The Mandala Defect

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. What if “they” are subjective and what “they” say is wrong?

Space is relative, confirmed by the multiple definitions in the dictionary such as; A distance between you and another person, a period of time, or the region outside earth's atmosphere. None of these definitions seem personal, until the space between you and another, is that space between you and an enemy. A period of time for example, seems especially intimate when you're afraid. What about the region outside of the earth's atmosphere? Can that also be quantified by the space inside our mind?

It is said, that Humans only use ten percent of our brains. There are people who can fluently speak tons of languages, live an entire lifetime, and attain one degree after another…I don't know if it’s the ten percent, or the ninety percent that is responsible for my insistent migraines, but I am willing to cut out either, or both, to make it stop, but I digress. So, is that definition solely physical? Or can that be measured in the metaphysical world as well? A place that is both here and not, both silent and explosive. A place where a paradigm shift can change an entire story, and the unfamiliar takes on the face of the known.

“I don't want to! Please just listen!” I said aggressively.

My case worker, Alice, looked at me like she was slightly murderous. Honestly, I don't blame her, even though I would never tell her that. Right now, my only objective is to distract her from sending me to another foster home by making her feel as small as possible. The state run group home is so much less invasive, and I don't have any well meaning, self righteous (almost) parents trying to “save” me with after school specials like:

“You have so much potential if you only applied yourself.” or “You can talk to us, we promise we will always be here.”

To say that I have seen every breed of foster family, is an understatement. Some don't even bother with the self help speeches. They go straight into calling me a piece of trash, and making home a prize winning horror flick starring me. In the end, no one ever stays, and I end up right back here at Safe Haven, subtext:

A home for kids we don't know what to do with.

Signed,

the state of Idaho.

Kids here aren't trying to be your brother or sister, most of us are completely aware, that by the time we reach high school in foster care, we are the castaways of society and they stop trying. They deem you as a criminal, and assume that's why your parents don't want you, or, why you haven't been adopted yet. There is a little comradery in that among those of us in the group home, but even still, you don't make close lasting friendships for a reason. It's like constantly being surrounded by rival gang members, but everyone has been stripped of their color affiliations, so you don't know who your enemy is till it's too late. Best bet, put on headphones, and stay invisible till dinner. Interact seldomly, and above all, keep your mouth shut, because in a state run home you are guilty, even if proven innocent by a jury of your peers and they will take no mercy. I guess that's just my roundabout way of saying ANYTHING is better than foster homes.

“Tori” Alice said directly, while narrowing her blue eyes at me, “This is not up for discussion.”

I grimaced, but her expression soon softened. She walked over to where I sat on the other side of her wooden desk, and pulled up a chair to sit beside me.

“Tori, I know you don't want to hear the speech, and that's ok” she said kindly.

I relaxed, l but kept my head turned away from her as she continued,

“I have been working with you since you were 4 years old, and I have never let you down.”

I turned and rolled my eyes at her. Seeing right through my attitude she said,

“Foster homes have a tendency to let everyone down Tori.” she pulled my chin gently to face her, “Until you find the right one. I am only a phone call away if you need anything but PLEASE, give this one a shot.”

My body let out a sigh of defeat. What could I say to that? Not the truth. She would die if she knew all I wanted to do was give and stay at Safe Haven with my head down till I turned 18. I shook my head slightly and tried to pretend I wasn't thinking that. I was afraid she could read it on my face, she is really initiative. My hand reached up to the tufts of red curls that fell just over my shoulder. I looked down at them and began searching through the ends for breakage. My black hoodie provided a stark contrast to my generally pale freckled fingers and thumbs that poked through holes in the cuff of both sleeves.

What do ya say?” she asked, bending towards me.

I uncurled myself from sitting with my knees up in the chair, and put my feet down. Now sitting straight up I looked her directly in the eye and said.

“Fine, but if I don't like it within a week I get to come back.”

It was less of a question, and more of a demand, nevertheless, after a pensive and slightly uncomfortable staring contest between the two of us she said,

“Two weeks and it's a deal.”

I reluctantly agreed.

I left the office, and as I walked down the stairs I began dreading the new foster home like I was already there even though it was still two weeks away. I began feeling a tension in my shoulders, the precursor to a migraine. again! Ugh I hate them. If I can convince one of the staff to give me an Ibuprofen, I Might be able to get ahead of it and save myself a miserable evening, although, it is doubtful. I will likely have my head in a pillow in a dark room before bedtime.

I walked through the bay doors that separated the social workers offices upstairs, from the residential area of Safe Haven downstairs. It was like walking into an entirely different house.

There was an intersection of yellow painted hallways directly in front of me in the middle of which were 2 chairs against adjacent walls where the staff members usually sit and talk to one another when they are supposed to be watching us. To my left, is a short hallway to the girls' rooms. There are four rooms and four girls in each, I have slept in them all, and none of the rooms have actual doors. The case workers like to make sure that there isn’t a chance in hell we can separate ourselves from them to do something sketchy like drugs or sneak in someone of the opposite sex. This would be effective if their staff had a clue… like ever, trust me the doors aren't necessary. A long hallway directly in front of me with six bedrooms three on the left and three on the right with the same set up for the boys. At the very end of the hall in front of me there was a seventh doorway that leads to a red painted living room with two couches and a T.V. We have movie nights there on the weekends. It's also where people sneak away to have inappropriate relations… Like I said, doors aren't necessary. Lastly, to my right is the entry to the kitchen and dining room and just off that is the exit to the back parking lot.

It’s 4:30pm. Rec time. Boys go with the male staff, and girls go with female staff, and we do some stupid thing like play volleyball, or go for a walk around town for an hour to say we did something physically active-ish. It’s all really a lack luster waste of time, but it gets us out of the house. I let the door shut behind me, and entered into the chaos. Some staff were yelling at people to get ready to go, and others were in the kitchen getting ready for dinner. It seems like this is the time the house is the loudest, great, super helpful for a migraine. I walk up to one of the female babysitters, Laura. She is the oldest of the staff that’s not a social worker. She’s twenty-five and working on her masters degree and she is also the one that feels like she has the most to prove. She was standing in front of the stove browning hamburger and seemed particularly annoyed which I expected wouldn't bode well for me.

“Hey Laura,” I begin “I am starting to get a migraine, can I get some ibuprofen and possibly stay in from Rec today?”

She furrowed her brow at me and stopped stirring. Her gaze pierced mine for a moment, and I saw a bead of sweat begin to gather on her forehead. Her curly blond hair was swept into a high ponytail, and her shirt was already dirty from attempting to make dinner in a kitchen buzzing with people running in and out hitting her elbows as they passed.

“Is your homework done?” She asked.

“Yes” I said “I did it with my case worker right after school.”

She responded “fine, but if you can’t go to Rec, you can’t watch T.V. With everyone tonight, you’ll have to go to bed early.”

I'm sure she was hoping that if I were faking, this would persuade me to change my mind about my migraine and suddenly be over it. Had she known she was doing me a favor, she may have chosen differently. Unfortunately it’s real, and this means regardless of whether she wanted to or not, she did me a favor by letting me go to bed, instead of watching a movie.

I accepted the ibuprofen, and retreated to my room. Once there, I crawled up to my bed on top bunk, and grabbed my black backpack to dig for my water bottle. I shot back the small pills with a drink, but it was too late, the pain was starting and the ringing in my ears became a sharp siren that seemed to vibrate through my temples.

“Ugh, here we go.” I thought as I kicked my shoes off. Still in my jeans and hoodie, I scooted my legs under the blankets and threw a pillow over my head to shut out the light.

“Tori” a voice sounded, bringing me back to consciousness.

I was startled awake. The pillow was still over my head. As I hesitantly removed it I noticed it was dark outside. the lamps in the parking lot were spilling light through the window onto my blue walls. Had I finally gone to sleep? I thought I was going to be miserable forever. I turned to where I heard the male voice and I could just see the top of his head.

“Jake, you scared the crap out of me!” I whispered.

We are not allowed to have boy’s in our rooms, but I’m sure that is especially punishable when it’s dark out and we are alone.

“You’re so not supposed to be in here, and Laura is working today!” I said.

“I know I’m sorry,” he replied. “I just heard you got another migraine, and, I wanted to sneak you a piece of corn bread from dinner, if you’re hungry”

Remember how I said be safe, and keep to yourself in a group home? Yea you’ll also need a friend. It’s complicated. I trust Jake though mostly. He’s short for being sixteen, he’s also short on social skills. He was left at the foot of a judge in the courthouse when he was eight, after he was diagnosed with Asperger’s. His mom was a single parent, and Jake thinks she just couldn’t handle him, and also have the social life she wanted, that's why she left him alone to go drinking all the time. He gets made fun of here. On top of the fact he is socially awkward, short, and a little chubby he’s smart. Like, taking college classes smart. He gets in trouble a lot because he’s constantly smuggling contraband into the house to do “techie” science experiments in his room. His roommates hate it, and often end up destroying what he does manage to smuggle in. Poor kid, I kind of feel responsible for him.

Jake reached into the pocket of his army green hoodie, and pulled out a slice of corn bread wrapped in some napkins.

“Here” he said, handing the bundle up to me.

“I would have snuck some soup, but, I'm not sure how effective It would have been to sneak watery contents in the pocket of my hoodie” he said with a small shrug.

Gratefully, I reached out to accept the food, I was starving. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and leaned forward allowing my head and eyes the chance to adjust to being awake.

“We have to go to the common area, or we are gonna get caught” I said somewhat urgently.

He shrugged again, and said that Laura had gone home right after dinner, and that the night shift staff was pretty irresponsible.

“The likelihood we get caught is pretty slim” he said.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“It’s about 7:30pm” He replied.

It's a weekend, so bedtime gets pushed back to about 10pm. Most of the house was in the living area at the end of the boy’s hallway finishing the movie I slept through. We made our way directly across from the girl’s hallway, to the kitchen and dining area. There was a staff in the chair at the intersection, but he was on his laptop and really didn't seem to pay much attention to us. We took a seat on either side of a cafeteria table in the dining room, and remained silent for a moment while staring out the window at the street at the front of the house.

Safe Haven, is an old house that was converted into a shelter, so it's in an old town district of the city. Its fall, and the aesthetic outside was Halloween. The leaves were blowing down the street softly below the antique looking streetlamps as the yellow light crept in and shone on the green walls that surrounded us. The dining hall was full of large windows that let so much of the outside in, that you almost felt like you could escape the whole house for a moment when its quiet.

“So, still no idea what's causing your headaches?” Jake asked to break the silence.

I took the slice of corn bread out of the napkins, and broke a piece off before I spoke.

“Not yet. When my case worker took me in to see a neurologist last week, he said it might be hereditary” I said chewing the corn bread and shrugging my shoulders.

“Huh, that sucks. All I got from my parents was an aversion to commitment, and possible alcoholism” he replied dryly.

I stopped chewing and looked at him for a moment before starting to snicker. He just gazed at me. Sometimes, I am not sure if he's joking or not. No social queues, poor kid. Jake's brown eyes cast downward to where his hands rested in his lap as he straddled the bench. A sliver of amber light ran horizontally across his eyes mimicking that of war paint as his long black braid hung just off his shoulder. Though he is only sixteen, the trauma in his life seemed to take years off of his spirit, and he looked like a painting of an exhausted Navajo warrior, instead of the young boy he is. His brow creased with worry as he spoke without looking up.

“I heard you are going to a foster home,” he said solemnly.

I swallowed loudly. I had been hoping to forget that's happening until the moment I was being pushed out the door. I brought a knee up to my chin and replied pitifully.

“Yeah.”

“When are you leaving?” he asked.

“Two weeks,” I replied, “but my Case worker said that I don't have to stay for more than two weeks if I hate it.”

Everything was silent again.

“I plan on hating it” I said in an attempt to cheer him up.

I knew that as soon as I was not here anymore, Jake would feel desperately alone. He looked up at me, and gave a hopeful half smile.

“At least we will see each other in school” I said.

He swung his leg over the side of the bench to face me putting both hands on the tabletop.

“I know” he said “It’s just different having an ally here when it gets rough”

“I get it, but it won't be for long, I promise.”

I held my hand out with my pinky extended. He responded by linking his pinky finger with mine, and we shook on it. It seemed to lighten the mood, slightly.

“Then I have one week, and six days to perfect you’re going away present.” he said blushing, and diverting his eyes.

I opened my palm, and gently hit the table.

“No, absolutely not, don't make a big deal of it,” I said impatiently.

Somehow a “going away present” makes leaving real, and more permanent. Realizing that my refusal of his gift made his smile fade, I stifled my pride and asked,

“What is it?”

He perked up immediately, and said, “I can’t tell you, but I hope it works.”

* * *

Day seven down. Seven left in Safe Haven.

“Tori” I heard Laura say, as I walked in from school, “Your caseworker is in her office and she would like to talk to you.”

I walked into the small red office for the first time in a week, when I was told I would be going to a new foster family next Friday. I am even less pleased about it today, which is weird, because I was pretty pissed about it Friday. This also made me less than conversational with Alice, aka case worker, aka the actual worst.

“Did you wear that to school!?” she said when she saw me enter.

“Yea and?” I said with a sarcastic tone that she didn’t appreciate.

Her eyes scanned my small frame. Beginning at my torn up baggy pants that I had drawn all over to look like graffiti using a few brightly colored sharpies from a teacher's desk, up to my baggy band tee with an MCR logo that seemed to have been accidentally, on purpose bleach washed.

“You look homeless” she said.

“Good thing that’s what I am” I said, matching her snarky tone.

She was hurt by that, I could see it in her face. We sat in silence for a moment, both of us staring at the ground until she said something.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

I kept my eyes to the ground, but walked forward toward the chair in front of her desk. Nonverbally telling her I’m willing to talk.

“When we took you to the Doctor, to see about your headaches they ran some tests. Do you remember?” She asked.

“Yea,” I replied, suddenly interested in what she had to say.

“Some of those tests were genetic tests, obviously to see if your condition could have been passed down from your parents,” she continued “but we also sent off your results to see if you have any living close, relatives.”

I leaned in a little without realizing it.

“We found that you have a maternal Grandmother who took a 23 and me, and we were able to link her to you” she sais apprehensively.

I jumped up.

“What!?” I shouted.

“Don’t get too excited,” Alice said while getting up, and walking around the desk to stand in front of me.

“We know next to nothing about her, other than when she took the test, it said she was living in Montana. There is no contact information as of right now” she said.

“How do you know she’s alive then? Why would you tell me that?” I asked somewhat disheartened.

“We found her last place of employment in Butte, but when we contacted them, they said she left there two years ago, and we haven’t been able to find a trace of her since she left that job.”

My eyes drifted blankly as I tried to process what that meant. I have a Grandma? Montana?

Alice must have understood that this was a lot to process, and no one said a word for a long time. I sat down, and began to feel the beginnings of another migraine. It started as tension in my shoulders, and I arched my back in response. The ringing started to come back, but as it did my nose caught wind of something I have never smelled in her office before…. Pine?

As I scanned the office things started to shift, and through the pain, I caught hold of a latent memory. There were trees everywhere, and a stone path. I was little, maybe 3. Just before mom died. I saw the red door of a cabin. I remember there were big blocks in the room at the top of the stairs I liked to play with. I remember being in the car, waiting while mom was at a payphone in the parking lot of a gas station. I heard her say Montana. We were in Montana.

“This is a lot to digest I know,” Alice said, finally snapping me out of my memory.

I began to panic, and sweat began to form shiny creases on my scalp. My head was throbbing, and I was trying to digest the information of having a grandma, plus hold on to one of the only memories of my mom that I didn’t realize I had till now, but the only thing I could muster to say was;

“So, I don’t have to go to the new foster home?”

Her face dropped. I could tell the answer wasn’t great.

“Until we find her, we aren’t even sure she knows you exist.”

Alice replied, treading carefully.

“You were on the run with your mom for your whole life up until she died”

I slouched defeated in my chair, and Alice scooted a chair right next to mine. She put her hand on my hands which were resting in my lap, and said,

“No, this doesn’t mean you’re not going, but it does mean that we are trying to contact your grandma or anyone who knows her. If we hear something Tori, you will be the first to know”

I felt a tear run down my face, and before I knew it, Alice had wrapped her arms around me. She had never hugged me before, and as a result I broke down and cried.

“I’m sorry about what I said” I told her.

She laughed and said,

“It’s ok, I sometimes forget how hard it must be for you.”

She released me from her embrace, and looked me straight in the eye with her hands on my shoulder and said,

“You’ll get through this, Tori. We will do it together.”

I smiled, thanked her, and began to walk out of the office but before I left, I turned and asked,

“Do you know her name?”

Alice smiled and said,

“Louise Parker.”

I said thank you, and turned again to leave. As I opened the door, The old brass knob in my hand sent me flying into another memory of the cabin. A woman who wasn’t my mom, came running up the stairs yelling my name. I was playing with blocks when I heard her panicked cry. I turned my head to see her. She was older than my mom, but still looked like her. I reached up my hands and said,

“Grandma!”

“She knows me!” I thought, “she knows me.”

I left the office, and broke into a run down the hall. There are so many pieces to this that aren’t connected, but grandma must think I'm dead too, or she wouldn’t have allowed me to go into the system. She loved me! I knew it, if I could just find her. Montana, start there.

My mind was rushing through so many things, but my migraine was making it hard to sort through all of them. In fact, I think it had kicked it up a notch and was beginning to make me nauseous. It was 5:30pm, I had missed Rec again, because right as I approached Laura to ask for meds, the rest of the house filtered in through the back door. She began to shout orders at them to get cleaned up without even initially noticing me. Jake, having come in with the rest of them, saw me standing near the stove talking to Laura and began to walk over to us. As he got closer, his face looked laden with concern as I’m sure he saw my red puffy eyes, and knew I had been crying. Laura must have noticed it too, as she didn’t even question me about missing dinner, while also giving me the ibuprofen I asked for. I walked into the intersection of hallways to sit my bag on the chair, and Jake followed to ask,

“Another migraine?”

“Yes” I said as I dug through my stuff.

I wanted to tell him everything that happened, but until I didn’t feel like I was going to vomit, I knew that would be more trouble than it was worth.

“Yes!” He said loudly, as he grabbed my hand and began to lead me down the boys hallway to his room. I resisted him, and began trying to break his grasp. I had dropped my meds when his loud voice startled me, and he seemed not to hear me when I told him to stop. When we got to his room I yelled,

“Jake! I am gonna be sick and I need to take my meds, help me find them!”

“But it’s perfect, I can show you what I have been working on!” he said gleefully.

“What the hell?! This isn’t perfect. I'm sick, and you’re pissing me off!” I said, as I fumed back towards the door.

“No wait, it won’t take long!” he shouted at my back.

“Jake, I don’t have time or patience for whatever it is” I said and turned to face him, he was holding something in his hands.

“It’s your going away present” he said cheerfully, which annoyed me even more.

It looked like a cell phone, hooked up to possibly a speaker, with wires going in and out of it. I didn’t care. I was hurting, I was nauseous, and this felt like it was a waste of time. He held it out to begin explaining it to me, and out of pure anger, I swatted it out of his hands.

Suddenly, the ringing in my ear became so loud I thought my head would explode. The last memory I have of a life where my migraines were just headaches, left as my knees hit the floor, and my whole body rocked with pain. My hands flew up to my ears, and I rolled onto my back begging for it to stop. I opened my eyes, and could see Jake pick up the thing he had been holding when I exploded. He quickly reconnected a wire, and ran over to me with headphones. I couldn’t hear him, but I saw his mouth moving and he was trying to bring my hands down from over my ears. I felt his touch, and with tears streaming down my face, I closed my eyes, and reluctantly allowed him to remove my hands. He quickly replaced them with a pair of over the ear headphones. I felt the soft muffs seal over my ears. Suddenly, the pain stopped but the ringing in my ears did not, in fact it shifted. Somehow, the sound became slower, like someone reduced the speed in my head and steadily, the ringing became screams. Voices of people pleading, or non-verbally reacting in fear. My eyes were still shut, so I squeezed them harder, as if it would help to focus on the scream that sounded the clearest. It was almost like I could see with my eyes closed. It was a woman, her words were hard to hear at first, but soon, they were clear as day.

“I know you,” I thought “I know your voice!”

She was screaming my name.

“Please, Please not my baby! Please take me, not her!”

My heart filled with hope and terror…

“MOM?!?”