Right Behind You // H.S \\

3- what they told me

I have no memory of what happened after that. I know what my dad told me. What the doctors told me. I've read the newspaper accounts.
But there is a hole of weeks in my life. And the hole starts with the minute Jacob caught fire. My father says he heard the screams. Mine and Jacob's. His argument with Aunt Gloria was cut short when he looked out the window and saw one writhing child aflame and another frozen child howling. He says it still shames him that his first emotion was relief to see that I was the frozen howler.
He threw Jacob to the ground. Ripped off his own shirt and covered Jacob, burning his own arms. My aunt was phoning the state troopers already.
Miles from a town.
A rough dirt road.
It took a long time for the ambulance to get to the cabin. It took a long time for the ambulance to get to a place where the LifeFlight helicopter could land. It took a long time to fly to Anchorage.
Jacob lived for three days.
When someone remembered to look for me, I was under our truck in fetal position. Dad pulled me out. He says my face was tear streaked but I was no longer crying.
My eyes were open but vacant.
I didn't speak for four months.

My age and my psychiatric state made commitment to a mental hospital the only responsible answer.
I didn't know where I was for weeks anyway.
Dad moved to Anchorage, where I was confined. Somewhere in his files are stacks of legal papers that deal with my case. He hasn't told me much about the therapy that bought me out of my near-catatonic state. It took five weeks to respond. Five.
Dad came into my room, and finally I blinked and slid my eyes to his face.
"Hay, Harry, you back?"
Dad says I closed my eyes and tears ran down my face. He didn't know if he should hug me or call the doctor. He opted for the hug.
There was therapy. Play therapy. Puppet therapy. Art therapy. I did whatever anyone  asked me. I took pills; I drew pictures; I looked at the books; I listened; but I didn't speak.
I didn't know what to say.
There were legal reasons to keep me in the hospital. Before I could be released, doctors had to say they understand what I did. That I understood it. A judge had to say I was not a danger to myself or others. And if I wasn't talking this wasn't going to happen.
I turned ten.
Ten.
I should have been in Boy Scouts.
I weighed sixty-two pounds.
I had a loose back tooth.
I had murdered another child.