Page 2 of The Moments You Miss
They seem worried that I’m not crying or talking. Daddy always told me never to tell anyone what they did and I’m reallygood at listening to directions. The detective, that’s the lady from my house, keeps asking me questions, but she’s really nice. She wants to know more about Mommy and Daddy, I will not tell! It’s mine and Daddy’s secret.
When my Daddy would go on his trips he always came home, and he would always take me to visit our favorite spot in the woods with all the pretty stones. Daddy said this is where the bad people he knows go. I really loved my Daddy, even if daddy wasn’t a good man. That’s what Mommy would always say. We love him even if he’s bad, because he’s ours.
I think it’s been a while now. I took a nap on the couch at the police station and the detective came back after talking to her friends. She pulled out her chair and sat down in front of me. The crayons and paper scatter around the table. It’s a picture of Daddy and Mommy.
“How are you feeling, Sweetie?” Detective Alexandra Harris smiles wide at me.
I shrug, not really sure how to feel. I just know I don’t want to talk to anyone. Sitting in the Michigan State Police Department is overwhelming, and it’s loud. My eyes connect with her, my body shivers slightly as her concerned gaze envelops me. Her stare feels like a warm hug that I don’t deserve. The feeling of suddenly needing to find somewhere else to look overcomes me. I stare at a pile of papers behind her on the corner of a desk for some time, everything around me becoming a vacuum. I think I hear someonesay something, my name maybe, then I feel a hand on my shoulder. I jump in my seat, everyone is looking up at me, but words won’t form.
Detective Alexandra turns to her partner and whispers, “Has she said a single word this entire time?”
The man shakes his head, and responds back, “Not a word, not even when she was given toys and a tablet.”
Detective Alexandra says, “We need her to talk, and talk soon, we’ve got social services coming in the next few hours, and they’re gonna send her off to an emergency placement. I’m really worried that she’s still in shock.”
I sit in the chair just looking up at the two of them, my little hands grasping the red crayon. I lean forward and start tugging on her shirt, shoving the artwork to her. I just want them to like my pretty picture. The picture is of my parents, lying in their bed. Their eyes are black, just like the real thing. I saw that their eyes were plucked from their heads and placed in their hands. The eyes looked like they were watching me.
My body shivers as that memory comes back to my brain. The scene was so scary, and I saw it all. The two officers clearly aren’t a fan of my picture, because Detective Alexandra’s face looks all funny. She is pale and red climbs up her cheeks, then she shakes her head and puts on a pretty smile as she walks towards me.
“Hey-hey kiddo, what did you draw?” Alexandra asks sweetly, trying to get me to talk to her, or just at all. I urge the drawing into her hands, pointing to the picture. Detective Alexandra frowns as she looks at me. “Oh, Leyla.” The detective’s hand cups my cheek.
I flinch but then look up at her, my big eyes connecting with hers. I just shrug as a disappointed look takes over my face as she hands the picture off to the other detective, speaking in hushed whispers. My lips purse as I start to say something, but they’re too busy talking to each other.
A few more hours pass, and Detective Alexandra comes walking out of her office towards me. I shoot up to stand, my eyes darting up as I look at her, my fingers pattering away on the table. I’mso bored.I still haven’t cried yet, but Daddy said,“No crying for my little spitfire.”
Daddy always told me I’m a big girl and that I need to be big and strong because the world’s a scary place. My brows scrunch as I watch Detective Alexandra squat down in front of me. A lady with a backpack comes in, I think they told me her name, but I hadn’t bothered to pay attention to it.
“Hey Leyla, my name’s Miss Elizabeth, I’m here to take you to a fun new place where some really nice people will take care of you, okay?” I tilt my head back as I look over Miss Elizabeth. My hand shoots out to grasp hers and I jump out of the chair, I want to get out of this place, it’s scary.
“Eager little one, I see!” Elizabeth laughs and she lets me hold her hand tightly, as if this would all fade away were I to let go. I’m scared,reallyscared but I know that this will be okay. Detective Alexandra looks down at me again and hands me a little backpack with some unicorns on it, and I love unicorns. I quickly put thebackpack on and give her a slight smile, nodding aggressively as if saying thank you. The two adults walk away leaving me alone again as I stand outside the office. They’re doing paperwork and obviously talking about me.
“She hasn’t said a word?” Miss Elizabeth asks Detective Alexandra, the two of them trying to be quiet while I stand outside the door fiddling with the strap of the pretty new backpack they gave me.
“Not a word. Her parents were murdered, and I think she’s gone into shock, but she’s a sweet girl. I left my number in her backpack, and I wrote up a report. I need it known that when she does start talking, we will need a statement.”
I watch as they finish their conversation, then Miss Elizabeth walks out and takes my hand. As we walk away from the police station, I hold on real tight, and she gives my hand a firm squeeze.
“Let’s go, sweetheart.” Her voice is soft as she gives my hand another squeeze, gentler this time. I keep my eyes ahead as she takes me to my new home. Ireallyhope they like me.
Chapter 2
Group Therapy
Cameron 16 / Leyla 14 - 8 years ago
Cameron
“Um... Hi, my name is Leyla, I’m fourteen.”
I watch as she bites her lip nervously, her hands kept firmly at her sides. Leyla’s hands wring themselves into white knuckled fists. Her anxiety and fear wafting off her, and it breaks my heart. Everyone who has grown up in Maplewood knows that story. Knowsherstory.
Our therapist has always told us that talking about what we’ve gone through will make moving on easier. Leyla looks like she’s about to cry when the small, curly-haired girl places her hand in hers, and gives it a squeeze. It’s as if the girl’s presence gives Leyla the nudge she needs to go on.
“My parents were killed when I was ten, and I was put in… Well, I’ve been in foster care since I was ten too.” My brows furrow as I listen intently to her greeting.
“Thank you, Leyla, thank you for trusting us with your story.” The therapist smiles sweetly, her black rimmed glasses that are two times too big for her face falling down the bridge of her nose.
She’s been coming to the group for at least two months now, and I haven’t worked up the courage to talk to her. But today’s going to be the day. I feel it in my bones.
