The World of Anythought

Everyone in the world is born with a secret. Some have more than one. Some have two or three, but every smiling, crying, bright eyed little human has at least one. In fact, one of the reasons a baby’s laugh is so infectious is because it reminds us of our own secret, even if we’ve forgotten what it was. One enterprising psychiatrist called this feeling an “inner child”, wrote a book, marketed his therapy techniques and made quite a bit of money. But really, all he did was help his patients reconnect with their inner secret.

When Violet Kipperton was born, she was no exception. She had secrets. In fact, she had more than one, which made her such a happy little person that her laugh would make someone across a crowded store smile and look at the baby. Her parents, however, never noticed. For some strange reason, her doctor, her parents, and later on her teachers in school, never noticed the good smiley bits about Violet, they only noticed the bad negative parts. The fact she walked and talked early was never remarked on, the fact she learned to read and made good grades never brought praise. It was as if both parents and teachers saw a completely different child. Perhaps they did, because the one thing that they did not do, was listen.

When Violet was three years old, she tried to tell her parents her secret. Three year olds often do such things. Have you ever seen a list of children that say things that are cute, wierdly smart or eerie? Most of them are ages two through five. That's when babies can talk, but they haven't forgotten their secrets yet. They sometimes try to share them with everyone. Unfortunately, most adults don't remember to listen. They even have a saying, and I'm sure you have heard it: "Children should be seen and not heard." Whoever said that was trying to hide the secrets, or perhaps he, himself, was forgetting to listen.

That leaves us with Violet. A shy, quiet child who often got in trouble through no fault of her own. If she passed a note in class for someone else, she was caught with it. If someone else was talking in class, the teacher always thought it was her. If a stray cat knocked the trash can over, her parents thought she did it. And the time some other wicked child threw eggs at their windows on Halloween, her parents thought she had done it. Violet, without lifting a finger, was known by every adult in her life to be a bad girl. Every adult except Gigi. Grandma Gigi had known Violet's secret since the day she first smiled at her when she was two days old.

It wasn't just secrets the two had in common. Early in her pudgy little life, it was often remarked how much Violet was like her well-loved grandmother. She had Gigi's beautiful sparkling blue eyes. She had Gigi's unremarkable but still respectable dark brunette hair. Dark Brunettes and long fingers with sparkling blue eyes were a hallmark of the Harrison bloodline, a well-known, and well-heeled branch of the family that had transported themselves from England to America sometime in the 1920's. Violet's parents weren't part of the old money. Nor did they have the dark brown hair or sparkling eyes of exciting English respectability.

Instead, Violet's mother Mrs. Marina Kipperton had the sunny coppery tones in her hair of a true strawberry blonde. It was this fact that had drawn Mr. Kipperton to his lovely wife in their first semester of college. That set of years that is mystical to children before they themselves exist, when parents have a world of possibilities, no house, no mortgage and no responsibilities to create wrinkles under their eyes. Mr. Kipperton had brown hair as well, though not as dark as his daughter Violet's. It was Marina's eyes though, that kept his attention. The touch of gold in a ray of sunshine had been first, then the sparkle of green from hazel eyes was next, and when she looked into his to find the same shade, it was love at first sight.

The two made a love match of it, much as Marina's parents had, and Gigi tried to talk her husband Joe into forgiving them for eloping and marrying against his wishes. He didn't though, not until Violet was born. It was almost too late by then, and he was lost at sea during a terrible storm when Violet was three. Grandma Gigi had been heartbroken. She kept much of it from Violet, but pain has a way of getting in the eye and showing, like a splinter. We have to cry just to wash it out. Violet could see the pain even when Gigi smiled and whenever she gave hugs after that, she gave an extra one for the ones that Gigi wasn't getting from Grandpa Joe.

Without Grandma Gigi, Violet would never have managed moments of peace in her life, and would probably have become the mean spirited, wicked child that the adults thought her to be. But Gigi knew her grandchild was not wicked, and she often sent care packages and encouraging cards that somehow showed up at all the right moments. Grandma Gigi had a few secrets of her own. Many grandmas and grandpas do, actually. It's one of the reasons that babies and grandparents get along so well. They converse in secrets that nobody else knows.

One day, however, when Violet was twelve years old, Grandma Gigi disappeared. Everyone tried to keep it from her, of course, but worried parents are rarely careful with phone calls around quiet children, and Violet knew how to be quiet and listen better than they themselves did. The visit by officers the next day, also talking quietly, rumbling voices in a room they wouldn't let her enter, made the whole thing feel far too ominous, and a freezing hand of ice cold worry curled about Violet's heart. She tried to ask her mother what had been said, or even if she thought Gigi was alright, but she only got the answer that she shouldn't worry about it, and that she shouldn't have listened at the door like that.

This conversation was had on the way to school, somewhere Violet didn't want to go, not on this day. Yet again, her parents didn't listen. They had their reasons, but they didn't express them to her. They didn't tell her that school was safe, and normal. That the best thing right now was to be normal. Worrying by itself never brought anyone back from a disappearance. They didn't tell her any of the important little comfort thoughts they kept repeating to themselves in their minds. Like most adults in tragic, horrible, sudden situations they didn't have the words.

Violet, for the first time in her twelve years of life, actually did a naughty, “against the rules” sort of thing. She had been accused so many times of deeds she didn't do, that she didn't think twice about actually doing something wrong and against the rules. No, it just seemed right in her mind that if she was going to always get in trouble anyway, perhaps she should start doing the action to get in trouble. The first thing she did was skip class. Several classes actually. She knew she wasn't going to find Gigi. She knew the police were looking for her grandmother. She knew her parents were expecting her to act like everything was normal, but none of that mattered.

She left the school grounds and started to walk, not really having a direction. Somewhere in her emotion scattered mind she thought of the park where she and Gigi used to feed ducks. She wasn't expecting to find anyone there, but maybe she would see the ducks. They would be creatures who had enjoyed a moment with her, and Gigi. They would be beings who would want her grandmother back too, even if it was only because Gigi carried corn and sunflower seeds in her purse to feed ducks with. Violet asked her why seeds and not bread once and Gigi smiled, watching the ducks. “It’s not a kindness to feed them anything made with eggs, Vie, is it?”

Violet was halfway to the park when she was caught. The truant officer brought her home, and her mother railed about the meeting she had to leave, and about how much stress she was already under because Gigi was missing. Violet cut off the stream of words and noise by going to her room and slamming the door. Something she never did, and because she never did it, for once, her mother noticed.

There was silence for a couple of hours, and then her father came to the door. He tried to give her a stern voice, and then he tried a gentle tone. Then he tried to get her to come eat. After a while he left, and she could hear the mumble and thump of them talking in the dining room. It wasn't quite an argument, but she had a small moment of satisfaction that they weren't ignoring her anymore. It didn't last long, the satisfaction couldn't outlast the sadness and her tangle of emotions left her feeling drained.

Violet fell asleep on top of her bed rather than in it. She dreamed of Gigi and ducks, and a large piece of bread looming over everyone, blocking out the sun. She woke with a startle to find morning light in her eyes, and her arm over her face. The dream left tendrils of itself in her mind, and it took a moment for her to calm herself down. Just a dream, the dark she felt was just her own arm. Besides, it was silly, a large stale bread, big enough to blot out the sun. She rubbed her face and then moved to the door.

It was past time for school, surely, or was it too early? The dream still had just enough hold on her that she couldn't figure out time by the light in the room like she normally did. She picked up her jacket and book bag to unbury her clock and blinked. Definitely late for school. After making such a big deal out of it yesterday, why had her parents let her miss today?

This change in routine sent a bolt of fear through Violet as she imagined the worst. She opened the door of her room, half expecting to see cops again. But this time with her mother crying and her father looking angry. There was some relief when she didn't see that, but it didn't make the fear go away. Her parents never changed routine, not even yesterday, when Gigi disappeared, so why today? What happened? The house was silent enough that she could hear the big grandfather clock ticking, and she felt as if it timed the beat of her heart with each tock. As she moved closer to the living room though, she finally heard voices. Quiet voices, voices that were talking about her.

"You are sure it is safe? I just...I just want to know that it's safe. The school recommended you highly, they say you get results ninety-nine percent of the time, but they never said what happens the other one percent. I assume it just doesn't work?" It was her mother's voice. Violet felt a chill down her spine when another voice answered, a man's voice. Someone she didn't know. Her parents had always warned her to never trust a stranger. Apparently they were going to trust this one though.

"Perfectly safe, Mrs. Kipperton. We have done this procedure several hundred times, and while each patient is different, they all had the same outcome. Most. All. There is that one percent. I will not lie to you, Madame. While it is safe, not everyone comes back the way they went in. But I assure you, my associates and I have perfected this therapy down to a science. The child goes in, experiences consequences for his or her actions, we go in and assist them with whatever those consequences might be, he or she learns from their experience, and we all return, happy and healthy, and much, much better behaved. There is no better discipline on this earth than my...oh. And here is Miss Alice with the paperwork."

Violet felt stung. She had heard, of course, that eavesdrop on a conversation about yourself, and you will find nothing good, but this seemed so unfair. She was becoming used to unfairness but, still, the chill that curled around her heart was starting to bitter her mouth and tingle her toes. Her father spoke next.

"This is a waiver...that we absolve you and Kinder Incorporated of any fault in case of loss, death or..maiming? Mr. Kinder...Dr. Kinder, I'm sorry, but can you give us any assurance at all? This is our daughter. Yes, she is a troublemaker, but we just lost my wife's mother...perhaps we should wait on this. I am just not comfortable, even at one percent..." Violet's chill grew, and she moved just far enough to see into the living room without being seen herself.

Her mother was sitting on the couch, wringing a tissue to death in her fingers. Her father was pacing in front of the fireplace. A teenage girl wearing glasses and sporting a ponytail was holding a pen out to her father, who was holding the waiver he was talking about.. Then there was the other man. This man did not look like a doctor. He was large with meaty hands. His hair was red but going gray and curled around his ears. He wore glasses that tried to make him look dignified (but failed), and his smile made him look greasy to Violet, but her parents didn't seem to notice that. Gigi would have.

Dr. Kinder's smile grew wider "Why, Miss Alice here is a lovely example of one of my successes. She used to be quite a troublemaker herself, weren't you, Alice? She was so grateful for my help that she assists me in my work, wanting to help other troubled children like herself. And I fear, Mr. and Mrs. Kipperton, that the school is insisting. It is either this, or suspension. If this succeeds, your little Violet will be back in school by end of winter break."

Alice smiled at them and held out the pen to Mr. Kipperton once more. "It works, Sir." She said, before she coughed, and Mrs. Kipperton offered her a glass of tea. Dr. Kinder nodded to them both. "Alice has a bit of a dust allergy and we were transferring old files this morning. Please don't fear it's a cold or anything of the like." There was something flashy about the pen, and her father frowned, but signed the waiver after a momentary hesitation. Her mother returned with Alice’s iced tea, looking to her husband as if she was uncertain, but when she was handed the pen, she signed as well.

Dr. Kinder smiled at them both as Alice sipped her tea. “There we are then. I'll get started right away. If you will bring her to my office at say, two o’clock that will give you some time to spend before she goes in for therapy. I would suggest a lovely luncheon with tea and cake. Give her a good meal to set her off with." Smiling that greasy smile he shook Mr. Kipperton's hand, thanked Mrs. Kipperton for her hospitality and then swept out of the house with Alice packing his papers along after. Her parents sat there for several minutes afterward, they seemed a bit dazed.

Violet finally braved the room and stood right in front of her parents, looking from one to the other. She said nothing, and it took them a good five minutes to notice she was there. "Darling, we have a bit of something to tell you." That wasn't good. It was never good when they led with ‘darling’. It always made her wish she was named Wendy and was in a storybook about Peter Pan when they started off with that one.

This time, it was her mother that broached it, but her father finally sat down. "You've been getting into a lot of trouble lately, and the school was going to suspend you." She started to try and say it wasn't her, but her father held up a hand and said to let her mother finish. They always did that, ganged up on her. Never listened, they only talked, expecting her to listen, since she was the child.

"We don't want you suspended. That will go on your permanent record. And besides that...you'll miss too much school. A good education is so important." It was all stuff they said before. Each time they didn't listen to the things she hadn't done. This time though, everything had gone south. Of course, this time, she really had done something wrong. She really had skipped all her classes. She couldn't muster up any shame though. Her parents took her silence as a sullen admission of guilt rather than listening.

Lunch was a silent affair, each Kipperton lost in their own set of thoughts. Each tink of metal on ceramic seemed to continue the lecture, and the soft whisper of lips on glasses seemed like the protests Violet had tried to express. They were a family, but they weren't together, even though they were close enough to breathe in the breath that the others exhaled. Violet thought once more about Gigi as she played with the food on her plate. She didn't have much of an appetite.

Violet didn't notice, but her parents didn't eat much either. Now and then their eyes would catch each other, but rather than exchange speaking glances, they would frown and drop the gaze to their respective plate, lap or napkin as if that was more important than their partner or their daughter. It wasn't entirely their fault, habits are particularly nasty creatures and if you ever have to fight one, you really should have a baby, or perhaps a grandparent at your back in case of emergency.

Grandfather clock tocked its way toward the hour and bonged quite loud in the silence. One o’clock. Mrs. Kipperton jumped and this time her glance towards Mr. Kipperton held at least a touch of meaning. For the first time in at least two years he caught it and nodded at her with a slightly furrowed brow. Her father cleared his throat and stood up from the table.

"Well my girl, let’s get these dishes in the kitchen, hmm? Mother will get a bag ready for you..." Mr. Kipperton picked up each plate and started scraping off the untouched or played with food into the compost bin. Violet watched him and did the second first naughty thing in her life, she didn't get up to help. For the second time, her parents noticed.

Before her father could put on his stern voice, to go with the look he was giving her, Violet stood up and glared at them both. This was so out of character for her that both of her parents gave her their undivided attention for the first time since she was ten months old and had started walking.

"What do you mean pack a bag? Who is Dr. Kinder? Are you sending me somewhere? I heard what he said about the paperwork, and you signed it!" By now Violet had tears slipping down her cheeks. Mrs. Kipperton glanced at her husband and for the second time, held his gaze long enough to convey meaning. Then she moved close enough to hug her daughter.

"I know it seems scary, honey, but it really is better than suspension. You can't skip class, or put gum in people's hair, or fill all the toilets in the girl's restroom with paper towels. You keep saying it isn't you, but there is a pattern and it has to stop. We are only doing this because we love you."

Mr. Kipperton watched them, and then put the rest of the dishes in the kitchen. Violet could hear the occasional clink or thunk from hands moving various dishes around in a water-filled sink. She wanted to scream at her mother, but she didn't. It wouldn't do any good. She had already tried explaining that it was Samantha that put the gum in Freddy's hair, and that she didn't know who had stuffed the restroom with towels, she just happened to be the one in there when it flooded.

Which, had been entirely gross, if she had been the one to do it, she'd have left before it was that bad. She was known to be a trouble maker though, so her answers weren't accepted. Folding her arms over her chest, she followed her mother to her room. There was a small bag on her bed and clothes already in it.

"Your toothbrush is in the side pocket, along with paste and floss. There's a small flashlight as well, just in case they don't have a nightlight in the bathroom. He said you are allowed one personal item, but nothing electronic, so you can't take your game thing, but that's probably good, you'll need to spend your time paying attention."

Violet looked at the clothes inside her bag and the various objects her mother had packed. Her mother didn't listen well, but she was an organized, and sometimes thoughtful mother. Besides the flashlight, there were batteries, for the flashlight, q-tips, a little sewing kit for buttons or other emergencies, a small bag of snacks as if she were going hiking, a compass, extra pairs of socks, a water bottle, full, a little bottle of Tylenol and a small first aid kit.

Violet looked at her mother, the frozen hand that had curled around her heart now seeming to grip her throat. "Mom! What is all of this? Where am I going? You said it was therapy..."

Mrs. Kipperton looked at Violet and smiled though her eyes were suspiciously wet. "It is therapy, dear. It's just that you'll be there for a while, and I wanted to be sure you would have what you need. I can't tell you more. Dr. Kinder said there are specific rules we must follow for this to work. I know it's scary, but it's for your own good." And that is when her mother stopped listening again.

The car ride to Dr. Kinder's office was just as silent as the dining room, if not more so. Now and then a passing car would swish, its tires making that crunching sound of gravel in the road when it turned as they waited at a light. Violet wondered if her parents would listen, if she spoke in the silence, but words had failed her so many times in the past that she remained quiet.

Mr. Kipperton thought of the bill, and of looking into Dr. Kinder's online reputation deeper than he already had. Mrs. Kipperton worried about why the word maimed was in the paperwork. Surely it was a silly precaution, like not using a curling iron while sleeping. Common sense. Her daughter was unruly, stubborn, troubled, but she had common sense. Didn't she? Violet didn't notice how many times her mother looked in the mirror and studied her daughter just one more time.

They arrived at Dr. Kinder's compound after the fourth 'one more time' and just about the point that Mr. Kipperton had come to the conclusion he needed to double check before he consigned his one and only child to the man's care. But both parents decided that no, they had come this far, they had signed the papers, they had looked into it and done their due diligence.

It was only that the man's smile seemed greasy and surely the man couldn't help how he smiled. He likely needed a better dentist. With such inner assurance they both resolved to go through with it, and a glance at each other assured the other of said resolve, so by the time Violet saw her mother open the door and her father take out her bag, they were unified, or at least looked it.

If only the Kippertons had telepathy, they would have known each other’s minds. But then, with such gifts they would have known Violet's first baby secret, and they would, perhaps, have been champion listeners, or telepather’s as the case may be.

As it was, neither modern science nor evolution had reached such a point to allow the Kipperton family such intimate understanding of each other. Thus they found themselves on the path into a cement and glass compound with a shiny and very clinical looking "Kinder Incorporated" sign on the front. The Kipperton's had extra time to think down three hallways, up two elevators, across one skyway and over one quite lovely outdoor/indoor garden courtyard where they found a young woman with a headset answering phones and painting her nails purple.

Now and then she would say a name and press a button, and when they stepped off the elevator she gave them an up and down sort of look before she said "Kipperton's, third elevator to your left, take the key on the counter marked Dr. K and insert it by the button marked LB 4. Thank you, enjoy your Kinder experience." With that she pressed another button.

"Dr. Kinder's office, no, he's with a client at the moment, but I can make an appointment for you next January. No, he's not available before then. Oh... oh my, well yes then, he can fit you in Next Tuesday after 5 pm. In the meantime you will need salt and crickets. Yes I will give him your messa...” Whatever she said next drowned under the feel of a silent elevator going down.