She remembered the white lace socks, the pink sneakers that sparkled in the sunlight. She remembered the pink t-shirt she wore, and the pigtails that whipped her in the face when she spun her head fast. She remembered giggling with her girlfriends and swinging high, high as she could with her eyes closed and the sinking feeling in her tummy when she whooshed down from the sky.
Then they came.
A woman in a white uniform called her name, took her hand and marched her away from her class. She didn’t understand, but she went because that’s what five year olds do, they go where adults take them and they do what they are told.
She didn’t go home that night. She missed her bedtime bunny; she missed her mommy and daddy. She missed her doggie, and she cried until she fell asleep.
The next morning, a woman unlocked the door to her little room and took away the pink clothes. She helped her put on a black shirt with a dinosaur on it. The woman gave her olive-green pants with lots of pockets. When she put her hands in the pockets, she found toys. A car. A dinosaur. A GI Joe. A rubber ball. A toy gun. But she didn’t like the dark toys.
“I want my bunny.”
“What do you need a bunny for? You have a GI Joe.”
“He’s hard. I want my soft bunny.”
“Boys don’t play with soft dolls. Boys like trucks.”
“I’m not a boy.” She giggled.
“Yes, you are. Come now, let’s go. It’s time for your haircut.”
She thought about that.
They walked down the hallway hand in hand.
“Why do I need my hair cut? Daddy likes my long hair.”
“Daddy doesn’t like his little boy to have long hair. Daddy wants it short.”
“But I’m not a boy. I’m a girl!”
“You silly boy! What a strange dream you must have had.”
This was a funny game.
She giggled again. “You’re silly. I’m a girl.”
The woman stopped, kneeled to her level and pinched her arms to her sides.
“You are a little boy. You are five years old. Your mommy and daddy don’t want another girl. They want a boy. You are a boy.”
The woman straightened up holding firm to the little arm and continued walking.
The little one stopped talking.
In the room at the end of the hall there was a barbershop like Daddy went to. The big chair had a small table on the arms where little ones could sit.
“Climb right up here, young man. You really need a haircut today.” The big man slapped the back of the chair and laughed heartily. “Come on. Don’t be shy.”
The woman tugged at the little arm in her hand, tugged and drug the child across the room. The woman lifted the small, brown-haired child up onto the seat across the arms.
She kicked her legs out at the woman’s torso.
“I don’t want to cut my hair! I don’t want to! Mommy likes it long. So does Daddy. He—“
The pain came out of nowhere, hot and shocking. She forgot to breathe.
“Stop that right now or I’ll slap you again. Do you hear me?” The woman snarled into the little child’s face. “Stop it. Don’t you dare cry. Don’t. Cry.”
“Little boys don’t cry, now do they?” The big man smiled, jolly as though there had been no pain at all. “Now, let’s get rid of this mop so that you’ll look like a boy instead of a sissy.”
He picked up the clippers in one hand and grabbed a hank of hair in the other careful to pull it clear of the scalp.
“What’s your name, boy? What’s your name?” He gave the hair a tug as he pulled it free from the raw pink scalp.
The woman leaned over the child and pinched its arm hard digging her sharp nails into the tender flesh.
“Answer him.”
“ I want Mommy!”
The woman twisted harder.
“Tell the man your name, little boy!”
“Erin,” she sobbed, “my name is Erin!”
The big man laughed again. He liked this part. “That’s a great name. Do you know how to spell your name?”
“I, I,” the small child gulped the tears away. “I learned in school.”
“And how do you spell your name?”
“Erin, E-r-i-n...”
The slap came before the big man moved his clippers so they dug into the child’s scalp.
The child screamed. Another slap on the other side.
“I said NO CRYING!”
The child gulped great gobs of air and gripped the sides of the plank seat.
“What is your name?”
“Erin.”
“How do you spell your name?”
“I...don’t…know?”
The big man laughed again. “I’ll tell you. It’s spelled A-A-R-O-N. Just like a great baseball player named Hank Aaron. You can play baseball, too, son. You’ve got just the name for it. A-A-R-O-N. Now you try it.”
She didn’t want to try it. But she did. She didn’t want to get hit. “A-a-r-o-n.”
“You learn fast, boy,” the big man smiled and looked at the woman. She nodded back. Then she smiled.
Nearly a month passed since Aaron saw his mommy and daddy and his twin sister Allison. He’d almost forgotten what they looked like. Once he figured out what the woman wanted, he could go a whole day without getting hit. Getting slapped hurt. He didn’t want to get slapped again. He learned to spell his name right. He didn’t scratch his stitches. He learned to pee standing up. He took the nasty medicine when he had to. At first he spit it out, but then they used really big needles and stuck them into his tummy. They tied him down to a board and stuck the needles into his tummy and it really hurt, and he didn’t want it to hurt anymore, so he swallowed the nasty medicine.
Mommy and Daddy were coming today to see him. He couldn’t go home with them today. He wanted to go home. But he wouldn’t cry. Boys don’t cry. Boys don’t need their mommies. Maybe he could go home soon. Maybe, if his mommy and daddy and Allison knew who he was.
When they arrived at Children’s Hall, Erin’s mommy was trembling, but she willed herself not to cry.
“Judy, they’re watching us. Don’t lose it, baby. Erin’s alive. Just keeping thinking that. Erin’s alive.” Erin’s daddy whispered through clenched teeth and a forced smile.
“I know.” She breathed hard and stood erect. “I can do this.”
In the building, they were ushered into a small room full of trucks, balls, and a detailed, plastic workbench with a full array of tools. They sat on small stools, knees up high, waiting.
When the hallway door opened, the woman stepped in first. She looked down at the parents, analyzing their appearance and emotional stance. Then she stepped aside and called, “Aaron! Your mommy and daddy are here!”
They heard little steps in the hallway coming slowly, then more rapidly to the door, but the little steps stopped just outside.
Erin’s mommy called her name. “Erin?”
Aaron’s daddy called his name. “Aaron?”
The woman in the doorway looked down at the boy, smiling as though she were his best friend. “Aaron, don’t you want to see your mommy and daddy?”
A little hand appeared on the door jamb, then the top of a shaved head with scabs covering the hurt places, then a face, a scared little face that looked different from their beautiful baby girl, a scared little face with faded bruises, then a little body crept in, a precious little body covered in a zombie t-shirt and ragged shorts with dirty feet and broken toenails.
Erin’s mommy sucked in her breath again, a ragged gasp of air. She threw herself over the stool back against the wall.
Aaron’s daddy fell from the stool to his knees and held out his arms. “Aaron, come here baby, come to Daddy.”
The little boy ran sobbing to his daddy.