A Million Little Pieces - James Frey [146]
The Doctor told us that there was nothing wrong, that James was probably just a vocal child. We went home and the screaming continued. I’d hold James, Bob would hold James, we tried giving him little toys and feeding him more, and nothing worked. Nothing could make him stop.
The tears start flowing. My Mother grips my Father’s hand, my Father watches her as she speaks. I sit and I listen. I have never heard about my screaming before, though it does not surprise me. I have been screaming for years. Screaming bloody fucking murder. My Mother cries as she continues.
It went on for almost two years. James just screamed and screamed. Bob started doing well at his Firm and got a raise, and as soon as we had some extra money, I took James to see a better Doctor. As soon as he looked at him, he told me that James had terrible infections in both of his ears that were eating away his eardrums. He said James had been screaming for all that time because he was in tremendous pain and that he had been screaming for help. He recommended surgery, and just before he turned two, James had surgery on both of his ears, which was the first of seven surgeries that he would have on them. Obviously we felt terrible, but we didn’t know.
The tears turn into sobs.
If we had known we would have done something.
Sobs.
But we didn’t know.
My Father holds her.
He just screamed and screamed and all that time we didn’t know that he was screaming because he hurt.
My Mother breaks down, burying her face in my Father’s shoulder and shaking and trembling and quivering. My Father holds her and he patiently waits for her, stroking her hair and rubbing her back. I sit and I stare, and though I have no memory of what she’s talking about, I do remember the pain. That is all that remains. The pain.
My Mother stops crying and she pulls away slightly just slightly from my Father. She looks at me.
I’m sorry, James. We didn’t know. We really didn’t know.
I reach out and I put my hand on one of my Mother’s hands.
You got nothing to be sorry about, Mom. You did the best you could.
She pulls away from my Father completely and she stands and she takes two steps toward me and she puts her arms around me and she hugs me. She hugs me strong and tight and I return her hug and I can tell that she is trying to express her remorse and sadness. In a way this hug is her apology, though none is needed.
She lets go and she sits back down next to my Father. Joanne waits for a moment to see if any of us are going to speak. We don’t, so she does.
Do you remember any of that, James?
I remember the operations, only because I had them until I was twelve, but I don’t remember any of the early stuff.
Was there any long-term damage from them?
I have thirty percent hearing loss in my left ear and twenty in the other.
Why didn’t you tell me this before?
I don’t think it’s that big a deal.
It helps explain, or perhaps, entirely explains, why you say your first and earliest memories are of rage and pain.
Why do you think that?
When a child is born, it needs food and shelter and a sense of safety and comfort. If it screams, it is usually screaming for a reason, and in your case, it seems you were probably screaming because you were in pain and you wanted help. If those screams went unheeded, whether consciously or unconsciously, they might have ignited a fairly profound sense of rage within you, and might very well have led to some long-term resentments. That rage would help explain both your feelings of what you call the Fury, and also your particular feelings of it in regards to your Parents and in regards to issues of control with them.
I sit and I think. I try to decide if I am willing to accept genetics