words carefully. She and Jason were not the most conventional parents and Spring had learned that some people had trouble with that. "Their teacher wants us to do something about their attention deficit problems."

"I see," Ms. Droll snorted, her long nose twitching. "And what sort of symptoms do they have which would lead you believe they have ADHD?" She glanced at the twins who were calmly debating which dinosaur was the nicest, Triceratops or Brachiosaurus.

"They never sit still. They lose everything. They are impulsive. And they can’t focus on anything for very long." Spring felt her face redden. Blaine was giving his brother a hug and Spring regretted telling them to behave earlier. Ms. Droll probably thought she was either neurotic or a liar. Perhaps both.

"And have they been diagnosed?" A smug smile played across her thin lips. "Or is this mother’s intuition?"

Spring suddenly realized why some people stab other people with G.I. Joes. It was frustrating to feel that her worth as a parent could be determined in ten minutes. "Their teacher first commented on it, then it was diagnosed three weeks ago by their pediatrician."

"A medical doctor," Ms. Droll snorted. "It figures. They are getting into the mental health field lately. It’s a very lucrative field." Spring nodded and Miss Droll continued. "Have you tried anything at home to help them?"

Spring had attempted everything from every parenting book ever written. "I’ve tried behavior modification and positive reinforcement. Sticker charts. Time outs."
And bribing
. "It just doesn’t seem to be enough."

"Ms. Ryan, I’ve been working with children a very long time and I have to admit, they don’t seem hyperactive to me. Not that I don’t trust your pediatrician." Ms. Droll wrinkled her nose. "...But I’d like to do a little digging myself before making an
official
diagnosis. If you could step out of the room for a moment, I will have a brief chat with the boys myself. Sometimes children open up more without Mommy around."
 

Ms. Droll opened the door and ushered Spring out into an overly-air conditioned hallway where Barry Manilow’s
Mandy
played on a continual loop. Spring pressed her ear to the door to try and hear something over the music. It was no use. After a few minutes Ms. Droll emerged and the look on her face told Spring that it had not been an entirely uplifting conversation.

"Were they bad?" Spring asked anxiously, peering inside. The dinosaurs had been cleaned up and the boys were grinning mischievously in her direction.

"Children are not bad or good, Ms. Ryan. They are either behaving or misbehaving. As for your boys, they were very well-behaved." Ms. Droll gave them a fond smile and turned her attention back to Spring. "You may return to your children. I will be right back," said Ms. Droll as she vanished down the corridor.

Maybe I should switch schools and doctors,
Spring thought, glancing at the exit sign. She wondered if she would appear on
America’s Most Wanted
for being a fugitive from therapy. "Okay, boys. New plan," Spring said. "Mama needs you to act normal now. Okay? I know I said no McDonald's if you were bad, but you can be bad. You won’t get in trouble. I promise."

"Wait, you told us to be good," said Shane, scratching his head.

"It’s a trap!" Blaine accused her. "Don’t listen, Shane."

Spring spread her hands, exasperated. "I know what I told you, but now I think Ms. Droll doesn’t believe Mommy about your behavior problems. What did you tell her when I was in the hall?"

Blaine spoke up. "That you get angry for no good reason and that Daddy lives in the park."

Spring shook her head and stifled a yelp as Ms. Droll returned. "Blaine and Shane," she said enthusiastically, clapping her small hands together. There was so little skin covering bone that they barely made a sound as flesh hit flesh. "We are going to play a game. All you have to do is draw a picture of whatever you like and I will give you a piece of gum when you are done."

"Not the
Draw Me a Picture
game!"
Spring hadn’t meant to say these words aloud but they fell from her lips before she could stop them. The twins were masters of
Draw Me a Picture,
having been administered the test by the many counselors that had transitioned in and out of Cooper Elementary since Blaine and Shane had begun school two years ago. They enjoyed toying with their therapists and with each subsequent attempt became more original in their artistic renderings. "Is there any other test we can do? They have done this one before. This one doesn’t really test for ADHD does it?"

The lines around Ms. Droll’s thin lips deepened, little creeks shooting from a main river. "ADHD is often confused with another disorder, Miss Ryan. These pictures can say what their little mouths cannot." The boys took the crayons and paper and got to work. Spring tried to see what they were drawing but Ms. Droll positioned herself between them, her small frame providing adequate privacy for the boys to create.