"What these flowers called?" my little sister Mary had asked, a wide, toothless grin stretched across her face. She was pointing to a single white flower in front of her crossed legs, even though the entire field was blanketed in the little flowers.

"English daisies," I smiled, feeling one of the flower petals gently between my forefinger and thumb. "They are supposed to represent childhood."

"Really?" Mary continued to grin as she plucked the nearest one from the ground and began to strip off its soft white petals, one by one. It made me feel a little foul inside. "Why so many?"

I shrugged my shoulders, looking out over the field of English Daisies. "Lots of kids have been around here," I mumbled.

Mary didn't reply, instead cutting the stem of the flower with her fingernail. She was fascinated by it, and most likely had not listened to a word I just said. But that was okay, because she has made great progress in her social skills nonetheless, and it really showed.

"Ready to go back Mary?" I asked the curious eight-year old.

"No."

I sighed, and closed my eyes. It was around six in the evening, and the air had become a bit chilled. Mary's little scuffle with the neighborhood kids meant we had to go especially far, for her own safety and the other kids'.

Mary doesn't know how to properly express feelings of anger and frustration, and simply can't empathize with others. Most children at Mary's age were aware of what compromise meant, and that grabbing a fist full of someone else's hair and yanking when you don't get your way wasn't exactly good social etiquette. Doesn't mean she's a bad kid, because she's not, she just had a rough start in life. Like all of us in that house.

"I like English Daisies," Mary had concluded as I walked us back to the house, just a few minutes shy of seven o' clock, her small hand firmly grasped in mine.

I smiled softly down at her, and whispered, "I do too."

~

I sat down at the small kitchen table placed at the side of the kitchen, finally getting the chance to finish my disrupted dinner.

"Thank you for helping her calm down. I really appreciate it," Mrs. Clarissa spoke tiredly as she sat down at the old wooden table with me, her fingers wrapped tightly around a cup of steaming green tea. Her light brown hair had begun to show grey roots, and her tortoise shell glasses were perched precariously on the tip of her long nose. Her brown eyes were tired, but never any more dull.

"It's not a problem, really," I shook my head, picking up the small pills that were placed on the napkin next to me, courtesy of Mrs. Clarissa, and swallowed my nightly medication dry. Mrs. Clarissa smacked the back of my head playfully, scolding me for taking my pills without water. She's convinced I'll burn a hole through my stomach doing it, and doesn't take too kindly to my tendency of taking them on an empty stomach either. She pushed a cup of water across the table towards me, and I sheepishly took the cup and chased my pills down with water.

"Summer is coming to an end Ivan, any plans for your final couple of weeks?" Mrs. Clarissa smiled kindly at me, her chin propped up on one of her hands.

I shrugged. So far my summer hasn't been any different from the others; I took care of Mary and Benji when Mrs. Clarissa was away, walked up and down the roads in town, and took great care in keeping my mind on a tight leash. It was the summer that represented my daily life, really.

"You know, Ivan, it might not be so bad to change things up a bit. Go somewhere you've never gone before, meet someone new, break the routine. I hate to see you run yourself down with the same old habits," Mrs. Clarissa's lips quirked up slightly as she nodded her head in encouragement. How do you get a stubborn, mentally ill teenager to do things? Beats me.

"Okay, so I'll just walk up and down the sidewalks at the park instead," I replied.

"That's not what I meant Ivan."

I groaned and leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking against my weight. I was a social detriment. I had a relatively invisible illness, which causes me to do some strange things, and I'll admit that. I'd rather be by myself, in my own peace, and not be forced to spend more energy than it's worth closely monitoring my own behavior and being overly conscious of the things I say- all to appear what is considered "normal". It was utterly exhausting. I could socialize if need be, don't get me wrong. I just prefer not to.

Mrs. Clarissa gave me a knowing look, a look that told me she knew damn well I wasn't exactly trying my hardest to make friends.

"I'll try, Mrs. Clarissa. I really will," I looked into her chocolate brown eyes with sincerity, as she took my pale hand into her calloused one, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Okay. Get to bed, hon," she smiled, giving me a pat on the arm.

I nodded and stood from the table, retreating upstairs. Once I had entered my room, I stripped off my jeans and kicked them onto the floor, leaving me to sleep in my t-shirt and plaid boxers.

The only light that was illuminating my room was from the one lamp on my bedside table, casting long shadows across my dark, navy blue walls. My room was relatively simple, with dark oak furniture and a bed with only a sheet on top, due to it being so hot in Washington these days.

I left my room to make my way to my siblings' and I's shared bathroom. Benji was already in there, his mop of curly brown hair refusing to be tamed as the young boy tried to detangle it, ripping the comb through it desperation. The ripping sound of his beautiful hair echoing through the bathroom.

"Hey, Benji. Can I help?" I greeted him, holding my hand out for his comb. He looked at me through the bathroom mirror, tears of frustration coursing down his rosy cheeks, and with a silent nod, he handed me his comb. I got to work gently combing through Benji's curls, starting from the ends and working my way up, spraying detangler onto the more severe areas, meticulously separating the strands of hair.

"How did your hair get so bad, Benji?" I asked, my brow furrowed in concentration as I worked on getting one particularly bad knot out.

"I was feeling bad," was all the twelve year-old said. I nodded in understanding, because I really did. When I used to go through really bad episodes, personal hygiene always became the least of my concerns. I stopped showering, didn't participate in basic grooming practices, oftentimes forgot to even eat, or simply didn't care. It was hard to care about what you wanted for dinner when you were convinced every person you saw was a spy ordered to kill you. So I combed Benji's hair, and even as time began to creep towards ten o'clock at night, I didn't stop until I finished at nearly eleven. Benji thanked me, a beaming smile across his face, and that was all I needed to make the time I had spent all worthwhile.

After brushing my teeth, I was able to finally hop into bed and call it a night. It was a relatively dreamless sleep, I was only a bit restless throughout the night due to the scorching temperatures outside.

~

"Hey, Ivan! Could you do me a favor?" Mrs. Clarissa called from the kitchen. I came in through the front door after my trip to the mailbox, where Mrs. Clarissa and Benji were getting ready to leave somewhere.

"Sure," I shrugged, as I flipped through the various bills and advertisements.

"I need to take Benji to his appointment at the clinic, could you keep an eye on Mary for me? She should be out front," Mrs. Clarissa said while patting her coat pockets for the car keys, Benji stumbling over his own feet as he attempted to pull on his shoes while standing, eventually giving up and plopping down on the ground.

"I can do that," I nodded, leaning up against the kitchen counter.

"Thank you, I really appreciate it. We should be back in two hours at most, okay? Call if you need anything."

I nodded in confirmation as Mrs. Clarissa helped Benji tie his shoes before ushering him into the garage, and I walked out onto the front porch. I watched them pull out of the driveway, the silver SUV beginning to crawl through the neighborhood streets. I trained my eyes on the car until it finally turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

Stepping down from the porch, I squinted my eyes against the bright sun, scanning the yard in search for Mary. I noticed a moving van four houses down the road and across the street from my house, men were carrying boxes into the house from the large moving truck parked in the driveway.

The front door of the house was wide open, and I had caught a glimpse of Mary's shortly cropped brown hair before it disappeared as she stepped foot into the house.

"Shit!" I cursed, hurrying over to the house down the road.

~

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