Everyone Has Their Shadows

Part 1

Warning: abandonment

The asters didn’t grow that fall.

Mr Gryning loved growing plants of all sorts in the local park, and fall was always the aster season. I loved asters - lovely little purple flowers with long, slender petals. They would begin flourishing within a few weeks, but Mr Gryning planted none at all this year. I asked him about it. So to make up for the lack of my favourite flowers, I drew little asters all over the Daisy Estate. I was sent up to the attic for half an hour as punishment for that - which really wasn’t bad at all. I spent that much time drawing the flowers on the walls. An hour of dedication to that meant acceptance of half an hour of punishment time. But it was still kind of stupid - I mean, the Daisy Estate was extremely messy. What’s wrong with a little decoration for the walls?

No asters was a bad omen, I was sure of it. It meant lots of time pondering what this omen was as I wandered the everyday chaos of the Daisy Estate. Oh, the Daisy Estate! I loved it. I even named it. I’m not sure exactly why I named it that, but I did, and then Aveline started using it, then everybody did and it stuck. The Daisy Estate was the largest, oldest and most unique house in the neighbourhood. Lila calls it eccentric, but it sounds too weird-old-lady-ish to me, so I say offbeat, which makes Lila stare at me weirdly. Twenty-one people live in the Daisy Estate - Mrs Genevieve Verola, though everyone calls her Ginny, three sixteen-year-olds, one seventeen-year-old, four children between the ages of one and four and eleven troublesome orphans between the ages of nine and fourteen.

The Daisy Estate wasn’t an orphanage, it was just a dilapidated old house where Ginny lived. Ginny loved kids and knew how to control a lot of them. So she ended up like this, living in a house with a lot of charming young children with no parents. 

I had parents. I had had parents, in the past. They were still alive, I knew - Ginny had their address and number, but she never wanted me to contact them - but they had left me. I couldn’t remember it - I had been only nineteen months old - but the sting was still as sharp as when I first discovered they weren’t dead. They’d willingly left me. I thought about it again and again - why would they do that? What reason did they have? And here I was, thinking about it again as I sat in the attic, holding Sylvester gently against my cheek. Whenever I looked at Sylvester, I wondered how anybody could call mice gross or filthy, how anybody could willingly hurt a mouse. I saved Sylvester from meeting an unfortunate end in our neighbour’s house and, after a bit of research, I discovered that he could be kept as a pet, and I gained a new friend. And as I sat alone in the attic, I wondered if Sylvester thought the same about me - how could other mice think humans are so awful?

“Sylvester, why do you think my parents left me?” I asked.

Snuffle, snuffle. Squirm.

There was a shadow in the corner of the attic. It wasn’t the normal kind of shadow. It was a kind shadow that just hung on the wall with nothing to go with it. It wasn’t as, well, there as other shadows were. Barnaby - he's the oldest of us, at age seventeen - says that’s because the shadow isn’t real - it’s my imagination. Maybe he’s right, but it seems pretty realistic to me. I tried as hard as I could to ignore it.

“Aveline said that maybe they were just poor and wanted me to have a better life,” I continued. “But would it really be better for me in an orphanage? Getting adopted was pretty much just luck. Don’t only those cute little girls like Annie ever get adopted? They didn’t expect me to be like Annie, did they?”

Sylvester stood still in my palm, looking up at me.

“You understand me. You’re my only true friend, y’know that? You understand English, I bet. Now, do you think there’s a different reason they left - ohh.” A thought hit me. “Sylvester,” I said slowly, painfully aware of the shadow growing, creeping closer, “do you think they left me out of choice? Because they didn’t want me?”

Sylvester gave a muted squeak.

“Why would they not want me?” I pondered aloud. I could see from the corner of my eye - that was the only way I could see the shadow - that it was huge now, larger than me, and very close. My head began hurting awfully. “Sylvester -”

“Clara? Clara! Your half-hour is up! It’s dinnertime!”

Hardly thinking, I stood, scooped up Sylvester and opened the wooden door as soon as I heard Ginny unlock it. I made a point of staring at anything but the shadow, which slowly shrank away.

I went down the creaky steps and sat at the enormous table. Fifteen of the seventeen people who were supposed to be at the table were seated already - the only ones who weren’t were me and Richie, who quickly slipped into his chair next to me. I sat down too and glanced at the pot of spaghetti-and-meatballs, starving.

I ate dinner quickly, then read until some of the other kids had gone to sleep so that it would be acceptable for me to go to bed. I was feeling tired, my head hurt and I could still see the shadow - small, but very much there. After a quick shower, I collapsed in my bed, Lila on the bed next to me and Aveline next to me too, on the other side. As my consciousness quickly vanished, my headache faded away.

And then I was awake. It felt like a second had passed - like I’d just closed my eyes for a moment - but it had been hours. My eyes jolted open staring up at the ceiling.

The thing was there. I hadn’t even realized I had been thinking about my parents, but apparently I had been thinking about them a lot during my hours of slumber that night, because it was big. I could almost discern its shape - a strange, giant beast, kind of like a spider. It slowly turned what appeared to be its head and looked down at me.

Keep calm, Clara. It’s just your imagination.

I had a headache. I felt the panic rise in my chest.

Just your imagination...it seems powerful, but remember that it’s under your control. You’re the only one who can end this. Stay calm. Stay…

I could almost hear the strange monster. If it was actually my imagination like Barnaby said, I had one heck of an imagination. 

Control yourself, Clara. You are the only one who can tame this monster. It’s under your command. But it wants it to be vice versa - that it controls you. You don’t want that, do you?

No, I don’t.

Take control.

Go away.

Go. Away.

Go away!

NOW. You. Do not. Control me. Go.

The beast faded away into the natural shadows of the room, vanishing as suddenly and quickly as it came. I quickly saw up and looked around, clearing

The sky was still darker than Sylvester’s fur. Sylvester was running on his hamster wheel and the three other girls in the room were fast asleep. It would probably be at least six hours before anybody woke up - tomorrow was Friday, after all. No school.

I couldn’t go back to sleep - I knew the shadow would return. I hadn’t defeated it forever. I knew I had to defeat it sometime soon. No - not soon. Now.

I slipped out of bed and opened the door. The hall was just as dark as the bedroom, and as I stepped out, I wondered how I would find my way anywhere. After a few moments of groping around in total darkness, I found the rail of the stairs and slowly walked down, quietly opening Ginny’s bedroom door.

“Ginny?”

“What? Who is it?”

“Clara.”

“ Clara. What’s wrong? What time is it?”

“Around 2 a.m.,” I whispered. “I had nightmares and now I’m afraid to go to sleep.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?

I paused for a moment, then said, “yes. My nightmares were, well, because of my parents. I don’t know who they are at all. I think the only way to stop my nightmares is to go visit them.”

“What? Now?”

Suddenly I realized how insane I sounded. “Yes.”

“Clara, I love you, but that’s an awful idea. Can’t we wait till morning?”

“No, no. I can’t go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes. I’m completely sure.”

“Wait a moment. Get dressed meanwhile.”

Disbelieving, I found my way back up and quickly got dressed and brushed my teeth. I waited a few more minutes until Ginny got ready, and then we were climbing into the car.

“I woke up Barnaby,” she told me. “Somebody had to be in charge of those kids.”

“How long is the drive?” I asked.

“Maybe four hours..”

I didn’t talk after that. I was too busy dreaming, wishing, lying, hoping, praying, like in that Shel Silverstein poem. Ginny respected my silence. I looked out the window, watching dawn slowly break. Everything looked so lonely as we rode through the countryside, nobody awake yet, everything silent; too early for the birds to start their gentle twittering, for people to go to work or school. As we rode into a city, I was glad to see cars driving, people waking; I didn’t like that strange loneliness. I wondered which city it was, realizing I’d never asked Ginny where they lived. I didn’t ask, instead sucking in every detail of this place.

Ginny parked her car in front of a tall building. It was cream-coloured and had fourteen windows, as far as I could see.

“That’s where they live,” Ginny told me. “Floor six. I’ll give you an hour, OK? We can’t leave Barnaby in charge for too long; remember, we’ll only be back around 11 a.m.”

I quickly left the car and walked towards the building. I pulled the door open and began my climb up to my parents’ apartment.

Six floors later, I stood in front of their door. I hesitated for a moment, then used the wooden dog knocker, knocking four times.

The door swung open and I saw a woman of about forty, her hair messy, looking tired. “Who are you and why are you here at this hour?”

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I meant to come earlier. I - I’m your daughter.”

“What?”

“Clara? Twelve years old? Adopted ten and a half years ago?” I said, hoping for her to remember me.

My mother was silent for a moment. My hopes soared like airborne eagles as I imagined what she would say next. That moment felt like a lifetime.

“Why the hell did you come here?”

“I -” I stammered, startled. “I wanted to know why you left me.”

“We weren’t very well off. Having a baby was too expensive. So we gave you away. You’re not asking to take you back, right? Because we’re doing just fine without a kid.”

“I - what? But -”

“Listen, kid. I haven’t thought about you in ten years. I’ve moved on with my life. You are not familiar to me and I hardly remember you,” the woman said sharply. She paused for a moment, waiting for me to reply. In response, I turned around and began walking down the stairs, back to Ginny’s car.

“What?” the woman yelled after me. I ignored her and kept walking.

“How - you -”

By the time I got to the fifth floor she had gone quiet and went back in; it hadn’t taken her long, to my disappointment. After getting down the remaining four floors, I stepped out of the building and climbed back into Ginny’s car. She frowned. “You still have fifty minutes.”

“Let’s go home,” I said.

“What happened?”

“Let’s go home, I said.”

“Can you answer me first?”

“Start driving first. I want to get away from her.”

Ginny frowned but started the engine. A few minutes later, after we began driving, she asked again, “What happened?”

I told her the full story. In response, Ginny said, “Disgusting person. I’m glad you didn’t have to grow up with a person like her as your mother.”

“Hmm,” I said.

“I’m sorry I took you here.”

“I’m not. Now I’ll know I didn’t miss out on anything.”

That was a strange day. I went to meet my mother, yet the best part of that experience was stopping at a café on the way home. Unfortunately, meeting my mother wasn’t even the worst part. The actual worst part was yet to come.

Part 2

It was around 10:30 when Clara and Ginny came back. But the Daisy Estate was different, not what they had left behind - a stranger was sitting on their couch.

“Rocky! I thought you’d only come in the afternoon!” Ginny said.

“Yeah, well, I had free time so why not come earlier?” the man, Rocky, replied. Ginny stepped forward and gave him a quick embrace, while Clara hung back, seeming confused.

“This is my brother,” Ginny said. “He came to talk to you.”

“Why me?”

“I heard you’ve been having some issues because of your parents,” he said.

“Oh, so it’s because I’m a troubled child?”

“What? No. It’s just a little talk. I’ll quickly talk to Ginny, then we can talk, OK?”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Clara, you are not a troubled kid. I just want to talk with you for a moment, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, he and Ginny went onto the porch. Several minutes later, they came back and Rocky immediately sat down at the dining table, pulling out a chair for Clara. She reluctantly sat down.

“Ginny told me you met your mother today,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And it didn’t go well.”

“No.”

“She said you’ve been having headaches and nightmares and stuff.”

“Yes. What does it matter?”

“I want to help you.”

“How, then?”

“Well, I think that, now that you’ve met your mother and she wasn’t...quite so happy, your headaches can easily get worse.”

“It’s unavoidable.”

“It can be helped. We want to take you somewhere else; somewhere different.”

“What? An asylum or something?”

“Heavens no. You know what therapy is?”

“I do not need therapy!” 

The other children watched soundlessly. Clara looked stubborn. Rocky looked like he wished he could finish this already. Like most people who didn’t properly know her, he pretty much hated her.

“It’s called animal-assisted therapy. It’s when you use activities with animals to help with issues like disease and mental health - not that you’re sick or mentally ill, of course, but it also works for kids with PTSD and things like that. We found a place for you on a farm where you could be with animals to help you recover.”

“I have Sylvester. He’s enough.”

While Rocky and Ginny were talking, Clara had gone to her bedroom and gotten her mouse. As Rocky looked at him, he said, “certainly a lovely fellow, but I doubt it’s enough to help with animal-assisted therapy. You’ll be with chickens and cows, sheep, goats: what’s not to love?”

“I like animals, but you know what I like more? My home.”

Ginny walked forward and gently placed her hand on Clara’s shoulder. “Clary, here now. You’re leaving tonight. Sorry for only telling you now. The plans were quite last-minute. I’m so, so sorry. But it’ll be good for you there, I promise. You’ll have lots of fun, great friends there. I’m sorry, Clara.”

The crowd of children behind them watched in unbroken speechlessness. Clara? Leaving? Tonight? Clara was thinking the same thing, her face and thoughts blotted with tears and woe; to anybody, there or watching, it seemed strangely unnatural, blur of motion and colour as Clara turned to and fro, then darted up the stairs, and in a flash she was in the attic, with the door closed. Clutching Sylvester to her chest, she cried quietly. “Sylvester, why are they making me go? Why am I being abandoned again? Just like my parents left me…” She realized she had used a word she had never used to describe being left by her parents, and hearing it roll off her own tongue felt strangely satisfying. “Abandon. Abandon. I was abandoned, and I am being abandoned again. Why do I have to be abandoned again, just like I was ten-and-a-half years ago? A-B-A-N-D-O-N. Why, why, why?”

It made her feel strangely better, and she stopped crying. She sat there for a few more minutes, composing herself as Sylvester looked at her graciously, before there was a knock on the door of the attic, and it slowly opened, revealing Lila standing awkwardly in the entrance. “I’m so sorry about the news. I just wanted to see if you’re OK.”

“No,” Clara said, still too upset for manners or politeness. She stepped out of the attic and began down the stairs. As Lila stood alone there, she wondered why she could never understand Clara. What a strange girl.

The rest of the day passed both faster and slower than any other day in Clara’s life. She was packing, bidding farewell to the Daisy Estate, saying goodbye to neighbours and friends and to the empty patch in the park where the aspers used to be. It was an omen, wasn’t it?

And as Clara was put onto the train to this strange farm and left alone there among strangers, she thought of the aspers, of her headaches and troubles, and she realized something important:

Everyone has their shadows.