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Mark McHenry was different.
That was what the psychiatrist told his mother, when at age nine, Mark tested
negative for all the disorders and mental illnesses the psychiatrist could come
up with. When the only conclusion the doctors could draw from his test results
was that he was an extremely bright, if somewhat shy, child. Mark was just a
little different, said the psychiatrist. Nothing to worry about.
But for Shelia McHenry, it’s never been enough to account for the
unexplainable, the just plain strange that occurs whenever Mark is around.
She has written down a list, and she reads it to the doctor, who watches her in
perplexed interest. Her list reads as follows: Inability to concentrate. Lack
of interest in social activities with children his own age. Imaginary friends.
Sits for hours, rocking back and forth and staring into space.
Some of this is tolerable. Mark has, for instance, the uncanny ability to know
exactly where he at any given moment. He never gets lost, and can give her
directions to department meetings, even though he has never set foot on the
Academy campus. It’s like he has a map of the world stored in his head, ready
to be accessed at all times. She doesn’t mind that part. It’s just his
imaginary friend who is causing problems.
Missy, as Mark calls her, has become a permanent fixture in their household. He
talks to her, constantly, even in front of company, frequently ignoring whoever
is trying to get his attention. Mark is nine, nearly ten, and she’s at at a
loss, trying to figure out what to do. He needs to have real friends.
He’s always been a bright child, she tells the psychiatrist. Very smart. She
has never worried about his schoolwork, or whether or not he will be accepted
into the top schools. Only that his apathy, his reluctance to socialize with
his other children will make it difficult for him in other areas of his life.
With his intelligence, his potential, Mark has no excuses.
The psychiatrist told his mother that invisible friends were normal for young
children, even for someone Mark’s age.
He assured her that Mark’s lack of interest in socializing with his peers was
just shyness that he would eventually grow out of.
And a good sense of direction, too, he smiled. Well, it looks like your boy
will be popular on hiking trips.
The psychiatrist sends her away with some pamphlets on shy children and a
whispered reminder to relax. He smile and waves goodbye at Mark, who smiles
back cheerily. Shy, indeed. As she tugs Mark along to the transporter station,
Shelia feels a burning anger towards the doctor (who does not and cannot
understand), towards her son (who is destroying his future), and towards
herself (she hasn’t told everything).
Because in the back of her mind, she remembers the day George left, the day she
ran up the stairs to find her trembling son in a room that smelled like singed
fabric, that crackled with quiet energy. Something had happened up there,
something she couldn’t figure out from Mark’s shaky one-word answers. But she
can’t bring herself to ask about it, because she suspects she doesn’t want to
hear the answer.
So Shelia still persists in hoping that it’s just a disease-- a social disorder
of some sort that has gone undiagnosed. Something explainable, something
treatable with drugs or therapy.
She researches late at night on the computer, searching through lists of
illnesses and symptoms. Looking for the one disorder that can explain Mark's
behavior. She even finds herself hoping that it is her fault, somehow. That she
has failed to motivate him, to impress upon him the importance of his studies
and of his goals. That with sufficient encouragement from her, Mark will grow
out of his shyness and make friends.
She gets second opinions from other doctors, who tell her the same thing: don’t
worry. It’s just a phase.
She wants to believe them. She wants to believe that it’s something Mark will
grow out of. But she can’t. She was there that day last year, and saw what
happened. Deep down, Shelia knows that it’s more than just a little shyness,
more than just a harmless imaginary friend. And she fears that whatever she
does, it won’t be enough.
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