Putting her back in her bed for what felt like the 20th time and listening to her wail, ‘Please don’t leave me,’ tore at their souls. Eventually they conceded that she had to talk to a professional. West Indian parents are usually skittish about bringing someone in to fix a family problem but nobody was getting any sleep and the dark circles under their eyes were drawing comments from well-meaning friends. Cassidy wouldn’t tell her parents or her big brother, Christian what was wrong. Her lips would seal shut and the tears would stream down her small, perfect face. She’d cry so much that the hiccups would start, her face would be covered in snot and occasionally she would throw up. Everyone’s nerves were shredded so they sought out a child psychiatrist.
Doctor Paul Morgan was the kind of man that if he introduced himself as a child psychiatrist people would smile and say, ‘Of course you are.’ His voice was soft, deep and comforting like a well-worn duvet. Practicing for over 30 years he had the unwavering faith of Parsley parents with troubled children. While he would never claim to have cured anyone he felt confident that his past clients were well-functioning adults leading good lives.
Cassidy was a memorable client. Precocious, smart and articulate for a five year old she had to be bribed to talk. Her price was a steady diet of sour keys and MacIntosh toffee. Once she trusted him and the fact that her parents were not in the other room listening she opened up.
A classic fear of abandonment case, he assessed. As she described the dream with pure clarity it was as if she was re-living it. She was walking down the sidewalk with each parent on either side of her. She remembered looking up at them and feeling completely safe. The surrounding indicated that she was in a town and not the country. There were tall buildings on either side of the street and cars driving by. This was a trip to the park and she’d been looking forward to it all day. Another family was there with their little girl with whom Cassidy played. After what felt like a short time her parents left her with the family in order to run across to the building across from the park. It looked like a small, grey, squat office building with maybe 6 stories. Many people were entering and exiting at a steady pace. She could not read so she had no concept of what was in the building. She remembers being agitated in the dream because her parents were leaving her with strangers and she wanted to go with them into the blank faced building.
Rather than continue to play with her new friend she watched her parents take one another’s hands, look both way and rush across the street into the building. She waited with her breath held for them to re-emerge. The explosion did not look real. She just knows that the fire, flying concrete, and collapsing walls meant her parents were never coming back. The screaming that she heard was of the people around the building and also the sound coming from her own throat. She woke up screaming. She always woke up screaming. Her parents would run into the room, try to calm her down and tell her it was only a dream. Her father would say, no, it was not a dream but a nightmare and it was over now. Her mother would bring her warm milk with some strong Jamaican rum. and tucked into the safe cocoon of her mommy and daddy’s bodies, Cassidy would fall into a dreamless sleep.
Hyacinth and Peter never disclosed to the therapist that they drugged their youngest child with alcohol and dairy occasionally, because nothing could replace the pleasure of sleeping for 8 hours straight without screaming.