A Safe Place for Joey

“No,” I said. “No, of course not. You didn’t kill him.”

“Yes,” Joey insisted. “Yes, I did. I even listened to him die.”

My eyes stayed locked with Joey’s, and he went on talking in the same flat voice.

“See, he chased me,” Joey said. “I didn’t know he was going to. I just ran out of the TV room ’cause he got so mad when I imitated the way he yells. I ran up to my room and hid under my bed so he couldn’t get me.

“But then I heard him coming after me, running all the way up the stairs and sort of bumping along the wall. Then all of a sudden he came crashing into my room and fell down on my bed real hard and began making these choking noises.”

The way Joey told it made it so clear. Joey’s facility for imitating and dramatizing must have infuriated Grandpa. No wonder he’d charged after the boy, forgetting his own high blood pressure.

“Then after a while he stopped and it was real quiet … and that was even worse,” Joey went on, “because then it began to get dark and I knew I had to get out of there before Rich and Bill got home and found me under that bed. If they found me there, they’d know for sure I’d done it.”

There were three loud knocks on my office door. My next child had arrived. “Just a minute,” I called as softly as I could, never moving my eyes from Joey’s. “Go on, Joey. Don’t stop.”

“I got out,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, “but it was hard ’cause the bed was way on top of me ’cause Grandpa was so fat, but I squeezed out and ran downstairs and turned on all the lights. The TV was already on, and so I just stayed there in front of it, real quiet.

“When Mom found him … see, Grandpa didn’t come to supper like usual, so they started calling him and then they went looking for him, and after a while Mom found him in my room. And she began to scream and cry and yell that he was dead. That’s when I knew I’d killed him for sure. I’d been thinking he was maybe just sick. But he wasn’t, he was dead.”

The knocks sounded on the door again. “One more minute,” I called back.

“Don’t tell,” Joey said, panicking, pulling at my sleeve. “I didn’t mean to tell you.”

“Joey, listen. Grandpa was very old and very sick. He had a heart attack. Your mom told me he did. That happens to lots of old people.”

“I don’t even know when he died,” Joey said. “Maybe he was still alive when I left. Maybe if I’d called a doctor, he would’ve been all right. Besides, I wanted him to die. Sometimes I even prayed that he would. Maybe my praying made it come true.”

No wonder Joey hadn’t told anyone. He must have been terrified, lying there alone trapped underneath Grandpa while he died, later convinced that he had killed him.

Joey put his head down on the desk. I put my arms around him for a second and then I phoned his mother.

Joey stayed in my office through my next two appointments. He lay curled under a woolen afghan on the couch and either slept or pretended to, until his mother arrived.

In the waiting room, I asked Gail Stone if it was true that she had found Grandpa in Joey’s room.

She nodded. “Why?”

“Why didn’t you say something at the time?” I asked in return.

Tears gathered in Mrs. Stone’s eyes. “I don’t know. Joey was taking it so hard I thought it would just make it worse if he realized that I’d found Grandpa in his bed. Joey was downstairs watching TV the whole time it was going on. I think Dad must have been on his way to the bathroom just across the hall from Joey’s room. All I can think is that maybe he felt sick or dizzy or had a spell and thought he’d go in and lie down on Joey’s bed for a minute. Nobody will ever know for sure. What does this have to do with Joey, anyway? Why’d you call me? Is anything wrong?”

The next day Gail Stone and I met in my office during her lunch hour.

“Al and I talked for hours last night after the boys were in bed,” she said. “It really shook Al up to realize what had been going on in Joey’s head and he – Al, I mean – had never suspected it.

“Al’s a good man. He works hard, he’s smart, he loves his family. He’s been true to me through thick and thin. It was my fault – bringing Grandpa home. I know that now. I think I was still trying to please him, like I did when I was little. It never worked then either. I should have just hired somebody to stay with him, seeing that his house was so close by.

“Well, never mind,” Gail continued. “It’s over now. We’ll mend. But will Joey? That’s what we want to know. I know you probably think we should all go into therapy, but Al’s dead set against it. He says we at least ought to give ourselves a chance first. He says he’ll talk to me, he’ll talk to the boys, but he doesn’t want to have to start talking to some stranger – at least not now. I understand that. But I have to know that we won’t lose Joey again.”

“I know,” I said, struggling for words. I did believe family therapy would help, but not if it were forced. “How do you feel about it?” I asked.

“I’ve been thinking all night,” Gail replied. “I didn’t sleep much. I guess none of us did, except Joey. He slept the clock around, and this morning he seemed the best I’d seen him in months. Ate two bowls of oatmeal – told his dad all about Grandpa, when I would have thought he wouldn’t mention a word. I let him stay home from school today, and Al took the day off, too. When I left, Joey was watching TV and Al was reading the paper, peaceful as could be.

“I think we can do it. Al and I go back a long way, and we’ve seen a lot of troubles along with the good times. Besides, Al’s a determined one. Once he puts his mind to something, he sticks to it.”

I thought about Joey as she talked. He had made such progress the year before. He had turned his high level of energy toward active learning. He had stopped playing the fool, although he still liked to joke and kid around. He loved people; he was intelligent and well-coordinated; he had a good ear for music and an unusual flair for the dramatic. His strengths were all still there. They just couldn’t get through in the confusion of school and the tension at home.

“Will it be any different at your house now? Because with Ms. Answera in the classroom, I don’t think there is going to be any big change at school. And you know Joey. He thrives when things are structured and safe and organized – and he falls apart when there’s change and confusion or he’s scared.”

Gail nodded. “And so do I. I’m not very organized myself. I know that, but what I’m saying is we’re going to try. You told me once that everyone could grow – not just children. Remember?”

“I remember,” I said.

“And you still believe it’s true?” she asked.

“Yes,” I nodded. “It’s still true.”

“Well, for starters,” Gail said, “I’m giving up my job. I have that computer Al got me a year ago, and we almost made it that time.

“I guess what I’m telling you is, I’m ready to be the best wife and mother I can.”

I smiled at her and stood up. “It sounds to me as though you and Al have thought it through and that your minds are pretty well made up. You know I believe parents know their children better than anyone else. Anyway, if it feels right to you and Al, I’d talk to the boys and go ahead and give it a try.”

Who says wishes don’t come true? Ms. Answera went home to Florida for Christmas vacation and never returned. And even more wonderful for Joey, Mr. Templar was able to persuade Mrs. Madden to come back and teach Joey’s third-grade class for the remainder of the year.

“Portugal has been around for quite some time,” Mrs. Madden said when I went over to school to talk to her. “It’s likely it’ll still be there six months from now.”

Once again I had to stick my hands in my pockets to keep from hugging her. Joey would be all right now – at least for this year, with Mrs. Madden back in charge at school and Joey’s mom and dad a team again at home.

I continued seeing Joey twice a week through third and fourth grades and worked closely with his teachers. He accumulated a solid foundation of knowledge on which he could build and a growing confidence in his ability to learn. He was also the star of every class play. His tremendous natural energy projected out from the stage, and within minutes he held the audience in the palm of his hand.

We cut our sessions to once a week halfway through fifth grade and ended completely in sixth.

I was there for Joey’s graduation in an aisle seat. He shone like a burnished penny – dressed in a new blue suit, his red hair washed and neatly combed. He managed to sit still through the graduation exercises and receive his diploma without incident, but he caught my eye on the way out. The lopsided grin lit his face, and he did a perfect miniature imitation pratfall as he passed my seat.

As I said earlier, there was always something about Joey …

Eric (#u4721b473-8b27-5bd0-8084-6348ff636a93)

Nobody was in the waiting room the night that I met Eric. In fact, the lights weren’t even on.

It had been a long day, and once the last child had left and I had cleaned up and put away books and toys, I was eager to be off. It was a good forty-five-minute drive from my office to our apartment, and the commuting traffic was heavy on the highways.

I shrugged on my jacket, turned out the lights, pulled shut my heavy office door, and almost stepped on Eric.

I rocked back away from him in surprise. “Hey, now! What’s this? Are you okay?” As my eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light, I could make out a small boy sitting on the waiting-room floor just outside my door, examining the contents of a woman’s purse.

The janitor had evidently already turned down the lights in the waiting room, so the only illumination was from the overhead light in the hall. I groped my way toward one of the reading lamps, and the little boy gave a whimper as light flooded over us.