Treasure
Dreams

Freshman year was done by the beginning of March, and Rea was halfway done with her sophomore year classes by the time summer arrived. Her parents had been relieved that the drug therapy was working, and her mind and emotions weren’t so clouded any more. With nothing else to do, Rea spent her time on three things.

School, with the idea to graduate as soon as possible.

Running, because she liked working out and it was something she could do in solitude.

Her art, because it was her escape from the reality of her world.

Of the three, her interest and aptitude in art was the biggest surprise for them. She hadn’t been allowed much while in the mental hospital, but her doctors gave her pencils, pens and notebooks so she could write and draw her thoughts and feelings. The creative energy wasn’t as affected by the drugs she was taking, and she sometimes spent hours just drawing. She was pretty good at it when she got out of the hospital, but months later it was clear she had a real talent.

Once a week Dawn would take her to the District Office building where she would have a two-hour class with the high school art teacher. Mrs. Johansenn was overjoyed to find such a talented and passionate student, and with instruction she rapidly moved on to watercolors and acrylics. Rea would take photos of her work and email them to her for help, said emails happening at all hours of day and night. When inspiration struct her, she might work until they forced her to break for food or sleep.

Dawn and Mark were in Doctor Thompson’s office while Rea was being tested by another staff doctor. “Doc, we’re concerned about the amount of time she spends on her art,” Dawn started. “She can get obsessed on her work, and I don’t know if we should be encouraging it or not.”

“Is she having problems in other areas? School?”

Mark shook his head no. “Actually, she’s in danger of getting too far ahead. She sleeps, eats, runs, studies and paints. She doesn’t watch television, play video games or any of that stuff, and she shows no interest in boys. She has only one friend, and they can only talk and text.”

Doc leaned back and smiled a little. “This is actually good news,” he told them. “On two fronts. First off, it shows that her medication levels are correct, and her symptoms are controlled. If the dosage is too high, she could have trouble focusing or concentrating, like when she first went home.” Dawn nodded, she remembered what she was like then, and things were much better now. “The second thing is that it provides her with an outlet for her emotions. Art and writing are both windows into her moods, her subconscious. What is she painting?”

Mark pulled out his phone, he had taken photos of each of her paintings when completed. Having them framed and hanging in their house wasn’t just to humor her, they were objectively great art. Many of their relatives had been gifted paintings over Christmas. “She has done a wide variety; she started with landscapes, then did some sports. This one she did for her friend Jenny.” The painting showed Jenny after scoring a winning goal, her teammates running in to congratulate her. The photograph in the paper was her inspiration, since she hadn’t attended the game at the end of the last season.

“She’s good,” Doc said. “How long has she been doing this?”

“She started painting after coming home. Before that, it was just drawings.”

He nodded. “I remember, she would rather draw than write her feelings out. They weren’t this level, but she wasn’t always functioning fully while we were finding the right therapy.”

Mark kept flipping through the pictures. “Lately, she’s been doing nature scapes. She’s focused in on wolves, her last five paintings have been of them.” In the last painting, a rust-colored wolf was leaping for the throat of a buck, two black and silver wolves working with it to bring it down.

“Very nice. It is important for you to support her in this, just as much as her academics and athletics. Right now, she’s isolated and frustrated. She’s told me how it feels for her in our therapy sessions; the looks she gets when she runs, the things she hears people say about her. Her art is the one place she can be herself, and even I can see she has the talent to do something with it.” He looked closer at the painting. “Has she sold any of her art? That would look great in my cabin.”

“You’d have to ask her,” Mark said. They sat back, pleased that they hadn’t let things go too far.

“You have to guard against her becoming so lost in her art she doesn’t eat, take care of her hygiene or neglects her other responsibilities. As long as her grades stay up and she stays healthy physically, it’s good. I would suggest expanding her circle using art; there are adult classes at the college, even private instruction. It would be good for her to meet others with her talent, people who don’t judge her already. She needs more than just you and close family.”

Dawn shrunk down a little, close family was still there, but the extended family was still wary of her. They hadn’t been invited to the get-togethers or parties, nor had they hosted everyone. No one really knew how to treat the “crazy one” in their family. “I’ll talk to her art teacher about it. Maybe I can find something over the summer, even up in the Cities.”

There was a knock on the door, and a nurse poked her head in. “Doctor, Ms. Olson is waiting for you in your therapy room.”

“I think we’re done here,” he said. “I’m going to work with her for about an hour, if you want to get some coffee or something. I’ll bring her out to the waiting room, and if there aren’t any issues you’ll be on your way.”

“Thank you Doc,” Mark said as he stood and shook his hand. “The last few months she has been more like the Treasure we remember.”

They returned to the waiting area, and Doc grabbed his notebook and walked through the door to the office he used for his therapy appointments. The nurse left as he walked in, and Treasure took her place on the couch as he sat down. “How was your week, Treasure?”

“It was all right.” She looked down at her hands. “Jenny got asked out to her first high school dance.”

“How does that make you feel?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I’m happy for her, because she likes him, but I’m sad too. We always did things together, and we’re growing apart now. She has school, sports and boys, and I have my computer and my canvasses.”

“Have you spent any time with her?”

“No, her parents won’t let her and she can’t drive. Honestly, I don’t know if I want her to waste her time on me. All she got of out defending me was fists.” Doc scribbled some notes, she had told him last year about her friend being attacked at school. “Maybe I should just let her go.”

“Is that what you think will make things better? Have you asked her what she wants?”

Rea looked up at the ceiling. “She wants things to be like they used to be. She just hasn’t accepted that they never will be, not with me.”

He sat up a little. “Why do you think things will never get better?”

She laughed. “Are you kidding me?” She looked at him like he was the one who was nuts. “The first time I went jogging after I got home, someone called the COPS on me because I got tired and was standing on their street. I do all my shopping online, because I can hear every comment made about me, and my Mom doesn’t deserve to hear that. I’ve been expelled from school, and I don’t ever want to return because it would be a living HELL for me.”

“What if you were able to start over? Move somewhere else, enroll in a new school with people who don’t know you?”

She shook her head. “Doc, you need to get with the times. There’s this thing called the Internet? I move to a new town, and within a day EVERYONE will know Rabid Rea is there. Do you know what you find if you Google my name?” He shook his head no. “Do it sometime, then you’ll understand. I’ve come to terms with it, Doc. I just want to get done with school and work on my art. THAT I can do.”

He wrote a few notes, then looked at her. “Your Dad showed me some of your paintings, I was impressed. If you ever want to sell some of them, let me know- I love the ones with the wolves.”

“I can’t sell them,” she said.

“Why wolves? You seem to be fixated on them.”

“I had to do a paper on them for school, and I read some books and watched some documentaries on them. Fascinating animals, they are social, loving, they work together to hunt prey and survive. I started having dreams about them, and I painted my dreams.”

He stopped writing for a moment. “Which one is your favorite?”

“I’m doing a mural in my room right now, taking up a whole wall. Here, I’ve got a photo on my phone. It won’t be done for a while but you get the idea.” She flipped through pictures to find the one, then showed him the wall. A mama grizzly was standing in the middle, surrounded by wolves. Blood dripped from her claws, but blood could be seen matted in her fur from all the bites. More wolves waited in the wings, a few nursing wounds, the rest biding their time. The background hadn’t been filled in yet but the action was unmistakable.

“So you see yourself as a wolf?”

“The world is the wolves, I’m the bear,” she said as she put her phone away. “No matter how strong I am or how hard I fight, there are too many of them and their teeth cut me down. It’s all just too much,” she said.

“The bear isn’t giving up, though.”

“No, the bear is fighting for its life even though its situation is hopeless. At least I can respect the wolves, they are trying to survive too. They are better than the wolves that surround me, who attack me just for fun.”

He looked at the clock, time was almost up. “Have you been hearing the voice?”

“No, she’s been quiet.”

“Good.” He put his notebook away. “For next week, I want you to think about the bear and the wolves. What parts of your life remind you of the bear, and what of the wolves. All right?”

“Sure, Doc.”

“I’m very pleased with your progress, you’ve come a long way since we first started working together. Come on, let’s see your folks.” There weren’t any changes to her drug therapy, so they were out of the hospital and picking up pizza to bring home a few minutes later.

“Do you think I could sell my paintings,” she asked them.

“I don’t know,” Mom said, “They are very good, even the Doctor thought so. Why?”

“I want to save up for a motorcycle,” she said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, honey,” her Dad said. “What happens if you are riding and you get one of those sudden headaches? I don't want you driving until I know they are under control.”

“Well, it would give me spending money and who knows, maybe I could make a living as an artist when I graduate,” she said. She dropped the motorcycle idea for now. They wouldn’t understand anyway; she needed to feel the freedom and the wind in her hair. She knew that riding would be like her running, an escape from the world.

That night she couldn’t sleep. Walking out of her room, she made her way to the back deck, sitting in a chair with a blanket around her. She looked at the stars, and the full moon high above, and wondered if things would get better.

The headache came, and this time she didn’t fight it. Blackness came, but her body kept moving. She stood up, dropping the blanket to the redwood, then pulled off her shirt and pushed down her sleeping pants and underwear. A crunching noise filled the air, and moments later a rust-colored wolf stood on in her place. The shewolf trotted down the stairs and took off across the back yard, entering the greenspace left between the widely spaced housing.

Morning came, and Dawn knocked on her daughter’s room. Hearing no answer, she poked her head in and saw the room was dark and the bed was empty. Moving to the kitchen and not seeing her there, she joined Mark at the table. He was dressed for work already in his State Trooper uniform and having a cup of coffee while reading the paper. “Where’s Treasure,” she asked.

“I thought she was sleeping.” Dawn searched the house and didn’t find her; she was heading back to the kitchen when she heard her husband yell “Fuck” and the sliding door open. She ran in, taking note of the discarded clothing outside. Mark was running across the back yard, and then she froze as she saw where he was headed.

A naked Treasure was walking back towards them, her body cut and bleeding from the brush. Her father picked her up and carried her back inside. “Is she all right?”

“She’s freezing,” he said. “Run a bath for her, we’ve got to warm her up and clean these scratches.”

Thirty minutes later, she was tucked into bed. The scratches were nothing, but her feet were in rough shape.

She didn’t remember a thing after one in the morning, she didn’t know why she had blood on her face and in her mouth, or why she woke up almost a mile from home in the woods. Dawn went to call the doctor and get an emergency appointment.

The episodes were back, and that scared them all.

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