Page 129 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

Dana smiles playfully and shows me a dollar bill. “Can you see? No cuts or tears. Nothing funny going on here.”

I take the bill from her hand to physically inspect it and make sure she’s telling the truth. After I’m satisfied and hand it back to her, she folds it in half, then takes a playing card and inserts it in between. It comes out through the other side of the bill as if there is a tear in it somewhere. She’s even more theatrical than the first time she showed me this trick and moves the card from side to side. It moves as if the bill is torn in half. She removes the card, unfolds the bill, and it’s whole. No tears or cuts.

“Okay, how the hell are you doin’ that?”

She doesn’t notice my dad when he discreetly sneaks into her room to take her bag and lets out a small giggle instead. “A magician never reveals her secrets.”

“You’re getting really good at this magic stuff.”

“I have a lot of time on my hands.”

I pretend I don’t hear the dejection in her voice. “Maybe once you reach expert level, you can find a way to make your personality reappear.”

“Trauma is the reason for my dull personality. What’s yours?”

“I’m stuck with two old people all the time and mom’s such a dork.” I say this to make her feel like she’s not missing out on much, but it doesn’t help. Even though she’s smiling, I can see her sadness.

“Maybe you knocked your personality out of your being when you walked into the patio door.” She touches the bruise near my eye. “I don’t know how you could be so clumsy.”

This is why I don’t know if she’s awake or still dreaming when she has these episodes, because she can’t remember anything the next day. It’s also why she doesn’t realize that she needs professional help. “It’s glass. I didn’t see that it was still closed.”

“I wish I was there to witness that moment. I would’ve laughed my ass off.”

“Where is your empathy?”

She giggles. “That also disappeared when?”

My dad taps on her bedroom door. “Sorry to break this up. It’s time to go.”

She lets out a deflated sigh and doesn’t even look at me when she gets off the bed. I walk with her to the top of the staircase where my mom is already waiting. Both of us give her a quick hug. We’ve learned to keep goodbyes brief because anything can set her off.

We watch as Dana walks with my father down the stairs. Halfway down and I already see the signs. Her slower footsteps. The way she keeps looking at my dad, as if she’s waiting for him to change his mind. He ignores the silent pleas and keeps facing forward.

She cracks three steps from the bottom. “Daddy, please don’t take me back.”

He doesn’t look at her when he answers. “You have to go back.”

“I don’t want to go.” She grips onto the banister, holding on for dear life. “Please...I want to stay here...with all of you.”

My mom starts pacing beside me, keeping her head down so she doesn’t have to witness it.

My dad grips her around her waist to pull her off, but she’s holding on so tight he has to reach over to uncurl her fingers.

“You don’t love me!” Dana screams. “None of you love me. That’s why you keep sending me back to that place. I hate it there. I hate it! They lock me up every night. I hate it!”

“Shhh.” Dad sits down on the stairs, drawing both her arms to her body as he clasps her to his chest. “We love you, baby girl, we do, but you have to go back, okay? We’ll call you every day, and before you know it, eight weeks will be up.”

She shoves him hard, freeing herself from his grip before she scrambles back up the stairs to my mother, latching onto her waist. “Mom, please don’t let him take me...please...I’ll be good, I promise. Please let me stay.”

My mother is a broken, incoherent mess by the time my father reaches the top of the stairs, clutching tightly onto Dana as tears drip from her face. “Giorgio...Giorgio, don’t take her. We can...we can let her stay. She’s fine. She needs to be with us. She’s just...she’s just a baby...ourbaby. She needs her family.”

I don’t say anything. I just stand there, lightly thumping my fist against the wall as I watch them have the same conversation they’ve had a million times before.

My father lowers his head to whisper in her ear, but I’m close enough to hear it. “We have two kids, Lorraine. We have to do what’s best for both of them. Look at what she did to him. We have to get her the help she needs.”

Mom covers her mouth with her hand to mute her cries, and she nods slowly. She helps him unwind Dana’s arms from around her waist.

“No! Mom!” Dana goes wild, clawing, trying to hold on, and my mother gets a new set of scratches down her forearm. “Mom! Please! Don’t let him take me.” Her arms are flying everywhere, trying to grab onto anything that will keep her here, and my T-shirt gets caught between her fingers. “Dylan! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t take your wallet again. Tell them to let me stay. Dylan!”

---