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“Okay, I think maybe I am. I don’t want to wear diapers, or drink from a bottle or anything like that. Though there’s nothing wrong with it.” I glanced up at him defiantly.
“Okay. Agreed. Then what do you want?”
“I want—I want to just be.”
He just blinked at me. “Okay…I think I’m going to need a little more.”
I looked down at my hands and started twisting them a little. Why was I so nervous? I took a deep breath and tried again. “You know what happened to me when I was little? About my mother?”
“Yes, honey, of course I do. Go on.”
“Well, when I got to the foster home that night, I couldn’t stop crying. I was scared and I wanted to go back home, but they said I couldn’t. They wouldn’t tell me where my mom was. I was so scared.”
He covered my hands with his, stopping the wringing motion and took them both in his. “I got you, baby. Just tell me.”
“They finally gave me a pacifier and they’d brought out a raggedy old teddy bear that nobody else wanted—Fozzy—and gave him to me to hold onto. And my foster mother rocked me a while. I could finally breathe a little and I fell asleep.”
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
I shrugged. “Anyway, I think that started it. I used the pacifier for a while, until it started falling apart, and then they took it away from me. I started using my thumb instead, because they couldn’t take that away. They tried to get Fozzy, saying they needed him for the younger kids, but I stole him back and hid him under my mattress. I still have him, though I guess he looks pretty bad now.”
“But you’ve been staying here and sleeping with me the past few weeks, and I haven’t seen you do any of this.”
“I have Fozzy hidden in my bag in the guest room. Along with a couple of pairs of pajamas I ordered off Amazon. I only wear them when you go away for a few days on your business trips, or when I think you won’t be home to see me.”
“And why do you think you still need Fozzy?”
“And my thumb. I need it too.”
“Okay, sorry. Why do you think you need that?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
He looked at me for a moment and then shook his head. “No, I guess not. I’m just trying to understand.”
“I tried to read up on it some when I was younger. Nobody really seems to know or at least I couldn’t find anything about it that made sense to me. Except that it can be the result of childhood trauma. Kind of like reclaiming a little part of what I lost that day when she locked me in the car, and I lost her. It’s not role play, though. It’s more like a coping behavior for me. When things get stressful, and I need a safe space to not think about adult responsibilities and things I need to do but just don’t have the energy for. It’s a little like a place I can go in my mind and just be. It feels good. I can pretend for a little while to be happy.”
“Pretend to be happy?”
He pulled me over to kiss me, and even when the kiss was over, he held his forehead next to mine. “Oh, baby. That breaks my heart.”
“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”
“No,” he said, looking in my eyes. “I don’t. You’re brave and strong to have survived that. And smart to find a way to deal with it. I just wish I’d been there for you. I just wish I’d known.”
I shrugged. “You couldn’t have, and I didn’t tell you. I was embarrassed, I guess. Most people don’t understand.”
“This coping mechanism thing sounds a little like subspace.”
“Maybe. I’ve never had that before, exactly, so I don’t know. I know it feels good, and it helps me cope with things when they get to be too much. I feel like I’m drifting.”
“I’m glad for that, at least. Are you feeling like things are too much now?”
I sighed. “Maybe a little.”
“Then why don’t you go get your things then? I’m so sorry, but I have to go to the office for a while, if you need privacy. I know the timing is terrible, but at least you’ll have the whole place to yourself.”
I still couldn’t look at him, but I nodded. “Maybe.”
