Chapter 1

Fucking idiots! I screamed.

Nobody turned to look of course because I had vented my frustrations to myself. The only apparent measure of my anger was the loud clicks of my heels on the once-polished floor of the school hallway, now populated by more than a few teenagers blatantly skipping classes, and the firm set of my jaw. I burst through the double doors which sprung back lively to crash together as I stomped down the cement steps to my car.

Fucking assholes!

Where did they get their degrees? I should call them and tell them what an embarrassment their graduates had become.

No evidence of bullying? Then why the fuck did they think my son was afraid to go to school? A good student suddenly refuses to go to school for no reason at all? Give me a break!

I dropped my keys, bent to pick them up, still fuming, fumbled them again, picked them up, couldn’t get the key in the door, felt my arms and jaw too rigid, and yelled out loud, “FUCK!”

Several students and a couple of teachers turned to look. I tried the key again. It worked, so I got in the car, threw my purse on the passenger seat and put the key in the ignition but instead of starting the engine, I grabbed the steering wheel, leaned forward until my head hit the wheel, and cried. The teachers didn’t approach the car to offer help.

“I’m home,” I called.

Nobody answered but the house wasn’t empty. I knew Gary was upstairs in his room where he would have been all day. He didn’t even come down to eat anymore. At first, John tried to get our son to come down for dinner and wouldn’t let me take his meals upstairs but eventually we gave up.

During the day, I found evidence of Gary’s excursions seeking food when I was away. I guess his hunger could overcome his fear of the great unknown outside his room. Or maybe he wasn’t afraid of being in the rest of the house when it was empty. Maybe he just wanted to avoid contact, to be alone, unless absolutely necessary. God knows, he didn’t want company when he ate his dinner. For a while, I waited in the hallway after hearing Gary in the bathroom but he always seemed to know I was there and wouldn’t come out until he heard me go downstairs.

Eventually, I lost hope and resigned myself to supporting the live-in recluse my son had become. I started going out on the flimsiest of excuses, any reason to get out of my dismal home. Finding evidence of Gary’s scrounging for food while I was gone no longer raised my hopes. To make things worse, John became more distant, often missed dinner, and sometimes didn’t come home until after I had gone to bed. Maybe he was having an affair —Who could blame him? Our home was as exciting as a tomb— but more likely, he just wanted to avoid being home as much as possible, just like me.

I went to the gym, not so much to become fit as to get away. I took photography lessons, cooking lessons, tried golf, shopped until I was bored to tears, joined a book club, and had coffee with friends until the day I noticed their conversation change when they saw me coming. My mind wandered when I was with them anyway. I might be avoiding home but my thoughts were always with my son.

What had happened to him? How could I help him if I didn’t know that? I had tried but couldn’t find the answer and that had paralyzed me. Well, no more! I had to find a way to engage my son. Gary wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life hiding in a room.

A week later, I was at my wits end and ready to throw myself off a cliff. It didn’t matter what I did, what I said, what I offered to entice him, Gary just wouldn’t come out of his room. What was in there? Did he play games all day, look at porn, was that it? I didn’t know for sure but sensed there wasn’t anything keeping him in his room. He was truly afraid of leaving it.

We tried another round of doctors but they didn’t do any better and after two months of that, we gave up again. School was now out but Gary hadn’t missed finishing Grade 12. The school had come to its senses and let him finish his courses and write his tests online but he refused to go to the graduation ceremony let alone any parties.

Only one thing was going right in my life: I was exercising so much to relieve the stress that I lost a lot of weight. I hadn’t been so light since my early thirties and was in much better shape but it was too good to last. I started getting headaches and pains all over my body. I stopped going to the gym but found another excuse to get out of the house: massages. They felt great and helped with the headaches but couldn’t rid me of the constant aches that prevented me from exercising. However, one massage therapist, my third I think, recommended a solution.

“Jenny, I can’t get a massage every time I want to exercise.”

“Well no, I know that but you can get a body doll.”

“A body doll?”

“Yeah,” Jenny said. “I know it sounds stupid but several of my clients have tried it and they all swear by it.”

“So, how does that work?”

“Well, you do exercises at home but before and after you do them, you massage the doll.” She laughed as she ended, I guess realizing how silly it sounded.

“So how is massaging a doll supposed to make me feel better?”

“I know, sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Well, the doll is supposed to be an image of you, so when you’re massaging it, you’re actually massaging yourself. It’s based on the notion that you know best where you hurt and will subconsciously massage yourself in the right places and in the right way.”

I was skeptical but went along for the ride. “So, where am I supposed to get a doll that’s an image of me?”

Jenny laughed in a way that showed she was embarrassed about what she was going to say next. “Well, there’s this old black woman that sells voodoo stuff. She makes personalized dolls.”

“A voodoo doll? Am I supposed to stick pins in it?” I teased.

“Not unless you’re a masochist,” Jenny laughed. “Seriously, several of my clients have tried it and they say it really works.”

“How much are these dolls?”

“I think they’re about fifty bucks.”

“And are there’s a special exercises plan to go along with the doll?” I asked, smelling a sales pitch.

“No special exercises. Just do your regular routine. I’ll show you some good ones to do at home and instead of stretching before and after, you massage the doll.” Jenny tittered. “Then, if you feel better, you can start going back to the gym.”

“Well, it’s worth a shot,” I sighed. “I’m starting to gain weight again.”

So, on top of everything else, I started exercising at home and massaging a doll that looked like me. My life was a pit.

I felt silly the first few times I massaged the doll but, strangely, I did feel better. Not only did the pain stop but the stress disappeared as well. I began feeling good about myself. I had lots of energy and I looked good, not only in the mirror but in the faces of men glancing my way a sure-fire measure of attractiveness.

My husband, however, hardly noticed which made me even more convinced that he was having an affair. Surprisingly, I didn’t really care that much. It actually allowed me think clearly about what to do about Gary.

I didn’t have any new ideas about how to solve my son’s problem but I was no longer depressed about it. I was confident that I would come up with something. We had relied on the doctors and they had failed us, twice, so we had given up. I now knew that wasn’t acceptable and, rather than convincing John, I decided to handle it on my own, as soon as I came up with a plan.

The solution came upon me by accident and, at first, I didn’t recognize it for what it was. I was about to begin my exercise routine when Gary surprised me. I was sitting at the kitchen table, finishing my fruit bowl with one hand and absent mindedly massaging the doll with the other when Gary shuffled into the kitchen.

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “I didn’t know you were home.”

Obviously, because he hadn’t called for me to bring his lunch. It was well after one so he must have been starving.

I surprised myself by not jumping up to get him something to eat, which would have been my normal response. Instead, I said, “I’m about to start my exercises so you’ll have to get yourself something.”

Gary shuffled over to the counter and put some bread in the toaster, then got some peanut butter from the cupboard. He was wearing a pair of flannel pajamas that looked like he’d been wearing them for at least a week. I bit my lip.

I only had one slice of orange and two slices of peach left in the bowl when I realized that Gary was watching me. Of course ... it was the doll. He had seen me exercising before but hadn’t seen me massaging a doll, especially one that looked like me. It must have looked weird. I was about to explain, then thought better of it. Maybe a puzzle was just what his crippled mind needed.

I toyed with my food, cutting each slice in three. I studiously avoided looking at Gary so he could observe me without feeling self-conscious about it. He opened the fridge to get some jam, closed it, and walked slowly back to the toaster. I knew he was looking at me rather than where he was going. He was so fascinated by what I was doing, he bumped into the counter. Unconsciously, I rubbed the doll more slowly, just as I had slowed the pace of eating, as if they were part of the same process.

The toast popped up. Gary pushed it back down.

“Mom?”

“What dear?” I responded without looking up from what I was doing.

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

I rubbed my thumb up the front of the doll, over its breasts, and back down. I couldn’t see him directly but I knew his eyes were glued on what I was doing to the doll.

“Your toast is burning,” I said a minute later.

“Oh shit.”

Gary popped the toast up but rather than spreading his peanut butter and jam while he was at the counter, he put the toast on a plate and carried everything to the table. For months he had minimized contact with us and now here he was joining me at the table. Excitement surged through me.

Gary sat down and busied himself with his toast. I avoided eye contact, concentrating on massaging the doll, and I knew Gary was just as focused on it. I hadn’t seen him pay so much attention to anything for months. I kept massaging the doll after I finished eating, which I had stretched out ridiculously long. Finally, I felt I could hardly justify carrying on so I got up, leaving the doll on the table, and put my bowl in the sink.