The Hidden Truth

Chapter Thirty-Two: Nightmares

After a week of allowing her to relax and indulge in the stack of chapter books I brought home from the library, I decided it's time to try and get some lessons done. I grab the stack of textbooks along with a notebook - I bought a while back - off the bookshelf in the living room and bring them to the kitchen table where I sit her down to get started.

I open the book on the top of the stack to the beginning - the first chapter - and slide it to her as I tell her to read it. At the same time, I prepare a page in the notebook to write her answers down so that I can correct them after she goes to bed. When I look up she’s just sitting there staring at the same page I placed in front of her until I finally take the book away. At that point she turns her gaze towards me. I take it as a sign she's ready as I flip to the end of the chapter and begin to read off the questions one by one. This time she gives me each answer in full detail. Stunned, I write it down before moving on to the next one.

As I finish with the last question, something is baffling me about the answers she gave so I decide to check them instead of waiting. After comparing the first two answers that are identical to the answer key, I didn’t go any further. Instead I scratch my head trying to figure out how she knew the answers but yet she hadn’t even read the chapter I assigned her.

Afterwards, I ask her a simple question off the top of my head, “Sara, how did the slaves escape the south?”

“The underground Railroad. It was a secret system developed to aid fugitive slaves on their escape to freedom.” she replies. 

While thumbing through a few pages of the history book from the stack - not knowing if the answer is even in there or not - she blurts out, “Five, six, three.” 

I stare at her with confusion written all over my face wanting to know what the numbers mean but as I’m about to ask, she continues to repeat the numbers growing louder and louder each time she opens her mouth. 

The second I turn to the page numbered five hundred and sixty three, she abruptly stops. Sitting there, I stare at the page for a few seconds before skimming through the words printed. In the fourth paragraph down are words that match hers. At that point I close the book. 

Leering in her direction, I ask a few more questions. I thought it to be odd how a few weeks ago she didn’t know anything about her textbooks and now all of a sudden not only is she rapidly firing the answers off to me, she can recall the page numbers too. Given that the answers are within the stack of textbooks I bought, otherwise she remains mute. 

At that moment I set my sights on seeing just how much she can recall as I run up the stairs and to her bedroom. I grab the first book I can get a hold of off her dresser and return to the kitchen. Tossing the book on the table so that she can clearly read the title, I give her a page number instead of a question about it. 

This time when she starts speaking, I snatch the book off the table and open it to the page number I gave her. I follow along as she recites the entire page from beginning to end as if she’s reading the book to me. I continue to do a few more random books and pages but she doesn't miss a beat. 

When my sister was younger one of the games she liked to play with me was her version of literature trivia. In her game throughout the day she would perform a scene from a book she wanted me to read to her and I had to guess which book it was before it was bedtime. As she got older she would complicate things further by quoting pages upon pages to me. Of course, I still had to figure out which particular book she was talking about. It was always a book she wanted to add to her collection but I doubt that this girl knows about that. I’m at a loss so I sit there gazing at her trying to figure out what she is trying to do now but when she starts getting that tired look I know all too well, I sent her off to bed without a second thought.

For the next several hours I sit at the table jotting down notes on the paper where I wrote her answers while I continue to go over the facts I’ve witnessed. Starting at the moment I was introduced to her at the group home. Everything didn’t add up and I feel as if I’m missing something very important but I don’t know what it could be. Time after time I keep coming up with the same thing.  

All of a suddenI hear a blood curdling scream. I drop my pen and run up the stairs and into her room. She’s sitting in the middle of her bed rocking back and forth with tears in her eyes. Her hair and top are soaking wet. I head to her dresser to grab a fresh set of bed clothes but by the time I return to her, she’s curled up under her fuzzy blanket with a book in her hands. The only thing I figured is that she must have had one somewhere buried under her blankets on her bed because she didn’t move from her spot.

I dismiss it as I bring the clean clothes over to her and sit down on her bed, “Why don't you change out of those wet clothes.” 

She continues to sit on her bed huddled under her fuzzy blanket, reading as if she didn’t hear me so I repeat myself, “Sara, change your out of your wet clothes.” 

Still nothing. 

At that moment I take the book out of her hands and again tell her to change. She squints her eyes at me as she snatches the garments off the bed, flinging the fuzzy blanket back onto her pillows and heads to the bathroom. When she returns she acts surprised to see me as she asks, “What are you doing here?”

As confusing as everything is right now, I try my best not to let her know anything as I explain, “I heard you scream and came to check on you.”

“I didn’t scream…” she says then examines her bed and then me before continuing, “I just woke up to use the restroom.” as if she is unsure of herself. 

Just then I looked down at her book where my finger’s holding her place and chose to ask a short simple question, “Twenty three?” I‘m not sure why this girl sometimes acts like my sister and other times as if she is a completely different person but one way or another I need to know who I’m dealing with at the moment. 

I watch as she stands there for a second or two before closing her eyes. The second she opens them again she starts speaking. I turn back to the book in my hand and place my index finger between the initial pages to hold her spot while I flip back to the page number I gave her. Just as I thought, she’s reciting the page from the beginning. 

About a minute or so later I say, “Stop.” while bowing my head and completely closing the book. She just stands there staring at me, quietly.

As much as I want to hold on to this moment in time I know she needs more sleep but not in a bed that may or may not be soaked with her sweat. I stand up, setting the book on the bed as I grab her fuzzy blanket while directing her towards my bedroom. 

She climbs on to my bed without a complaint as I wrap her blanket around her making sure that she is completely covered before cuddling up with her for extra warmth. After nestling herself facing my chest she starts closing and opening her eyes as if she’s fighting to stay awake. At the same time her breathing continues to become slower and slower. Just before she closes her eyes for the final time she half whispers, half slurs, “I miss you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” I reply as I lightly brush a few stray strands of her hair off her face, trying my best not to touch her skin. All the while wondering if she hadn't been waking up like this every night and instead of going back to sleep, she read all the books in the house. As I lay there holding her close to me, I try to calculate the amount of time she would need to accomplish this without me knowing anything about it.