Chapter 9: Saviors.

I kept wondering how much of a commitment Satsuki had towards homeschooling her daughter. My 10 year old brain hadn't precisely filled with excitement about it. Even if I never openly objected to her decision, I realize now how alienating the (a)social routine became during those years.

More than two years with Satsuki. Alone. We rarely received visitors. We didn't even have a television. Thank goodness for Shadows: he was always in the backyard, willing to play fetch, or even hear my stories of whatever I had discovered in the most magical box in the house: a computer that could barely play GIFs, less so to connect to a BBS or AOL.

Then, that one day.

Nothing felt special about that morning —one that was going to define, over a period of several months, how she would desist trying to educate me by herself. Regardless of what it led to, I can only see goodness in that process. Her defeat was necessary, as nothing good would have come from her victory. At least not for me.

If I remember correctly, I had breakfast. By myself, of course. Satsuki rarely shared the table with me. As I wasn't the one owning and milking the cows, it was imposed that I had to be grateful for those lonely breakfasts... or at least pretend. Those mornings had been different before. I deeply missed sharing breakfasts with my dad.

At 9:00am, I was already sat in that couch with my pencil and notebook. Those sessions comprise more than five thousand hours sharing a room with a control freak, one who walked the border lines. As many harmful memories as I keep from those sessions, the image that I get from myself, waiting, eager to start learning, rescues certain sense of cuteness about who I was. Innocence and all.

Satsuki started late —after all, she was the one that had no impositions stemming from the stupid project she had started with my life. I'd say that the day started with Math. My favorite subject. We were in the middle of something not overly complicated: 5th grade fractions, I'd say.

My teacher seemed to do things artificially complicated, though. Willfully. To this day, I don't know if it was because she had a vision of reality obscured by an involute personality and she wished for me to grasp its inherent complexities, or that she just wanted to make me dwell in confusion for eternity.

There, in the middle of that Math class, was when somebody knocked on the door, bringing a much needed reassessment of Satsuki's teaching skills and commitment.

And lying under that stoic face of hers was a deep sense of humiliation that only I could see —what I couldn't repress gloating over.

Child Protection Services were very professional. A man and a woman, they immediately seemed to acknowledge that it wasn't a case of educational negligence: after all, the first thing they saw in the living room had been the whiteboard and a child taking notes. Probably a marvellous sight, compared to what they were used to see.

Still, avoiding superficial judgement, they carried on very methodically. The woman that had stayed in the background took some notes and left in her car sooner than expected.

William stayed, asking a few questions. Most were related to forms that Satsuki should have filed and hadn't; to letters she should have been aware of and wasn’t. Was I going to be saved by bureaucracy? She was supposed to report on her own way to carry homeschooling, or something of the like. None of her faults were considered any kind of negligence outside the educational. Pitifully: because, if I had been left behind in any way, it had been emotionally. And socially. Try to measure that, though. The worst —and the best— things in life are the hardest to quantify.

He wasn't willing to ease the procedure: it wasn't like he had brought the forms for Satsuki to fill out. It was a weird situation overall, as if someone unknown and powerful had introduced an unlikely savior in the mix.

Who called CPS? I couldn't tell.

He made clear that any decision from CPS wouldn't be taken lightly, nor quickly. On top of carrying a procedure that Satsuki would consider demeaning —including an inspection of the contents of her fridge— and asking her a volley of questions that seemed irrelevant, they were going to offer me a chance that I wasn't going to take.

And I really should have taken it. Stupid young me wasn't really aware of the opportunity that was being given. I could have easily swept away all the subsequent years of dysfunctionality. I have no idea how unreliable host families are. Had I played my cards well, I'd have known: Satsuki would have been out of my life, at least for a while. In that scenario, even if I had had to go back to that house eventually, she would have repressed her tyrannical strokes... due to fear. I would have been treated better. Also, I would have had more power.

William sat on the couch in front of me. My legs were still hanging still, not reaching the floor. I wasn't comfortable as to be swinging them, as I typically did —and there was an invisible bubble surrounding my couch that made me feel protected, but shut me out of whatever huddle he was pushing for. His tone immediately changed: from the professional one I had been overhearing, to soft and childish. One that —even at my age— I considered either creepy or contemptuous.

“Hi, Alice. I'm Will.” —with a strong eye contact and a forced but comfortable smile.

My response took a while.

“Hi.” —I muttered, almost when he was going to talk again.

“We are visiting to see how well are you doing.”

Some extra seconds of silence. I started feeling comfortable again, as it seemed that Will wasn't willing to abruptly break down the barrier that made me safe.

“And... what have you been learning today?” —he kept talking.

“We were doing fractions.” —I picked the exercise book. Then, I realized I didn't want to engage —I wasn't going to open the book and show him, nor anything of the kind.

“Cool! And... do you enjoy maths?” —the way he ask it felt eerie. Marypoppinesque.

“Yes. It's fine.”

He seemed to realize that his unscripted conversation was not going to add much detail to the already formed impression he had had. So he went straight to business.

“Alice, has your mommy ever given you bruises?”

“No.” —This was where I could have gotten out. Granted, there had been only one instance of physical violence, and I knew that there weren't going to be more if I didn't cross certain boundaries. But I could have gotten out while respecting the truth. Only mentioning it.

“Okay, Alice. It was a great pleasure to meet you.” —he offered to shake my hand. After seconds of uncertainty, I shook his hand as the quickest way out of that situation.

That was quick.

He stood up, talked a bit further with my mother and then left.

Somehow, Satsuki had shown an acceptably stable household. They probably weren't happy about her approach to their bureaucracy, but weren't going to escalate it further that just making her do the proper paperwork.

Well, so I didn't blame Satsuki for all the nightmares she was going to create. A lost opportunity, indeed.

Good things were coming, though. Satsuki would try to go through the bureaucracy required for her to homeschool me, but would eventually desist in those attempts. Those years would be good enough for her to claim how crucial she had been to my academic success.

CPS deemed no abuse nor neglect, but issued a plan that included dropping homeschooling. Maybe it was only a strong suggestion that Satsuki could have fought back —she didn't. I think that Satsuki was already bored with that stage of control over me, and it wasn't such a bad thing for her to let me go... to school.

Thus, I'd go back to an academically easy, socially awkward 6th grade. And things would somehow flow. Ted would never come back home again.