muttered, sitting on the floor, rocking her
shoulders back and forth, her legs crossed Indian-style.
Abby’s “people” were the characters
she created in her head. Some of them weren’t even people, per se.
Dingo, the dancing dog, often slept at her feet. And Face, an
oversized, disembodied, generic-looking head with hands attached to
his chin, sometimes flew around the room, shaming you when you did
something wrong. There was also a movie director named Bud and a
wild-spirited guy called Smiling Seven who wanted to be a rock
star.
Four characters in total, and I knew
them almost as well as Abby did. But I couldn’t see them the way my
mentally ill sister could.
“ You have to create him,”
Abby said.
“ Me?” I recoiled. I didn’t
want any part of the crazy process. My biggest fear was that
someday I would develop schizophrenia. It wasn’t a common childhood
disease. Most people didn’t show signs of it until
later.
Abby rocked a little faster. “Remember
when I told you that someday my people are going to get stuck in
Room 105? I just figured out that the warrior is the only one who
can save them.”
Room 105 was another
dimension, a place that was inhabited by everything you could
imagine. Abby said it was because all of the beings there were imagined, made up
by people on earth who brought them to life. She’d never been
there, but her people had told her about it. They lived in Room 105
when they weren’t with her.
I thought of it as schizoid central,
but Abby claimed that parts of it were beautiful, like dreams from
a fairy tale. Of course some of it was ugly and evil, with
nightmarish creatures that preyed upon the good. Supposedly it was
divided into three realms: the past, the present, and the future.
The door to it was in a secret location. Even Abby didn’t know
where it was, which was why she’d never been there. Her people
didn’t know where it was, either. They traveled back and forth by
simply walking across a magical border, but earthlings, like Abby,
weren’t able to do that.
“ Maybe it will be okay if
your people get stuck there,” I said. If they were gone, then Abby
wouldn’t see them anymore.
“ Noooo.” My sister keened
out the word. “If they get stuck there, the monsters that patrol
the border will be able to attack them or maybe even kill them.
Don’t you see? I can’t live without my people. If they go away,
then I’ll go away, too.”
Go away how? Deeper into her madness?
I shivered, catching a reflection of myself in the closet-door
mirror. Abby and I could pass for twins, except my hair was longer
and wasn’t matted like hers. Abby wasn’t very good at personal
hygiene. That was part of the illness, too.
I turned away from the mirror. “Why
can’t you give the warrior life? Why do I have to do
it?”
“ I can’t create a
protector for my people. Someone else has to do it, and you’re the
only one I trust.” She leaned forward. “Carol would screw it
up.”
Carol was our overwhelmed aunt, who’d
taken us in when our parents had died, nearly five years ago. Abby
had been a little odd, even then, but nothing like she was
now.
I finally gave in. If I didn’t, this
conversation would go on forever. “Okay, fine. I’ll create the
warrior. Just tell me how to do it.”
“ Make him your age, so he
will get older when you get older. And make him handsome so you can
kiss him someday. He’ll deserve to be kissed for protecting my
people.”
Oh, cripes. “All right. He’s my age
and he’s hot. What else?”
“ Describe him out loud,
exactly what he looks like and what type of warrior he is. And give
him a regular job in this world, so he can blend in when he’s
here.”
“ Why does he need to blend
in?”
“ Because he won’t be able
to make himself invisible like the rest of my people. Now, think.
Picture him in your mind.”
I pretended that I was concentrating
on the task, but all I wanted was to get this stupid thing over
with. The
shoulders back and forth, her legs crossed Indian-style.
Abby’s “people” were the characters
she created in her head. Some of them weren’t even people, per se.
Dingo, the dancing dog, often slept at her feet. And Face, an
oversized, disembodied, generic-looking head with hands attached to
his chin, sometimes flew around the room, shaming you when you did
something wrong. There was also a movie director named Bud and a
wild-spirited guy called Smiling Seven who wanted to be a rock
star.
Four characters in total, and I knew
them almost as well as Abby did. But I couldn’t see them the way my
mentally ill sister could.
“ You have to create him,”
Abby said.
“ Me?” I recoiled. I didn’t
want any part of the crazy process. My biggest fear was that
someday I would develop schizophrenia. It wasn’t a common childhood
disease. Most people didn’t show signs of it until
later.
Abby rocked a little faster. “Remember
when I told you that someday my people are going to get stuck in
Room 105? I just figured out that the warrior is the only one who
can save them.”
Room 105 was another
dimension, a place that was inhabited by everything you could
imagine. Abby said it was because all of the beings there were imagined, made up
by people on earth who brought them to life. She’d never been
there, but her people had told her about it. They lived in Room 105
when they weren’t with her.
I thought of it as schizoid central,
but Abby claimed that parts of it were beautiful, like dreams from
a fairy tale. Of course some of it was ugly and evil, with
nightmarish creatures that preyed upon the good. Supposedly it was
divided into three realms: the past, the present, and the future.
The door to it was in a secret location. Even Abby didn’t know
where it was, which was why she’d never been there. Her people
didn’t know where it was, either. They traveled back and forth by
simply walking across a magical border, but earthlings, like Abby,
weren’t able to do that.
“ Maybe it will be okay if
your people get stuck there,” I said. If they were gone, then Abby
wouldn’t see them anymore.
“ Noooo.” My sister keened
out the word. “If they get stuck there, the monsters that patrol
the border will be able to attack them or maybe even kill them.
Don’t you see? I can’t live without my people. If they go away,
then I’ll go away, too.”
Go away how? Deeper into her madness?
I shivered, catching a reflection of myself in the closet-door
mirror. Abby and I could pass for twins, except my hair was longer
and wasn’t matted like hers. Abby wasn’t very good at personal
hygiene. That was part of the illness, too.
I turned away from the mirror. “Why
can’t you give the warrior life? Why do I have to do
it?”
“ I can’t create a
protector for my people. Someone else has to do it, and you’re the
only one I trust.” She leaned forward. “Carol would screw it
up.”
Carol was our overwhelmed aunt, who’d
taken us in when our parents had died, nearly five years ago. Abby
had been a little odd, even then, but nothing like she was
now.
I finally gave in. If I didn’t, this
conversation would go on forever. “Okay, fine. I’ll create the
warrior. Just tell me how to do it.”
“ Make him your age, so he
will get older when you get older. And make him handsome so you can
kiss him someday. He’ll deserve to be kissed for protecting my
people.”
Oh, cripes. “All right. He’s my age
and he’s hot. What else?”
“ Describe him out loud,
exactly what he looks like and what type of warrior he is. And give
him a regular job in this world, so he can blend in when he’s
here.”
“ Why does he need to blend
in?”
“ Because he won’t be able
to make himself invisible like the rest of my people. Now, think.
Picture him in your mind.”
I pretended that I was concentrating
on the task, but all I wanted was to get this stupid thing over
with. The
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