January First: A Child's Descent Into Madness and Her Father's Struggle to Save Her (18 page)

“Don’t hurt her!” she cries as I drag Janni by her feet over the carpet. One second she is screaming at me to get out of the shower to come help her because Janni is hitting, and the next moment she is criticizing my response.

Once I get Janni into her room, I tell her to think about what she did and I start to leave. Janni immediately gets to her feet and tries to get to the door before I can close it. I need to get out quickly before Janni can get her hand in to block the door closing. I don’t want to slam the door on her hand.

So we wind up locked in a battle at the threshold of her room, her trying to push out past me and me trying to push her back in. Eventually, the only way I can get the door closed is to shove her hard enough that she falls backward onto her bed.

She lands on her bed and sits up, a shocked look on her face like she can’t understand why I just did that. I can’t take that look. I turn away and close the door.

TONIGHT IS OPEN House Night at Janni’s kindergarten, and we are going. I watch Susan in the bathroom, putting on makeup. I can’t remember the last time I saw her put on makeup. I pull on my suit jacket, glancing at Susan, who is wearing a nice black dress and heels. Looking at us in the mirror, no one would have any idea what we’ve just been through over the past five months.

Janni walks in, wearing a black-and-white dress Susan bought for her.

“You look beautiful,” Susan says to her.

Janni screams, as she does whenever somebody gives her a compliment.

“Janni,” I say firmly. “Enough.”

“I need to brush your hair.” Susan reaches for a hairbrush and begins trying to detangle Janni’s natural curls. Janni screams and pulls away.

“Janni,” I warn her. “Do you want a time-out?” My voice is calm, cool, controlled.

“It hurts,” Janni whines, trying to pull her head away from Susan’s brushing.

“That’s because you don’t brush it,” I answer, flatly. “Either you let Mommy do it or you do it. Your choice.” My voice makes it completely clear that those are the only two options.

“I’ll do it.” Janni takes the brush from Susan and digs into her mass of hair, wrenching it down so hard that strands of hair pull free.

“Gentle,” I command. “You don’t have to be so rough.” Janni is pulling on her hair with far more force than Susan, yet she isn’t complaining.

“Smooth strokes,” Susan says, trying to help, but Janni pulls away, continuing to rip the brush down her hair.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” I ask.

“No,” Janni answers simply.

Janni finishes and puts down the brush. I look at our reflection in the mirror. We look like a normal family.

SUSAN PUSHES BODHI’S stroller while I walk behind Janni toward the kindergarten classroom. Since starting kindergarten back in January, Janni has missed more than four weeks of school. Fortunately, she hasn’t missed anything she didn’t already know.

Inside the classroom, I take the time to say hello to other parents, something I have never done. I shake hands with other fathers and make small talk about what we do for a living.

Janni shows us her desk and her art projects. I make no silly jokes like I used to, instead making the same bland comments I hear the
other fathers making. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch other fathers, and I model my behavior after them. They treat their sons and daughters like children. That was my mistake. I always treated Janni like an adult. She is a child, and no matter her genius, she needs a strong parent.

A little girl comes over to Janni. “Hi, Janni,” she says.

“Hi,” Janni answers, no excitement in her voice.

The little girl, of Asian descent, dances away.

“She seems nice,” I say to Janni. “What’s her name?”

“Amanda.”

“Do you ever play with her?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well, why don’t you go talk to her? She’s got a nice dress on, too. Go over to her and tell her you like her dress.” If I have to force social interaction, I will. But Janni complies.

I wander around the classroom, trying to figure out what to do with myself. I’m so used to being Janni’s shadow. I feel like I just got out of prison. Everything around me, the classroom, being around other families, feels like a distant memory of another life.

I overhear Susan talking to the teacher, who is commenting on how well Janni has been doing since she came back from Loma Linda.

Out of force of habit, I look around for Janni. I don’t see her. I come up to Susan. “Where’s Janni?”

Susan turns to the front of the class and points. “She’s over there, playing with Amanda.”

I follow her gaze. Janni is standing right next to Amanda. Each one has a dry-erase marker and they are drawing pictures on the board, side by side.

“Janni, Janni,” I hear Amanda say. “Can you do this?” She starts drawing a picture. Janni follows. I hear laughter. Janni is laughing along with Amanda.

I look to their right, at the “streetlight” system on the whiteboard,
my eyes moving left to right, from red to yellow to green. Nobody’s name is in red. There are a few names in yellow, but most of the names are in green, including Janni’s.

I am proud of Janni, yet nothing in my demeanor changes. I remain flat, calm, and in control. Janni is still on the Seroquel and Depakote, but I don’t believe that is why she is doing better. I have laid down the law. I am forcing Janni to deal with the real world.

CHAPTER TWENTY
June 2008

T
oday is our weekly visit with Dr. Howe.

“I have to admit things are a lot better now,” Susan is saying. “We used to have ten to twelve violent incidents a day; now it’s down to two or three. It’s not perfect, but it’s manageable.”

Dr. Howe nods and turns to Janni, who is playing with the dollhouse. “Janni, how are things going?”

“Good,” Janni answers flatly, not looking up.

“How’s school? Are you liking it any better?”

“Yes.”

“I hear you have a friend now.”

“Magical 61,” Janni answers.

“No, Janni,” I say, “a real friend.”

“She is real.”

“Who’s Magical 61?” Dr. Howe asks.

“A girl.”

“What about Amanda?” Susan presses. “You like Amanda.”

“Not as much as I like my other friends.”

“Why not?” Dr. Howe asks.

“My other friends never leave.”

“Do you think we can maybe start reducing her meds?” Susan asks. “She’s still on three hundred milligrams of Seroquel and five hundred milligrams of Depakote.”

Dr. Howe nods and turns back to us. “Hmmm, she seems to be doing well for the moment. Let’s just leave things as they are.”

I don’t get this. “But she was on the same doses before she went to Loma Linda and they weren’t doing anything. Nothing changed until I started getting stricter with her.”

Dr. Howe looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “Sometimes it takes the medicine time to work. If it’s not broke, don’t fix it.”

I think back to our first session with Dr. Howe after Janni was released from Loma Linda. I told her what the Loma Linda doctor had said about expecting that in six months Janni would no longer be on medication.

“Maybe” was all Dr. Howe said back then; she was still cautious in not wanting to lower her dosages.

Now she is happy Janni is doing better but still doesn’t want to take her off the medication. It is as if she is still not sure the violent storm that has hung over us for the past six months is really gone. I want to believe, need to believe, that it is finally over.

I SIT ON the couch in the living room, waiting while Susan gives Janni her bath.

I don’t give Janni baths anymore. I haven’t since she was released from Alhambra.

Over in the side pocket of my briefcase is the letter that arrived today from DCFS.
Our investigation into the claim of sexual abuse is
hereby officially closed. The allegations were determined to be unfounded and/or unsubstantiated
.

Unsubstantiated
. I don’t like that word. I realize this is probably a form letter, but it bothers me because “unsubstantiated” leaves the door open. When this first happened, I was more worried about what would happen to Janni than about what would happen to me. I knew I had nothing to hide. I figured DCFS would do their investigation and eventually it would be over. When the letter arrived, I thought it was finished. Then Susan says, “I should still be the one to keep giving Janni her baths.”

I stare at her, not understanding.

“It’s just not worth the risk,” Susan continues.

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“I know that, but an accusation was still made against you. Yes, you were cleared, but what if you get accused again? They’ll look back over their files and see you were accused once before and why take that risk? There’s no need for you to give Janni baths anymore.”

“I thought I was being a good father, helping out.”

“I know, and you did. But you can’t do that anymore. Look, I don’t like it, either. It means more work for me. She really needs to bathe herself. Also, you need to make sure you are never alone with any girls.”

This annoys me.

“When am I ever alone with any girls other than Janni?”

“I’m just saying that you don’t want to put yourself in a position where there will be any question at all.”

Now I know. This will never really be over. No matter what the letter says, this will hang over me for the rest of my life.

Susan starts to turn away.

“You cried out.”

“What?”

“That night when they came. I heard you cry out from the bedroom. You were so upset Carlos had me hold Bodhi.”

“Of course I was upset. I couldn’t believe what he was telling me.”

“Did you believe him?”

Susan hesitates and I have my answer.

“I didn’t know what to believe,” she answers. “He was telling me all this stuff like it was fact.”

I feel ripped apart. How could she possibly have thought me capable of that, even for a second?

“Did you ask her?” I ask, my voice amazingly level.

“Yes, I did. Wouldn’t you have if you were in my position?”

I nod. “Of course. I would be worried if you hadn’t asked her.” But that’s a lie. I am devastated. Susan has known me for thirteen years. I thought she knew me better than that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
September 2008

A
fter dinner, I go into Janni’s bedroom and open her backpack. Her “take-home” folder is thicker than usual. First, there are two or three pages of activities related to the lesson of the day. Then there is a “daily homework” sheet. Each student is expected to do one assignment each from the “reading list,” “writing list,” and “spelling/vocabulary list.” To do everything will take two or three hours of nonstop work. And then there’s a small white notepaper clipped to a stack of assignments. It’s from her new first-grade teacher, Mrs. Parris. I read it.

Janni refused to do her work in class. I am sending it home for completion, along with her regular homework
.

I flip through the papers behind the note from Mrs. Parris. It isn’t just the work Janni refused to do in class today. It looks like a whole week’s worth of assignments.

I sit down on the floor, feeling overwhelmed. It’s eight o’clock at
night. Janni is out on the couch, finally getting sleepy from all the Seroquel and Depakote she’s had today. There is no way I can get her through even half of this stuff. I exhale, trying to stay calm.

“Come on, Janni. We need to do your homework.”

“I’m tired,” Janni yells from the living room.

I look at the unfinished work. One page is about identifying nouns and verbs. Janni has known this since before she was two. I remember driving around and quizzing her, and she would get it right every time.

I emerge from Janni’s room and go into our bedroom, where Susan is sacked out on the bed.

“It would be helpful if you had her do some homework right after school, when she is not wiped out from the meds.”

“When I pick her up, I have to take her out for stimulation. Have you forgotten Janni won’t just stay at home? How am I supposed to keep her occupied for five hours until you get home, while protecting Bodhi?”

“Make her do her homework.”

“With a baby in my arms?”

“Put Bodhi down and work with her.”

“You don’t know what I go through with both of them while you’re at work. You’ve forgotten.”

“I used to take both of them when you went to work.” Susan was just laid off from her job.

“That was only two days! And now I’m constantly on the go with them when Janni is out of school. I take them places where I can keep Janni entertained. I don’t come home until right before you do.”

I sigh, exasperated. “And then it’s on me. You need to be tougher on her.”

“I’m exhausted!”

“So am I. I’ve been teaching all day.”

Susan sits up, angry. “It’s not the same. You don’t have to worry
about Janni running off. What am I supposed to do if that happens? Run after her with Bodhi in my arms? Or just leave him?”

“Calmly tell her that if she doesn’t come back, you’re leaving. If there were consequences, she would eventually get the message. But you don’t enforce the rules. You keep taking her places she wants to go because it’s easier for you.”

“Yes, I do.” Susan stares defiantly at me. “I am alone. I do what I have to do to get through the day until you get home.” She lies back down. “By the way, it’s not like I have the time while she’s in school to myself. Every day I take Bodhi and meet Janni at school.”

“You shouldn’t be going there.”

“I have to. The only way Janni will even go to school is if I promise to come meet her for lunch.”

This is true. Every morning when I drop Janni off at school, she asks me when Mommy is coming.

“She’s got to learn to function in society.”

“Mrs. Parris doesn’t like her, and Janni senses that.”

“No, you don’t like Mrs. Parris because she doesn’t teach Janni what you think she needs to be learning.”

“Yes! She’s a genius!”

“Nobody will give a damn unless she learns to follow the rules.” I turn away from Susan and go back out into the living room, where Janni is falling asleep on the couch. “Come on, Janni. I know you’re tired. Mommy should have had you start your homework earlier, but she didn’t.”