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THREE YEARS LATER

THE CATERPILLAR

“ S illy Penelope! It’s as if you tried to get out of bed.”

Aunt Stephanie snaps as she storms into my room. She’s flawless as always with lipstick which never smudges, eyeliner razor-sharp and eyes which are cold and expressionless like glass buttons on a doll which makes my skin crawl.

After my parents died in a tragic car accident, I moved in with my grandparents, but then Grandpa was diagnosed with cancer.

How much heartbreak can one family have in a short space of time?

I’m always in bed. Lying down. I feel like a newborn baby, eating, sleeping and…

Lately, I’ve forgotten things, like the day of the week. If I’d eaten or not. If my dreams were my reality or something else. Something darker. My head feels like it’s wrapped in a fog, because I feel sleepy all the time.

Maybe it has been three years and three months since my parents died. I was only thirteen when they died, and it still hurts every day.

Time is supposed to ease the pain, so my therapist told me, and my Aunt and anyone who came across me as they probably saw depression and grief written all over my face.

With stiffened smiles they would open their mouths to say something reassuring.

“You look better.”

“You seem healthy.”

I have no idea what they truly mean. People have been saying stuff like that since the funeral, and even years later, I’m none the wiser.

As soon as they think I can’t hear them, then they would say the same thing behind my back.

“Give her time. It’s hard being an orphan. The shock of it all, she’ll get over their death in time.”

My grandparents and Aunt Stephanie went to court to decide who I should live with, since my parents never made a will. It turned into a messy custody battle. The first couple of years after their death were filled with court dates—I was tossed around like a frisbee, staying with one set of grandparents, whom I saw regularly, and with Aunt Stephanie, not so much.

My grandparents on my dad’s side died when he was young. Maybe this kind of thing runs in the family, parents dying at a young age. It happened to Dad. Maybe there’s some curse on the family that no one knows about. In times like these, when I have nothing better to do, my mind starts playing tricks on me. It makes me think about things I’ve never done before. Like right now, wondering if there is a curse on my family.

Aunt Stephanie is the so-called bad apple of the family. I never understood what it meant as a kid—how could I, when no one really explained it to me. It was a conversation I overheard between Grandma and Mom.

“She’s always getting into trouble. She’s the bad apple of the family,” Mom said.

“Yeah, every family has one,” Grandma responded.

I remember looking at the apples, and wondering if they’d go bad, and if they did, would they turn into Aunt Stephanie?

As I’ve gotten older and pieced it together, I still struggle to understand what they mean when it comes to Aunt Stephanie. She takes me to Starbucks and knows my exact order, as if she has memorized the little pieces of me . She buys me clothes—not just the practical stuff, but things which I feel confident wearing. She plans trips to places and gives me experiences I’d only dreamed of. These are the things Mom would do if she was still alive.

Or rather Aunt Stephanie used to take me on such shopping trips before I came to live with her, maybe she only did it to win the custody battle.

Who knows?

When my parents were alive, I was on the volleyball team, debate team, tutoring and helping out at the orphanage with Mom some weekends, but not all of them.

I think it has been six months or maybe less, since I changed schools and I have been living with Aunt Stephanie in New York. Now all I do is stay in bed. It’s as if I’m not sixteen but sixty. Even my grandparents before I moved out, were more active than I have been lately.

Grandpa was diagnosed with prostate cancer and this changed everything. No more would I hear his laughter like I used to do in the house. Nor his stories. Instead he went from being active to barely shuffling as he walked. The conversations and laughter we used to have at the dinner table, became a thing of the past as there was nothing to say, unless it involved hospital trips or Grandma asking how he was feeling all the time. Grandma became his nurse, and she couldn’t care for me too. I know the real reason she didn’t want me in the house was, because I’d already been exposed to death enough, and she wanted to protect me from Grandpa’s deteriorating health. I don’t see them as much as I used to do. Then again, I don’t see anyone anymore.

I feel like a bug. A caterpillar just…

My mind goes blank as it does so many times, whenever I try to finish a sentence. I worry I may be suffering from the same disease one of Grandma’s sister’s had. The one which made her mind go blank, or in my case completely dead.

“Yes, dear you need to stay in bed. To keep the monsters out. You know the ones you dream about. Dr. Sinclair said you need your medication to help you sleep better.”

She did?

I don’t remember. It feels as if I’ve been in bed for most of my life, I can’t even remember the last time I went to see my therapist, let alone telling her about my issues about not being able to sleep.

I want to…

What’s the word again?

My mind is scrambled, maybe from the medications, the bed, or everything. I want to…..I want to….go out. That’s it. This is what I want to say, but the words are not coming out of my mouth, because I am slurring. I was doing….whatever it was. I don’t remember. My heartbeat races like my breathing does when I think about where I want to be and what I want to be doing. I want to be out in the sun, not stuck in my bed, once again. It seems to be all I’m capable of doing, and I want to scream, but I can’t even do that.

“Penelope, you’re getting overly excited again. Maybe I gave you too much this time, because you’re not supposed to be able to move at all. Maybe giving you too much, has the reverse effect.”

Did she say, this time ?

How many times have there been?

It’s as if I’m outside of my body. The things I want to say and do are completely different as I lay helpless on my bed, as she strokes my hair as she sits beside me on the bed. Her strong lavender perfume is choking me. It’s as if she bathes in it whenever she comes to my room so I can’t smell anything but her. I don’t even know why she is doing it. Part of me wonders if it is to calm me down or intimidate me.

Mom used to braid my hair before I would go to bed, but her hands were always warm and her voice soft as a lullaby. Whereas Aunt Stephanie’s hands are cold. Her voice sounds like ice cracking.

One day I ventured to the kitchen and I couldn’t get in. I went back, and it was locked again. I thought maybe Aunt Stephanie was cleaning or it was by accident. That’s what I told myself until the third time, when I knew it was no accident. There were no keys.

No explanation.

Now, I can’t even leave this room, to get something to eat. I have meals brought to my bedroom all the time.

It’s not normal.

Mom would never do this, if anything she would tell me to get off my ass and go to the kitchen to prepare something not only for myself, but for her too. Okay, so she wouldn’t tell me to get off my ass, but she would probably tease me about being lazy for expecting her to do it.

I can feel a tear escape my eye, but I can’t even get rid of it, because I feel paralyzed from my head right down to my toe.

“Errh,” I squeal, but no words can leave my mouth. It’s as if I’m drooling as I try to speak.

“What is wrong with me?”

Ever since my aunt has had full custody of me, there have been moments like this, times when my body is paralyzed, but my mind is awake.

“I would put you out. Like I’ve done before, but this client wants you awake,” she sighs.

Her words hit me like a blast of cold air, even if I’m sure the room temperature hasn’t changed since she entered the room.

Why does she say it so calmly?

Client?

The way she says it, makes my chest tighten so hard as if my ribs are about to crack. I want to vomit, to scream or just get out of here.

What else is going on?

“He’s paying big bucks for tonight. And I can’t let him down. I did want you out like before, because it’s cruel for you to be awake, so you know what’s going on.”

She pauses for a second and looks me directly in my eyes. “ You can hear me, can’t you?” Then Aunt Stephanie tilts her head, and lifts mine up so my eyes meet her dark eyes, and this scares me even more, because it is as if they are almost black.

“I had a bad night. I lost a lot of money, if I hadn’t I wouldn’t be doing this. You wouldn’t want your Aunt to end up like Mommy and Daddy would you?”

She strokes my hair, and I feel this crawling sensation, like there's something in it again—lice, maybe. Like I’ve had so many times whenever I used to go swimming at school. The thought of it makes my skin itch, but it’s her fingers, warm and slow, moving through my hair which I can’t stand. All I want is for her hand to leave me, for her to step back, to get away from me. I want to break free, run out of this room, down the stairs, and out the front door, far from this moment. Far from her.

But I can't. My body is frozen, trapped in this bed, suffocating under the weight of her presence. My chest tightens as my eyes shift to the door, then around the room. I wonder for a second, am I still in my room or have I moved?

The Stray Cats posters on the wall.

Gone.

The K-drama guys I love to watch and have them on my walls.

Gone.

There’s nothing which screams it’s a teen room, only this bed, which has a gold-framed headboard and soft, neutral linens. The walls are painted in a muted gray, with minimal decor, and the floor is covered by a plush, oversized rug in shades of beige.

I have to find another way to escape, so I nod my head, but it doesn’t move. I just lay still, like I’ve done before.

I need to get out of here. And quick. Panic sets into me, like the time I went to James Ross house in second grade to celebrate his eighth birthday party. I was sitting at the table, wishing him Happy birthday when his pet snake rubbed against my legs. My skin crawled. My heart skipped a beat. This is what this news feels like, she’s doing something to me. Something bad and she wants me to understand. I’m scared, too scared but I know if I don’t play along, the woman who is now my guardian may do something worse to me then she has already done.

I move my eyes from up to down.

“Oh, it seems to be working now. Just like they want it. Good girl. You remember how I taught you last time.”

Not really.

I had no choice, I went from being able to walk around freely in the apartment, to not being able to get anything out of the kitchen, without permission from her.

I’m still the caterpillar, cocooned in fear, but I know one thing for sure. One day, I’ll get out of this bed and run so far that she’ll never find me. And if I can’t run, then I’ll just have to fucking crawl.