Amanda U sound pretty desperate

I am

Desperate enough 2 end it all?

You mean like running away?

No, I meant ending ur life. Suicide.

R U saying I should think about it?

NO! YOU NEVER EVER SHOULD! YOU WILL COME THROUGH THIS – trust me! But plz answer question – have you been thinking about suicide, even a little?

Maybe a little.

~o~O~o~

“Another inventory? I already did that – a BIG one – 6 months ago. Did it not work?” Willow sighed as she spoke on the phone.

“No, not another step 4,” replied Julia, her Narcotics Anonymous sponsor. “You don’t have to re-do that huge initial emotional inventory. But this river float episode happened since then. So you should be regularly doing a step 10 – where it says continue to take personal inventory. If you’d been doing so, you’d have dealt with the shame of looking foolish – and the memory would now hopefully make you just laugh at yourself, not fly off the handle.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. How come you’re so wise, Jules?”

“Ha! Not wise; just experienced. I’ve been through this crap myself – not with anger, but with extreme, crippling anxiety. I’d be dead or drugged up in a flophouse right now if I hadn’t held on to NA and my sponsor. So I’m glad you called, my little sponsee.”

~o~O~o~

One week later.

Willow had just completed a 30 minute session with the school counselor; they required this even though she still saw Dr. Estrada on a regular basis. She guessed administration wanted to make sure they were meeting her needs; it was hard to tell if they genuinely wanted to help, or were “covering their butts” to prevent possible accusations of neglect or discrimination. After all, she seemed to be the only openly transitioning student at Montclair High.

As Willow walked down the east hall toward the doors leading to the bicycle racks, she confronted something new: yellow cones draped with plastic DETOUR tape, cutting off passage down the hall. A sign said WAXING FLOOR. And yes, there were red arrow signs pointing to an open staircase that had to led down to the ground floor. She grumbled to herself. First I had to stay after classes for this session, and now I have to navigate around the janitor crews.

She turned towards the stairs for two steps then stopped. Shaking her head, she sent a text to 2 numbers; one of them promptly replied. She then reached inside her purse to press a button. I’m probably being paranoid, but better safe than sorry. Then she headed down the staircase as the arrows instructed.

Arriving downstairs, she immediately felt in danger – the only light was a solitary hanging bulb, and there was no hallway, just a room with no exit other than back up the steps. She turned to run up them – and would have, except for a hand that now gripped around her throat. Turning her head as much as she could, she saw she was being held by the boy who’d harassed her last week.

“Sh-sh-sh. Shush now. Stay quiet if you want to live. I only want to punish you. But if you make me, I will kill you. Pervert.”

Willow choked out some speech from her compressed larynx. “I know who you are, Connor Irving. Looked you up in the yearbook. Told the counselo-“

“Shut up!” hissed Connor. “You must think you’re pretty smart. But there are no cameras down here to save you, and I guarantee no one saw me set up the cones and arrows. No one knows we’re down here. Now get ready for a beating.”

“Connor, you’re wrong. There is a camera down here. And it records both video and sound.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Check out my purse. See the little lens protruding from the corner? It’s a modified video doorbell we’ve adapted to be like a body cam the police use. It even transmits live video – it’s doing so now. I told a friend – and the police - about you, and we made a plan to catch you in the act next time you tried something.”

Suddenly the boy’s cell rang from his back pants pocket.

“I’d get that if I were you,” said Willow.

“H – hello?” stammered the would-be assaulter into his smartphone. His face drained of color, and he ended the call. “That was the cops. They have my number. They’ve been recording all of this from your transmitter – and they’re 60 seconds away.”

“You’re going to jail for attempted assault, Connor. At 18, I think you’re too old for juvie.”

“Well if I’m going there, I might as well make it worth it,” he snarled, pulling his arm back and making a fist to aim at his abductee’s face. Willow gasped and tried to pull away, but –

WHUDD!

Someone had punched Connor before he could get his hit in – someone who’d flown down the stairs ahead of the police; someone who now sat on the older boy, pinning him to the floor.

It was Malachi Eiken, Willow’s youngest (and biggest) sibling.

“HEY, YOU PIECE OF TRASH. YOU MESS WITH MY SISTER, AND I’LL MESS WITH YOUR FACE, GOT IT?”

The law arrived and carted Connor away. Willow walked with her brother out to where her bike was. “Mal, how did you get here so quick? I mean, I sent you the same text I sent the officers – and you arrived before them! Weren’t you at home already?”

He smirked back at her. “You must not have believed me when I said I would help protect you, sis. On days you have these after school meetings, I hang around campus until you’re through. As you ride your bike home, I follow on mine. When you sent your message I was just outside the main entrance; I kept one of the doors propped open in case I needed to get in.”

“I – I had no idea you were doing all that!”

“Well … I didn’t want you to feel I was being a pest, or overprotective. So I’ve been kinda sneaky about it.”

“Let’s get something straight, little bro. I would be proud to bike or walk anywhere with you beside me. You are not a pest. Is there anything I can do to express my thanks for your heroics today?”

Mal’s eyes lit up. “You could make me my own batch of your homemade cookies! Please?”

“Why sure! In fact, there’s plenty left at home – I made 3 dozen yesterday. Why don’t you take twelve of them as yours?”

“Umm … because they’re already gone. Mom, Dad and Angie got some, but I ate most of them. I sure would like some more, though.”

Willow chuckled, amused and amazed at her brother’s bottomless pit stomach. “I’ve changed my mind. You ARE a pest! But I’m still proud to be seen with you.”

~o~O~o~

It was 3:30 pm; another day of school over. Willow unchained her bike for the ride home. Her phone suddenly buzzed indicating a text. It was the 9 year old trans girl from church she’d been secretly communicating with.

Willow – you free?

Amanda! 3 days since last mssg?! Been worried. Wanted text u but I never sure if yr Dad is around r not. R U ok?

Oh, I’m the same. Feel better when talk 2 u.

Did u get ur Mom alone 2 talk?

Too scared 2 – she always sides with Dad! So I got my older sis 2 talk w/ her. You kno. About TG people in general.

And???

Mom told her that it’s a sin; TG people R mentally ill, going 2 hell unless they change. So no it did NOT go well. Don’t know what to do!

U sound pretty desperate

I am

Desperate enough 2 end it all?

You mean like running away?

No, I meant ending ur life. Suicide.

R U saying I should think about it?

NO! YOU NEVER EVER SHOULD! YOU WILL COME THROUGH THIS – trust me! But plz answer question – have you been thinking about suicide, even a little?

Maybe a little.

GF we need to get u 2 talk 2 an adult. Will u go to ur school counselor? I’ve already called and checked her out – I didn’t use ur name, but told her ur problem. She’s ready 2 help – you just need 2 drop by her office during lunch. Will u do that?

She’s going to make me talk 2 my Dad isn’t she. O God.

Not at first - and not EVER if he puts u in danger. Will u meet with her? Gonna keep asking til I get answer.

Okay I will

When

Next semester?

Amanda!

OKOK. Tomorrow

And u text me ASAP after?

I promise

Holding u to it! Love you GF. Hang in there. It gets better; might get worse before it does, but WILL get better eventually.

Promise?

Yes

Now I’M holding U to THAT. CU Sunday!

B there or B square

?? is that something old people say?

Yep. My Grandpa used to say it 2 me all the time, before the Alzheimer’s. I think square used to mean basic in his day. BYE.

~o~O~o~

William Eiken rushed into the house from his garage. It had been a busy day at his orthodontist practice – and then as he’d finished the last patient, he got a text from his daughter Willow …

Poppa come home ASAP! Grandpa spazzing out – Momma & Angie & I can’t control him, all r crying! HELP!

“Honey?” the dad yelled into the main hallway. “Willow? Angie! I’m here – where is everyo-“

“P-poppa,” Willow blubbered, her head now sticking out of the door to Grandpa’s bedroom. Her eyes were red and mascara outlined the tear streams down her cheeks. “Over here!”

William ran in to a distressing scene. His father-in-law, Grandpa John, was in the bed on his back - being held there by Gwen, Angie and Willow. The mother had ahold of his arms, and each daughter held a leg down. He emitted growls and hisses instead of formed words, and a huge fresh bruise was on his chin.

“He’s been confused all day,” sobbed Gwen. “He wants to walk but keeps falling – see his chin? - and he won’t sit in a wheelchair. I can’t let go of his arms or he’ll take a swing at us. Angie got punched in the stomach! I don’t know what to do – I’ve been trying to hold on until you got home, but I’m … I … I’m at my wit’s end. God, honey, I can’t do this anymore! He’s gotten so bad – faster than what his doctor …” Gwen’s voice dissolved into wracking sobs now, ones that convulsed her whole body.

William grabbed the old man’s legs to relieve his daughters. “Angie! Are you hurt?”

“I’ll be okay, I think. I really need to throw up now, though,” she said stumbling towards the bathroom.

"Where's Malachi?"

"Still at cross-country racing practice," his wife cried.

“Willow – is your phone still on you?”

The young girl wiped some tears away with her hands. “Yeah, Poppa.”

“Call 911 for an ambulance, NOW. I want him taken to the nearest ER. And we’ll follow in the car – I need to get your sister looked at there, too.”

~o~O~o~

The emergency room waiting area was packed full of sick people, suggesting that the
gurneys inside were full also. It was no surprise that the ER doc seemed to be running from patient to patient, and he burst into the exam room holding the Eiken clan. He was an Asian man in blue scrubs and tennis shoes, with a white coat and a stethoscope draped around his neck. He approached Gwen.

“Your father has a bladder infection. I’ll bet that’s why his mental state deteriorated so rapidly today. Normally we could treat this at home with antibiotic pills, but seeing as he’s been so combative and resistant – he refuses to swallow any meds we’ve offered him – he needs admission, and possibly some temporary restraints.”

He turned to Angela, who sat in a chair rubbing her tender tummy. “Young lady, your CT scan looks normal, so you’re probably OK to go home – but any new developments like blood in your stool or worsening vomiting, and I want you right back here. Don’t try to eat yet; just keep hydrated with watery liquids for the next day.”

“When will you be sending Grandpa back home?” asked Willow.

The doctor furrowed his brow with concern. “Is your home the best place for him?”

“We’re his family!” Gwen gasped. “It’s our duty to take care of him!”

“And thank God you haven’t shirked from it. But from the story of how much you all have to do for him, I’m wondering if his needs are beginning to overwhelm you.”

“Don’t be concerned about us,” Gwen fumed as she sat on a stool next to her father’s gurney. “I only want what’s best for Dad!”

The doctor nodded his head, and squatted down to get eye-to-eye with her. “Believe it or not ma’am, that’s exactly what I want too. He needs two things: nursing care and his family’s love. You’re so busy filling the first job that you have little energy to do the second; and that’s the one you absolutely cannot delegate to anybody else.”

~o~O~o~

One week later, the family drove away from the parking lot of Springhaven Nursing Facility and Alzheimer’s Unit.

“I feel like a failure,” Gwen sniffed as her eyes moistened. “I promised Dad years ago that I wouldn’t let him be placed in a nursing home. And now I’ve done just that.”

“Honey – this is for his sake more than ours,” replied William “If he kept falling, something really bad was going to happen – bleeding in his brain, a broken hip or pelvis or spine. You can’t watch him 24 hours a day – and they can, with a fresh set of nurses coming on duty every 8 hours. You’re planning to do lunch with him daily, and the rest of us will visit him as much as we can during the week.”

“But I promised!” Gwen bawled.

“Honey – shhh, shh. It’s OK. Listen carefully to what I say now.” He spoke with depth and authority – the rest of the family fell quiet as he uttered:

“You’re under no obligation to keep a promise that’s going to harm the person you made the promise to.”

The car continued down the road in silence, all the occupants digesting the father’s words.

“That … that makes sense,” whispered Gwen.

“Wow. I’m remembering that one,” Willow whispered to Angie in the back seat.

~o~O~o~

Father Wilson was praying in his office at Chula Vista Episcopal. He glanced at the clock.

5:41. It’s almost time, Lord. This is the father of the child Willow Eiken told me about, the one she's secretly counseling via phone texts. I pray for your peace to be on them and me. Soften their hearts and guide my words.

The office intercom beeped. “Father – the Guidrys are here; all four, as you requested. However, the father wants only he and his wife in here with you to begin the session … is that …?”

“That’s fine, Darlene. Send Phillip and Rebecca in. Please watch the children in the waiting area while we talk.”

Right away a handsome man and an attractive woman, both thirty-something in age, entered. The man smiled as he and the father shook hands; then a mild frown appeared on his face. “I got the phone call saying to meet you here, Father. What’s this about? Is it good news, bad, what?”

“Phil, Becca … I received a concerned report from one of our Sunday School teachers. It involves your son.”

The 2 parent’s mouths both dropped. “Did Toby do something wrong?” queried the father.

“He’s not acting up or behaving badly. He’s just extremely withdrawn, and takes no joy out of life – according to Ms. Saldana, who teaches his class." I asked her to evaluate Toby after Willow talked to me - but that's information you'd best not know, he thought as he spoke. "She took Toby aside last Sunday and did a formal assessment for signs of abuse and mood disorder. She found no evidence of the former – but your son appears clinically depressed, and has even considered suicide. Your quick intervention is critical; he needs professional help from a child psychiatrist.”

“Who are you to tell me that my son needs a shrink?” bellowed Phil.

“Our teachers are trained to pick up signs of danger in their students. The church leadership insists they all be certified for this. Now: I’ve checked, and there is a child specialist who could see him Thursday. I strongly urge you to take Toby in for this, Phil.”

Phil’s wife was trembling some, and staring down at the floor. “Honey,” she whispered, “maybe we – “

“NO. NO HE’S NOT SEEING A PSYCH, AND THAT’S FINAL,” Phil yelled, slamming his hand down on his knee for emphasis.

“Why are you so angry about this suggestion?” questioned the Father.

Phil shook his head. “I guess I can tell you – I know you’ll be on my side in this matter, at least. Look, transsex, transgender … everything and anything ‘trans’ – is trendy now. Pediatricians are starting to give medicine to stop puberty in kids as young as 9 now – Toby’s age! Yet what I’ve read says that many kids outgrow this compulsion when they get past their teens. My son’s already got it in his mind that he’s a girl, and I don’t need other adults reinforcing that belief!”

“Phil – if your child is even just playing with the idea of suicide, then we need to intervene. You don’t have to commit him to a gender change to deal with that.”

“Father, you have my answer – NO. Come on, Becca. We’re leaving.”

“Phil!” barked Father Wilson in a volume that made both parents jump. “If you ignore my suggestion, I’ll be forced to call Child Protective Services. Toby is in danger, and you’re not seeking help.”

“You – you’d do that to us, to my kid?”

“Ahem. No, he won’t,” spoke Becca, now with some strength and resolve. “Because, Phillip, I’m going to take Toby to this psych doctor. I’ll be damned – sorry, Father – if I let my child kill himself when I could have prevented it.” She now glared angry eyes towards her husband.

Phil was now seething and steaming, shaking his head as he wrung his hands together. He stood up out of the chair he’d been in and began to pace about the room, mental gears appeared spinning furiously. Finally some words spilled out of his twitching mouth.

“Okay. He can be evaluated for DEPRESSION. But NO discussion about gender things!”

“We’ll see,” muttered his wife.

“Damn right we’ll see,” answered Phil. “I’m headed back to the office to get some files I’ll need to work on tonight. I’ll meet you and the kids back home. What time is supper?”

“Shooting for six. I’m probably just grabbing a rotisserie chicken and some sides at the grocery deli.”

Phil grumbled almost inaudibly and stomped out, slamming the door to the room. Becca sighed, closed her eyes and shook her head in frustration. She grabbed her purse and started to stand, only to see Father Wilson hold up his hand as he mouthed “wait”. Then he spoke in a whisper. “Rebecca – I’ve never seen him so angry, so intimidating. Are you and your kids safe? Are you in danger at all from him?”

“He’s … well, he’s never laid a hand on me, nor the kids – to my knowledge.”

“Is he threatening or overly controlling? Verbally abusive?”

“Father – we’re fine. I’m resolved to hold this family together, and going down this path of questions isn’t helping.” She then rose and turned towards the door. As she stepped out, her husband stepped back in.

“Hey. Before I leave, I need to tell you something else. Some of us church members have been talking to each other, and we’re concerned. As you well know, our congregation split from the national Episcopalian leadership on the subject of gay marriage and gays in leadership positions. We still hold to the biblical position that those things are wrong. But lately some people are attending our church and flaunting their LGBT positions – and our leaders, specifically YOU, haven’t done anything to address it.”

“Hm. When you say ‘some people’, Mr. Guidry, who do you mean specifically?”

“That Eiken boy. The one who dresses like a woman and now calls himself Willow. Surely you’ve noticed him, or at least heard of him? He comes here Sunday mornings in dresses and makeup, sits in the balcony. His parents don’t seem bothered in the least by it! One of my friends - Sam Fredricks - confronted the boy a few weeks ago at church, but it hasn’t stopped him from doing his crossdressing act.”

“Phil. I have indeed spoken to that young man and his mother, and told them I do not think it is God’s will for him to dress that way. This hasn’t changed their minds, as you can see. What more are you wanting me to do?”

“Condemn this perversion from the pulpit. Let the Eikens and any other LGBT’ers know that they are not welcome here unless they repent from their sexual deviancy and act as the scriptures prescribe. Please do this soon, Father. Otherwise, I and my family – as well as the others I spoke of – will seek another church to attend. We’ll take our financial support with us, too. Do you understand?”

Father Wilson sat silently, staring at Mr. Guidry. Finally he whispered “yes”. He continued to sit motionless for a good ten minutes after his congregant left the office.

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow.

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