Emily's Arrival

Emily arrives in the Eccleston household.

It was a rather cold and snowy January day in 1908 when she arrived. Mummy was anxious awaiting Emily. It seemed she hardly had time for me. Mummy had to get Emily's room ready. It was a nice room. The walls were a pale blue color, I guess to match her eyes (mummy said they were blue.)The drapes were white and translucent, like mine. It wasn't until that morning that I knew of Emily's situation. Mummy said that she was originally aunt Ruth's child, but she was adopted by the Langdon family of Brattleboro. I don't know where Brattleboro is, but it must be far away. When mummy said something about aunt Ruth, I cringed.

Around ten o'clock that morning, mummy knocked at my door. I carefully walked over the things on my floor. My room may be a mess, but at least I know where I'm going. I opened the door and instantly I was hit by a wall of shouting.

“Rebecca Claghorn Eccleston! Clean this mess. Your cousin is due to arrive shortly. I don't think she wants to see a messy room.”

I used to be in fear of my whole name being called. I simply replied that I would clean it. She became red in the face. My mother may only be fifteen years older than me, but deep down I felt she was just a child herself. She had a maid, but I wasn't allowed to have one. I didn't have a nanny either. Mummy didn't like nannies. She wanted to raise me herself. Sometimes I think she enjoys being mean to me.

I was cleaning my room when I looked out the window and saw a state van pull into the drive. I was curious. The van was blue and it said DEPARTMENT OF DEVELOPMENTAL SERVICES on the side. The side door opened and I noticed a girl, a little bit above my height with brilliant red hair. She looked sad as she was led to the front door by a stern looking woman. I heard mummy at the front door saying hello to this girl. This must've been Emily. She had to be. I opened the door to my room and walked down the hall to the sitting room. Mummy and who I thought to be Emily were sitting on the couch. The stern woman was sitting in a chair. They were filling out papers. Nobody seemed to notice me. That was until Emily spoke.

“Rebecca, it's been a while since I saw you.” She said. She knew my name! Everyone knows my name however, I'm the center of my world. Mummy looked at me as if to say “go to your room” but I stood there. Mummy mad no other motions. Sometimes I have her wrapped around my fingers.

After what seemed an eternity, Emily got up from the couch. She stumbled into the wall as she left the sitting room. Sometimes I did this, but mostly I walked straight, something Emily would possibly never do. I noticed that when she spoke, she was slightly slower to react. Mummy told me that I used to be that way, but I grew out of it. I am eleven you know. Emily was about to turn thirteen, but she was a lot younger in her mind. Her adopted father is a well known psychologist that studies children who have learning disabilities. Mummy told me Emily has several and that I was to be nice to her. Mummy thinks I'm a mean thing sometimes, but she doesn't know the real me.

Emily walked to her room and threw herself on the bed. She was feeling the sheets and coverlet. It was her favorite color: blue. I could see her bloomers and petticoat as she was doing so. I don't think she noticed or cared. I would have noticed and I would have died of fright if someone saw my underthings. She looked like a fool for doing the things she was doing, I tried to stop her but mummy interfered.

“Emily, you look tired after your journey here. Perhaps you'd like to rest your eyes?” She asked. Emily nodded. She motioned for me to leave the room as she helped Emily prepare for a nap. I went back to my room where I was joined a few minutes later by mummy. We sat on the bed.

“Becky, your cousin Emily will need our help. She has autism, much like you do. She may be twelve, but in her mind, she's about eleven years old.” Mummy used the “A word.” It's a word I hate. I am not autistic. I'm different, that's all.

I don't wish to be different. I want to be like my friends who go to nice boarding schools and who seem to have it all. We're what mummy calls “Cape Cod rich” which means we have large houses but almost very little money. Instead I have to go to the state school in Hyannis. I hate going there. I'm bullied in my class by a girl named Thelma Camber. Thelma is a mean thing. She likes to touch people, and when she speaks she giggles. The other day she threw her lunch at me. It got onto my pinny and into my hair, which had to be washed in the infirmary. Monday is going to be a “Blanche Day.” Where I go see my specialist named Blanche. I do not like Blanche at all because she asks too many questions.

Mummy has left my room by now. I finish cleaning and walk into the sitting room. Mummy enters.

“What sort of things do you wish to do with Emily?” She asks. In actuality I want to do nothing with her because she's cotton-headed. I wouldn't even color with her because she'd probably get the colors wrong and she'd color her cat purple or a person green. Her imagination is too wild. I keep my imagination sensible.

Sometimes Mummy says I'm eleven going on forty. I don't know what she means by that, but I think it's a good thing. Perhaps Emily being here might be a good thing, but I don't know. It probably won't be, but who knows. Sometimes mummy says I'm negative. Mummy picks on my faults more than my strengths, this makes me mad. Sometimes I have to go to time out when I get angry or “over stimulated” as mummy calls it. Our time out room is next to my room. It has a carpeted floor and the walls are painted a pea green color. There's a chair that I have to sit in. Luckily I don't have to be tied down in it when I'm in time out.

Emily awoke around one thirty. She was crying, as though she was frightened and lost. Like a kitten or a puppy. Mummy rushed into the room and helped her dress. Afterwards, she wanted me to take her on a tour of the house. I showed her my room. I warned her about going upstairs, because that's where mummy slept and she doesn't like people going into her room. I then showed her the kitchen, where we eat. She seemed impressed.

“Rebecca, at my home in Brattleboro, I eat in a dining room with mama and daddy.” She said. Great, she calls her mother “mama” That's what babies do. She's even more cotton-headed than I realized.