Lucy's Sketches

Chapter 8

Sitting in the Dark

Isabelle

As a psychologist, I'm used to sifting through mental "clutter" with my patients. Trauma-induced clutter caused by alcoholic parents, spousal abuse, grief, dysfunctional brain chemistry, and loss. The list is extensive. Together, we tackle the mental clutter one item at a time, packing away some and throwing others away. It's a lengthy process but necessary for healing.

The clutter around me right now, however, is not of the mental kind. The moment we stepped into the room, it was apparent that this room had been some sort of "catch-all" during the last few years. The space screams for therapy, and I have no idea how to process the boxes upon boxes of clutter. It's a good thing we have a house therapist who follows me inside, whistling and carrying a roll of refuse bags. Josh clearly has an uncomplicated plan he wants to put into action.

Lucy also joins us, carrying her ever-present sketchpad and pencils, and makes herself at home on a clear area of the dirty floor.

Feeling heavy-hearted, I run my eyes over the room's interior and its sad jumble. This house has been sitting in the dark for a long time, untouched and unloved. Sam and Josh spent many days and nights in the dark with it, slowly leading it back into the light, one room at a time. However, this was one of the rooms on the upper floor they hadn't gotten to yet.

Sam, Josh and I often sat together in the dark as children. Not in a physical sense but the emotional dark we feel when faced with something we can't process.

The first time I sat in the dark with them was on a sunny afternoon, and a light breeze in the air carried the fragrance of flowers along with it. Sam wasn't in school that day, and we were worried, so the moment school let out, Josh and I went on a mission to find him. We headed straight to his house, which made sense as the first place to look for him, but we didn't find him there.

We were around 11 or 12 years old and couldn't quite understand why there was an ambulance and a police car in front of Sam's house; we knew it had to be something serious, though and worried that something might've happened to our friend.

Sam's father spotted us while talking to a police officer; his face was distorted with grief, and his eyes were dreary with tears. When he saw the anxious looks on our faces, he shook his head to indicate that Sam was not there.

We left to search the tree house in the woods, but he wasn't there either. Josh finally suggested that we check out the cave we found the previous summer. It wasn't much of a cave, really, more like a rock overhanging a crevice, deep and wide enough to hide in. This is where we found Sam, huddled in the dark of the rock shelter.

He didn't say anything, and neither did we. We simply sat on either side of him. We were just three kids huddled in the dark together in silence. That's the day Sam's mother lost her fight against depression.

"Mom!"

Startled, I look up at Lucy, standing over me with a puzzled expression on her sweet face. I'd been so lost in thought, holding onto the sides of the box I was about to go through, that I didn't even see her rise and come over to me.

"I'm sorry, Luce. What did you say? I was... daydreaming."

Frowning, she stares at me for a second; she probably knows I was thinking about Sam. "Can I go explore a bit, please? I'm bored," she asks.

"I... I'm not sure." I look at Josh for input, as he will have a better idea than me whether it is safe for Lucy to run around alone in this big old house.

"Sure, she can explore," he nods, rising from the box he was digging in. "I'll show her which areas are safe. Most of the unsafe areas have been closed off anyway."