Elm Creek: A Readymade Family, Volume 1

17

SEVENTEEN

Dr. Eric Carson’s office was of moderate size with whitewashed walls. A mahogany desk was in front of the window, the blinds open, and cabinet a few steps away from it. Along with the two chairs in front of the desk was cushioned seating alongside a wall and a yellow child-sized table of puzzles and games similar to the one in the waiting room.

The doctor himself, a man in his early sixties whose advancing years showed in his head of thinning snow-white hair and aging face, sat behind the large desk, observing his visitors through piercing silver eyes.

Lila swept across the room, seating herself on one of the two fabric-covered chairs before the desk, placing her bag on her lap, but Hâroon, unable to hold onto Ibrâhîm for any longer because of his thrashing, was forced to set their son down.

Immediately, Ibrâhîm rushed at the closed door. Then, realizing that he couldn’t open it, not being tall enough to reach the knob, he began to screech and bang himself against it.

“Ibby, don’t cry,” Yusrâ tried to console him.

Hâroon tried to pull Ibrâhîm away from the door before he hurt himself, not failing to notice that Lila didn’t react at all. A curl of dread wrapped itself around his heart as he wondered if she reacted this way to Ibrâhîm’s self-harm when he was at work, too.

“Ibrâhîm, don’t do that,” he said to him as he crouched to his level. At first, he tried to gently pull him away from the object of his frustration, but Ibrâhîm wouldn’t cooperate and wrenched himself away to continue his self-abuse, screaming and screeching.

“Ibby sounds very mad,” Yusrâ said.

Lila watched the scene with an expression of complete indifference. She had long ago stopped caring about her son’s strange and frustrating behavior. The only emotion she showed was a frustrated huff and a roll of her eyes as Hâroon struggled with their son.

Dr. Eric Carson was unfazed by the display of the young child in his office. In his many years as a pediatrician, he had seen more than his fair share of tantrums and meltdowns; this one was no different. What truly surprised him was the behavior of the child’s mother—or at least that was whom he supposed she was, though he saw little resemblance of her in either of the two children. He’d seen more than enough self-centered parents in his field of work, but the woman before his desk had to be one of the worst. The child’s attempts to break the door open with his own body concerned even him, but she sat still and unmoved.

Hâroon didn’t succeed in calming Ibrâhîm down with his gentle tone and soothing words, but he hadn’t expected to. Words had never seemed to have much of an effect on Ibrâhîm’s tantrums. Resigning himself to the inevitable, Hâroon picked him up and carried him over to the desk as he continued to cry and struggle. In his fight for freedom, Ibrâhîm grabbed onto Hâroon’s long beard and pulled on it, making him wince. He detached the tiny hand from his facial hair and then took the remaining chair before the desk, setting Ibrâhîm on his lap and rocking him on his knees, hoping it would eventually calm him down.

Yusrâ hovered at his side, watching Ibrâhîm worriedly.

Eric focused his attention solely on the father and child. It was obvious to him that the mother had no real interest in her son’s wellbeing and he had no desire to deal with such a parent unnecessarily. “Mr. Scott,” he acknowledged him with a warm smile. His eyes flicked to the little boy. “Why don’t you tell me what brings you here?”

“I’ve heard you have experience with disabilities and problems in children…” Hâroon began slowly, and at the doctor’s nod of confirmation, he continued, “My son needs help.” As Ibrâhîm started to slip, he readjusted him on his lap and continued to rock him, feeling relieved as the cries began to lessen. “He’s different than other children—very different. I was hoping you could tell me why and how I can help him.”