The Girl in the Treehouse Read online

  My sister and I began to panic, and we ran after my parents. We saw them running down the road and my brother running in front of them. Shock hit me. My brother had never walked! He could crawl and climb and get into things, but he never walked. Yet, on this night, he had decided to run. He had climbed out of his crib, opened the front door, and took off, with no destination, into the dark.

  It seemed like Jay Jay wouldn’t stop until caught. He was like one of those small dogs you can’t let out of the house because they will run and run. When you call for them, they act like they are deaf and keep going. We once had a dog named Fritz, and he did the same thing. My brother was just like Fritz, but less hairy. He ran like a deaf dog, occasionally looking back, but never stopping.

  I tried to research why disabled people run but got nowhere. So, I will admit, I looked up why small dogs run. Trust me, they do not run for the same reasons. My brother was not “in heat.” So, we will leave that one alone.

  My parents finally caught my brother, and as they carried him back, he acted like a fish out of water. He flailed his arms and legs in an attempt to break out of my dad’s clutches. As they neared the house, I remembered that Esther said Jay Jay would run one day. I did not know it would be this soon. I stood and waited to see how my mom and dad would respond because I couldn’t respond differently than they did—that wouldn’t be right. I felt happy to know Jay Jay could run, but it was also scary that he ran out of the house at night!

  They walked into the house and put him down, but he stiffened his legs, ran into the wall, and fell down. He picked himself up and ran into the wall again. We had to stand where we didn’t want him to go. I laughed because it seemed funny. My mom and dad looked at each other with bewilderment on their faces. This continued for a few more hours. My mom turned on the TV. They sat on the couch, and my dad tried to fall asleep. I ran all over, thrilled to show off my defensive blocking skills.

  “What do we do?” my mom asked my dad.

  “We move.”

  “Where will we move to?”

  “Well, we will have to move near my mom and dad into that extra trailer. They are out about two miles from paved roads. So when Jay Jay runs, we can catch him.”

  I knew where my grandma and grandpa lived. Their home was in a little town called Sky Valley. The town probably earned this name because the best thing to look at was the sky. All that seemed to exist in this place was dirt. They lived in the middle of nowhere. There were four trailers in the compound where they lived. Two were close to each other, so from an aerial view, they looked like a triangle. The area was surrounded by dirt, rocks, and large hills. And there were a few trees—the ugly kind of trees often found on the sides of railroad tracks to block the wind.

  I thought about how I would have to go to a new school. I was seven years old and almost finished with first grade. My cousins lived on the compound somewhere, so I felt better. Also, Grandma and Grandpa were sweet. I wondered if I would ever see my friends again. What about Tiffany? What about the neighbor who liked to swing me upside down by my feet and drop me on my head? Or the kids up the road with the freezer full of ice cream in their garage—the ones who rode me on the bike handlebars and got my foot trapped in the spokes?

  I had beautiful memories, and I was going to miss them all. But most of all, what about Esther? I loved her. I knew I wouldn’t see her again; I felt so sad. My mom said Esther’s job was done because she taught Jay Jay everything she had to offer. Her job had been to teach my brother to walk, but instead, she taught him to fly.

  I know why my brother ran. Freedom, I believe—freedom from his imprisonment. Inside his brain, he secretly knew he had once been healthy. He turned everything he couldn’t accomplish into one thing he could: He hit the ground running.

  We packed in a hurry to move to the Sky Valley compound. In the meantime, we had to barricade all doors and windows. Jay Jay was like a fierce monkey; he spent all of his confined hours trying to get out. We did everything in our power to exhaust his energy. None of our strategies worked. My mom couldn’t put him in the crib anymore. He would climb right out and run. Only a cage would keep him safe, she said, but that would be considered child abuse.

  The only way for him to fall asleep was to take a ride in the car. My mom, my brother, and I drove around town all night in the brown Mazda station wagon, trying to get him to fall asleep. My mom would stare straight while in a daze. I never knew what she was thinking. I always focused on the beautiful streetlights and houses and imagined amazing things until I fell asleep.

  One night, as we drove up and down the streets, I saw a beautiful house I had never noticed before. My mom slowed down in front of the gray and white home. While I peered out the window at the house, and before I had time to let my mind run free, I was startled to see a mom, dad, and a small child rush to our car. My mom rolled down the passenger window.

  The man put his head inside the car. “Is that Jenny? Jenny, is that you?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, careful not to wake my brother beside me in the backseat.

  “Come inside. Live with us. It’s okay with your mom. She’s got a lot on her hands.”

  I looked at my mom. She smiled and nodded her head, but I did not move. I just sat there.

  “Jenny, Jenny. Come on,” the man said.

  Then his voice started to change. “Jenny, come on!”

  He grabbed me and started shaking me. “Jenny, come on. I put your brother in the house already. He fell asleep.”

  My eyes opened quickly. I should have known it was only a dream. I snuck into the house and went to sleep, hoping the dream would continue.

  WE SAID OUR GOOD-BYES TO everyone and moved into a white double-wide trailer at the top of the compound’s triangle. It was the farthest from civilization and sat higher than the others, so we could see the dirt roads if my brother took off. The nearest public place was a church. There were a couple of houses scattered between the compound and the church.

  My grandparents lived in a tiny travel trailer. Their trailer was closest to ours and always smelled like vinegar. My grandma boiled it all the time for some reason. I thought she was trying to get rid of evil spirits or something. Apparently, it helped my grandpa’s breathing.

  Their trailer had a bird’s-eye view of the church. My grandma wandered the compound daily, and if she saw more than one car pull up to the church, she would rush and gather all the children (my four cousins and my sister and me) and tell us, “Hurry up and get down there. Something’s going on at the church.” We would run and join in on the festivities, even weddings of people we didn’t know.

  As an adult, a boyfriend’s parents told me they were married in that same church many years ago. My boyfriend was about six years old when they married. They were skeptical when I told them I was probably at their wedding. They pulled out their photo album, and sure enough, there was the girl with the messy white hair and a rainbow sundress. The craziest part is that I was sitting just a few feet away from their son, whom I would eventually meet over twenty years later.

  So, yes, I am certifiably Christian. But back then, I didn’t know it was my religion; I thought it was my nationality. Someone once asked me where I came from, and I responded, “Christian.” I was very believable. I don’t recall any feelings of awkwardness.

  My grandparents had a mean cat named Polly Carp. She was black with long claws and shiny, knobby, matted fur. She must have been one hundred years old. She would attack if anyone tried to pet her. We would try “for sport” to see who would get attacked. My grandma would rough Polly Carp up until she would attack her. The cat would claw my grandma’s hands, but she would never cry. I believed her hands were made of leather. Fresh scratch marks lined her hands and arms so much it was difficult to see the wounds that had healed. Grandma said the old broad was tough, but not as tough as her.

  My grandma was gentle but firm. She wore shapeless house dresses and white socks up to her knees, with white nurse-style shoes. Her legs wer
e pudgy like a baby’s, with rolls in them, but her skin didn’t look new. She had short, gray hair and wrinkly skin with brown marks all over. She also wore thick, small-sized eyeglasses. Our entire family admired her. She was famous for her “potato dumpling” recipe, which she often made for birthday celebrations. This dish was always a big hit with everyone.

  My grandma randomly walked around the compound and usually ended up at our trailer. If I was too hyper, she sat on me. I would try to wiggle to get her to let me up, but I would just have to give up. She was a little on the chubby side; she was too heavy to escape out from under. Since I couldn’t escape, I had to talk to her. We always talked about church. She told me all about the Bible, too. In fact, she shared wisdom with me when I was seven, which would save my life twelve years later. “Jenny, if you ever need help, pray to God. He will help you.”

  Every night, I prayed. “God, please help me. Please teach my mom to be nice. Please make my dad happy. Please help Jay Jay be normal again. Also, God, please make me the best storyteller ever, so people will finally listen to me.”

  God didn’t think I needed help because nothing ever changed. I continued to pray, though.

  My grandpa was sweet too, but a man of few words, like my dad. He liked to drink buttermilk, listen to Christian music, and work on things around the compound all day. You could easily find him underneath the hood of one of the many clunkers parked near his trailer. He wore motor oil like it was skin lotion—unless he was going to church, then he would wash up and put on a suit. He said we all had to look nice in the house of God. I dreaded seeing him pull out his black pocket comb around me because I knew he planned to use it on my white, tangled hair. He was always careful, but I would cry the entire time. The more I fought it, the longer it took, he said. So, I tried to stay put. When he was finished, I would rush to the bathroom mirror and admire my new pretty hair.

  His fingernails were thick and black for some reason, but he said they didn’t hurt. He was thin, and he didn’t have much brown hair. He seemed to be part Norwegian and part turtle because he would drive so dang slow! He would hum and scratch his head with his beetle-looking fingernails. When he drove, he never even turned around to speak to me; he kept his eyes on the road.

  “You must always drive with caution,” he would say.

  “Why?” I knew the answer, but he couldn’t see the devious smile on my face.

  “Safety, Jenny. People’s lives are on the line.”

  When someone drove too fast, he would growl the word criminy. My eyebrows would raise and my lips would purse as I tried to hold in my laughter.

  Ironically, he would die some years later in a car accident that involved a speeding driver.

  My grandparents were nice to have around. They helped out with my brother sometimes. When my grandma was nearby, my mom was kinder. I thought things might be getting better, but I soon found out that wasn’t the case.

  When I was seven years old, I would get my third job, the hardest task yet. My mom told me she had to talk to me and brought me into a room and made me look at her uncertain eyes.

  “I’m going to give you the most important job of your life.”

  My heart sank, and a sense of impending doom leased a hold on me. I knew this new form of punishment would be harsh. Yet I acted undismayed and asked, “What is it?”

  “It is your job to make sure Jay Jay doesn’t get away. If he does and he dies, it will be your fault, and everyone will blame you.”

  My Dad, Jay Jay, and Janna

  CHAPTER SIX

  Love, Hate, and the Hollow State

  “Many abused children cling to the hope that growing up will bring escape and freedom. But the personality formed in the environment of coercive control is not well adapted to adult life. The survivor is left with fundamental problems in basic trust, autonomy, and initiative. She approaches the task of early adulthood—establishing independence and intimacy—burdened by major impairments in self-care, in cognition, and in memory, in identity, and in the capacity to form stable relationships. She is still a prisoner of her childhood; attempting to create a new life, she reencounters the trauma.”1

  —Judith Lewis Herman

  The treehouse now has a deck on top. I built the deck with my own two hands and with no help. It looks beautiful. I am proud of this accomplishment because I am an Aries. I usually begin projects, do the hard parts, and quit when the challenge is over because I know others can finish the easy stuff. I am inside the treehouse now because it is too cold to write on “The Deck” tonight. That is what I named it: “The Deck.” Long planters encase the sides, so I won’t easily fall over. One of them has “The Deck” spelled out in nails and screws instead of anything normal, of course. The planters are full of dirt and manure and anything else soft and brown I could find to shove in them. The plants are green because the deck is red, and they shouldn’t match. One plant is a tiny rose bush with purple flowers the man in the house gave me for Valentine’s Day. I planted the bush with the new plants on the deck because it looked like it wanted to die.

  I’m drinking a smooth white wine that is unfixed and unfiltered. It doesn’t give me headaches. Something about dairy gives me horrible headaches, and I did some research and found out milk is in wine.

  The other day, I picked up a medical marijuana card. That was a new experience. The pharmacy I went to was serene and clean. I chose some topical pain relievers, some anxiety liquid drops, and three grams of three different strains of marijuana. Is it acceptable to say “marijuana”? I have no clue what is politically correct anymore.

  The different flower strains are foreign to me. After smoking the first one, I cleaned the entire garage and was creative as well. As I moved a tall dresser, it fell apart on me. The drawers were still useful, so I drilled them into the wall, and now I have shelves. That is not a task I would typically do, but it was an excellent idea.

  The second strain was different. After smoking it, my body was in “Jell-O Land.” My body felt heavier than usual. I had planned to try it, fold some laundry, and pack for my upcoming trip to New York. But it was hard to hold my head up. I brought the laundry to the room in the Big House and folded clothes as I sat on the bed watching Netflix. The show Shameless popped up on my screen, and I decided to give it a try. Not long after, I was hooked on the show. I watched six episodes. I believe this is called binge-watching, which I never do. As I ate gluten-free pasta with chunky red sauce, I balanced a coconut milk, chocolate ice-cream cone in my left hand. My right hand folded the laundry in strange ways as I stared at the television. The chocolate ice cream would drip onto the clean laundry if neglected for too long. Occasionally, I realized my bottom jaw was dropped open. My mouth is never open when I watch TV.

  Tonight, I’m not trying the third strain—better save that one for a special occasion. I’ll smoke the first one instead. Smoke fills the tree-house as I focus on the laptop screen. I think of how I dread giving life to this chapter. I’m listening to John Mayer’s “Stop This Train,” but this is a train I cannot stop.

  YOU WOULD THINK I’D REMEMBER every detail of every little thing from my past. To be honest with you, I don’t. The birth of my little sister was completely forgotten. I don’t even remember my mom being pregnant. I cannot recall any talk of a baby coming or of a baby being born. The other morning, I was brushing my teeth, and my younger sister sent me a text. I texted her back, set my phone down, continued to brush my teeth, and then yelled, “Shit!” So, there you have it. My mom got pregnant and had a baby girl. Now, chronologically in this book, she is two years old.

  I found it odd that I didn’t remember this, so I asked my dad about the pregnancy. It all makes sense now. He told me they were not trying to get pregnant because my brother was sick. Once my mom became pregnant, the doctor told her the baby was likely to have developmental delays, like my brother. So my mom did not celebrate or tell many people. I did not know she was pregnant. I probably thought she was just fat in the stomach.
r />   My brother now attended school, and a miniature yellow school bus drove all the way up the bumpy gravel road to the compound to get him. Jay Jay would jump, punch the air, and squawk with excitement when the bus pulled up. Gina and I never understood why he went to school when it seemed to us that he was unteachable. My mom said it didn’t matter if he learned or not because she now had a free babysitter, and she could breathe a little.

  When my brother was not at school, I was his caretaker. At first, it was fun. He would run the other way as I cleverly beat him to every door and window he tried to escape from. Jay Jay was fast. His mission was to break out of the house. He was not allowed out, and I was on “guard duty” all the time. After a few days on the job, I was sick of the responsibility. I wanted to play with my cousins or by myself. Eventually, I became tired of the constant pursuit and tied a rope around his waist to keep him near. Furniture and other inanimate objects held him close so I could do normal activities with the other kids. When he learned of his strength, he began to drag the items he was attached to, or he would destroy whatever was around him as he thrashed to break away.

  One day, I was left alone to watch Jay Jay. I barricaded every door and made sure every window was secure. I pretended to be an average child and went into my room to get something. But I was sidetracked and began to draw on a piece of paper. This was a moment of happiness. I stayed in the room drawing, even after I thought the house sounded too silent. The next time I thought about how quiet the house was, I decided to check.

  As I walked toward the living room, my heart dropped; I saw sunlight crossing the floor ahead of me. I knew what that meant. As I rushed into the room, I looked to the left in a panic. The door was open, my barricade destroyed. My head filled with curse words. (I knew some by now.) My eyes were bulging, and my hands were shaking. I ran toward the corner of the trailer to see the road beneath. Since the front of our trailer faced away from civilization and toward the mountains, I had to go fast. Right as I rounded the corner, I heard a car. My mom pulled up in the Mazda station wagon. My heart dropped. Then I did a double take and saw my brother sitting in the backseat.