Dragged into Darkness (12 page)

Charlene clambered onto her bed.  There was nowhere he could sit. 
Or wanted to.

“There’s a chair over there.”  She pointed at an overwhelming mountain of refuse that climbed the corner walls.

“No, I prefer to stand.”

She made herself comfortable.  She removed a Whopper box and added the finishing touch to a hillock of other Burger King cartons.

“I have some details from Social Services, but I would like to know why you think I’m here?”

She looked at him like he had asked the dumbest question in the world. 
Which he had.
  But he had to know whether she was aware of her own circumstances.  A patient who understood her problem was a step closer to solving it.  You can’t fix it if you don’t know it’s broke.

“Dr.
Birnbaum
, isn’t it obvious?”

“I don’t know.  You tell me.”  He smiled. 

Charlene tried to smile back, but failed.  She surveyed her room, taking in the accumulated waste and broke into sobs.

“Why are you crying, Charlene?”

She sniffed back the tears and pointed at the trash. 
“Because of this.
  Look at it, it’s all
junk
.”

“If it’s junk, why keep it?”

“Because I can’t do without it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s mine.”

“But it’s no good to you.  It’s served its purpose.”

“I don’t want to lose it.”

“Lose what?”

“This!”  Charlene scooped up a handful of trash and let it tumble back into the mix.  “It’s mine.  Don’t you understand?”

“Frankly, no.”
He picked up an empty mouthwash bottle.  Condensation clung to the inside and mold grew in clumps.  “This is finished with.  Me, I’d throw it away.”

Birnbaum
turned to leave and find a trashcan.

“You can’t!” Charlene shrieked.  “Please put it back.”

“Okay.”  He returned it to the pile.  “You tell me that this is unacceptable.  But you’re not willing to do anything to remedy the situation.  How can we cure this?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

“I don’t.”

“Your neighbors want you removed.  But I know we can do something to rectify things.  And I think you know, too.  What can we do?  What is it you can do?”

“Take the trash out?”

“That’s great, Charlene.  Let’s start doing it now.  I’ve got a cell phone.” 
Birnbaum
unclipped his Nokia and prepared to tap in a number.  “I’ll call the sanitary department.  They can have a dozen guys here in fifteen minutes.  Hey, in a couple hours I bet we can have this place spick-and-span.  What do you say, Charlene?”

But she was already shaking her head.

“Why, Charlene?  Make me understand.”

“I don’t want to lose this.”  She retrieved the mouthwash bottle
Birnbaum
had been holding and hugged it tight, like it was a baby. 

“I don’t know what we’re going to do, Charlene, I really don’t.”

“You see, doctor.  I’ve lost so much since Tony.  I don’t want to lose any more.”

The three-year-old had succumbed to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome eighteen months ago.  Charlene’s hoarding began shortly after.  The combination of her son’s death and her obsession forced her husband into therapy. Separation was inevitable when Charlene wouldn’t help herself.  Divorce was on the way and so was a messy custody battle for Marcy.

“During the course of our lives, we lose things and people, regardless of how important they are to us.  That’s nature.  You can’t stop it, Charlene.”  He paused.  “You realize that if this situation continues you will lose the house.”

“I don’t care about the house.”

“But you care about your daughter.”

“They can’t take Marcy.”

“They can.”

“She’s my daughter.”

“The state has a responsibility to the community and to your child’s welfare.  I think we both know this isn’t a healthy environment to bring up a kid in, Charlene.”

Charlene buried her head in her plump hands and cried again.  As her sobs rocked her body, he noticed matter in her greasy hair.  It was a pitiful sight and being witness to it brought no satisfaction.  They needed a natural break and one presented itself.

“Mom, I’m home,” a voice called from the hallway.

“In here,” Charlene called back, in a mucus-clogged voice.

An apprehensive pre-teen stood in the bedroom doorway, eyeing
Birnbaum
.  He was taken aback by the child.  She was immaculately turned out in her school uniform and didn’t harbor any of her mother’s traits.  He imagined that Marcy had grown up quick in this environment.  Looking after
herself
had become a priority.

“It’s okay, baby,” Charlene reassured.  “This is Dr.
Birnbaum
,
he’s here to help us.”

Marcy joined her mother on the bed. 
Birnbaum
was amazed by the child’s ability.  Unlike him, she stepped confidently and without trepidation, not once tripping over the trash filling the room.  She knew every square inch of the mess, like someone with a map to a minefield.

Charlene wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders.  Marcy looked lovingly at her mother.  Regardless of the environment, the child was happy.  Not everybody could say that—even in the cleanest of homes.

“Charlene, I wonder if I could have a couple of minutes with
Marcy?
”

She nodded.

“Charlene, I want you to do something for me while I’m with Marcy.  Think about what you want to do and how you want me to help you.  I’m your therapist, but I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.  It’s entirely up to you.”

“Okay.”

“Good.  Marcy, do you want to show me your room?”

Marcy hopped off the bed and expertly cut a trail through the refuse.  Sadly, the girl’s room was no better than the rest of the house.  The room was filled with every disposable item an eleven-year-old would generate.  Boxes for every present she had ever received towered precariously.  Packaging for all her clothes littered the floor.  Receipts for the items in the room bulged from a cigar box.  Charlene’s sickness had infected her daughter, too.

Or so it looked to the casual observer.  At second glance, Marcy wasn’t her mother’s daughter.  Plastic storage containers, filled with toys and cherished possessions, formed a wall around her bed.  Between her bed and the containers was a no-man’s land, a foot wide where a scrap of filth couldn’t be seen.  Whether Marcy was aware or not, she had drawn a line between where Charlene finished and Marcy began.  It was a comforting sight.  

He joined Marcy on the bed.  “Do you know why I’m here, Marcy?”

She nodded.

“Good.  I just want to ask a couple of questions.”

“You won’t take mom away, will you?”  The outburst was dread-filled.

“No.  I’m not here for that.”  He smiled.

She wasn’t convinced.

“I want to know what you think about your mother’s habits.  Some people would say that this lifestyle is unhealthy.” 
Birnbaum
pointed at the trash mountains.  “What would you say?”

“I don’t know.  But it makes mom happy.”

“Don’t you think it would make your mom happier if all this wasn’t here?”

“Maybe.”

“I think it would.  I think your mom is very unhappy and I don’t think this helps.  And, I think with our help we can make her very happy.  Will you help me?”

Her gaze bore into him.  She read him as easily as a comic book.  She smiled.  “Yes.”

Birnbaum
smiled back.  He had an ally.  Marcy was strong and Charlene would latch onto that.  “Let’s see how your mom is getting on.”

Charlene beamed when Marcy leapt into her arms.

“So, Charlene, what’s it to be?”

“I want you to help me,” she said without any hesitation.

“Fantastic.  I want to start now.”

Charlene’s smile faltered.  “You’re not going to call the sanitary department, are you?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

“No.”

“Well, I have some exercises we can start to get the ball rolling.  Hold on one second.”  He ran out to his car and returned with three file boxes.  “Right, I was hoping we could get started today.  So, I prepared these boxes.”

On each box
Birnbaum
had written, in magic marker—Things I can’t do without, Things I could do without and Things I don’t need.

“It’s simple.  What we do is sort everything into these categories.  We fill the boxes with those items that apply.”

“So, we don’t have to throw anything out?” Charlene said hopefully.

“No.  Anything we don’t need, we throw out.”

Charlene looked doubtful.

“Then we look at the Things I could do without and see whether we can transfer any to the Things I don’t need box.  I think you can see where this is going.”

Charlene nodded.

“We are going to do this for everything in the house.  How’s that sound?”

“We’re going to need bigger boxes,” Marcy giggled.

“Then I’ll get bigger boxes.  Where do we want to start?”

Charlene wasn’t making any suggestions.

“I’ll tell you what.  Let’s do a survey and find a room we can take a bite out of.  How’s that sound?”

It took five minutes of cajoling to coerce Charlene into checking out the bathroom.  It had to be examined from the hallway.  Plastic sacks filled the tub to ceiling level and consumed most of the floor space.

“What’s in the bags?”

Charlene couldn’t respond and his stomach tightened.  Marcy supplied the answer, albeit ashamed.

“Used toilet paper.”

Birnbaum
sighed.  He didn’t have the words.

“I’m disgusting.”