Early Warning

Well, they would keep him up there for a few months. The staff was highly competent and extremely effective; she would be amazed at the change; best she not visit very often, if at all; a whole new scene, a whole, in some sense, reassessment of oneself, of life itself; in many cases, the effects were amazing, even when the condition was chronic, as it seemed to be in this case. Utter privacy worked wonders, no television or newspapers, concentration on the here and now.

Then they took her to Arthur’s room. He had been given something. When he took Lillian’s hand, he did so from deep inside a pharmaceutical distance. Dr. Rockford explained what would be done, in no way asking permission or seeking agreement. Arthur stared at the ceiling, and Lillian signed the papers that Dr. Kristal set before her. When she had finished and handed back the pen, he whispered in her ear, “Just wait! He’ll be a new man! These things are always hard!” She kissed Arthur on the lips. As she drove home, she wondered if he would ever forgive her.

—

IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG for Charlie to make out the thing on his chest in the mirror. It was a piece of paper with writing on it, which read:

It was pinned to his shirt with two large safety pins. He could not go outside without this piece of paper. Every day, Mommy knelt down beside him several times and said, “Stay with me, Charlie. You know what that means. Right beside me. And if I call your name, I expect you to answer.” Charlie nodded and said yes, that he would stay with Mommy, that he would answer to the sound of his name, that he would not ever run away again so that the police had to be called and find him after dark and bring him home. The police were tall and wore blue and did not like looking for lost children.

Nursery school was at the gray church on the corner, and it was a long walk, but by the time Charlie got there each morning, his legs weren’t jiggling and jumping anymore, the way they did at breakfast. For the first part of nursery school, where they sat in a circle on the red rug and Miss Ellery read a story, Charlie could be quiet and not move if they had walked, though not if they drove. Mommy put his hand right into Miss Ellery’s hand and said, “Goodbye, Charlie. Be a cooperative boy.” Charlie nodded and put his finger on the paper. “That’s your sign,” said Miss Ellery. Charlie Wickett. “You’re a lucky boy to have a sign, so don’t touch it, okay?”

The book today was about a fox who wore sox. On the cover, the fox was bright red. Charlie sat quietly and stared at the book, sometimes at the red fox and sometimes at the SOX and the FOX. He wondered if they could be XOS and XOF, and touched his sign. It wasn’t until Miss Ellery came to ticks and tocks that Charlie stood up and started running around the red rug — first one way, as fast as he could go, and then the other way. Miss Ellery didn’t say anything. She kept reading. Charlie was careful not to step on anyone’s fingers or to fall over anyone. The room was very bright when he was running, and the colors swam around him.

Miss Ellery put the book down and said; “Charlie, do you think you can sit down and listen?”

Charlie came to a halt and stared at Miss Ellery; then he sat down for one more page. When he stood up again, Miss Plesch came into the room and took his hand. They went outside to the playground, and Charlie ran around the swings and the jungle gym. When he was tired and sat down, Miss Plesch said, “A.”

Charlie said, “Antenna. B.”

“Banana. C.”

“Corvette. D.”

Miss Plesch grinned. She said, “Dog. E.”

Charlie was stumped, so he jumped up and ran the other way around the swing set, then said, “Ethyl. F.”

“Flower. G.”

“Gas. H.”

Now the door opened and the other kids came running into the playground. The girls went one way, and the boys — Davie, Herbie, Barry, and Petey — came toward Charlie. Charlie put his hand on Miss Plesch’s knee and said, “Herbie.”

“Very good,” said Miss Plesch. Charlie took off, and Herbie and Barry ran after him. They ran and ran. It was a sunny day. When Mommy picked him up for lunch, Miss Ellery said, “He knows every car word.”

“His first sentence was ‘Dere go a Muttang.’ He was almost two. Before that we never heard him say a word.”

“Sometimes adopted children are a little late talking. That is my experience. But they catch up.” She bent down and said, “Charlie, do you still have your sign?”

Charlie touched his sign with his finger.

They walked home the long way, down Greeley. When he got home, he sat quietly and ate his peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwich. Mommy said he was a good boy.

—