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“I’m not saying your wife isn’t right to have her concerns…”
I walk over to the desk, lean both of my elbows on my dad’s thigh, and look up into his blue eyes, the same colour as mine. “Dad, can I do some colouring?” I whisper.
Dad looks away from me and back at the doctor. He sighs. “I have not been able to redirect his attention to anything else, as you can tell. All he wants to do is colour. He’s obsessed with green. We’ve recently had to add it to his room. This is probably the longest he’s been fixated on something. It’s like he can’t think about anything else.”
“Yes, yes. I did see that on the assessment. It’s hyperfixation. Though not an official symptom of ADHD, some individuals do experience it.” The old-looking doctor gives me a kind smile. “It’s not a problem, is it, Alex?” He looks back to my dad. “Mr Warren, I assure you, we will support you and your son as best we can. I’ll have my assistant email you resources for the time being and schedule another meeting where we can discuss the course of action.”
“And you’re sure it’s ADHD?” Dad asks. He sounds worried.
“Is the sky blue?” The doctor laughs, and Dad blows air out of his mouth.
“Thank you, Doctor Emerson. Truly. You don’t know how much it means to us to finally have answers.”
That’s his name!
Both of them stand and start chatting again while Dad walks over to where my shoes are on the floor and picks them up. I bounce on my toes with impatience as he takes his time coming over to me and sliding them back on my feet, but there’s finally a smile on his face.
We say bye to the doctor and walk out of the office. Dad holds my hand all the way through the creepy white corridors as we walk to the car. He squeezes my hand a little tighter when we walk through the big car park. There are other kids with their parents getting out of their cars and walking into the building. Maybe I’m not the only weird kid out there.
“Stay here. Be careful of the cars,” Dad says before walking to the other side of the car and putting some files away in the glovebox.
Dad opens the door for me, and I climb into my booster seat. He clasps the belt into the buckle and smiles at me as he ruffles my hair and shuts the door.
“Hey!” I giggle.
I want to look like my dad when I grow up. All the ladies say he’s ‘handsome’ and that I look just like a younger version of him. My dad always tells me that he and Mum are married, so whenever the women leave, he scrunches his face and sticks out his tongue like they’re gross. It’s funny.
He drives out of the car park and looks at me in the rearview mirror. His eyes are watering, which confuses me. He was smiling a minute ago.
“Are you okay, Dad?” I ask.
“I’m fine, buddy. We’ll have to tell Mummy our news later when she gets home from work.”
The drive home from this office is quite long, and Dad’s been silent for ages, which is weird because we always talk about random things, but it feels off this time. So weird, that a sickly feeling settles in my stomach.
The uncomfortable feeling inside of me slowly disappears as I rest my chin in my hand and watch the trees pass by in a blur of green.
I mindlessly drag the green pencil up and down the paper. Mum and Dad have been arguing for hours now. I can hear their muffled voices through my bedroom wall. I hate it when they argue. They’re so loud, and my dad is always upset the next day. It also stops me from drawing anything that isn’t random scratches. I can only focus on their screaming and not what I want to draw. And then Dad doesn’t want to play with me because he’s too sad. I get mad at my mum when that happens.
When I grow up, I’m going to get a job as a professional colourer. Is that even a word? I press the pencil to my lips, thinking…
It is now.
Alexander, the great big professional colourer!
Suddenly, the door to their bedroom slams shut, making me jump and drop the pencil.
Footsteps thud loudly past my door and down the stairs.
“Jenny!” Dad roars.
Quicker footsteps follow.
I creep towards my door, being careful to not make any noise, and open it. My bedroom is opposite the stairs, so I can see them at the bottom, arguing by the open front door as the rain pours heavily outside. A sight that I’m used to seeing, but I’ve never seen my mum holding a big bag when this happens. She’s dressed in her usual green button-up top. I don’t like when she wears my favourite colour. It doesn’t make me feel as safe when it’s on her.
“He’s only seven, Jenny. We need to help him through this.”
“I’ve had enough, Eric. I can’t handle it anymore. This isn’t ADHD. This is so much worse, and it’s going to ruin him like it ruined us,” Mum cries. “It’s too much. He’s too much.” She points towards my room, still looking at Dad.
