Phoebe's Point of View

Author's Note: This is a piece I wrote from the book "The Memory Keeper's Daughter", by Kim Edwards. This book was written entirely from a third person and a first person mixed point of view of all the character's lives in the book, but the author never gave the view of a young woman in the book, Phoebe, who has Down Syndrome, so I wrote this piece about her. She was given away when she was born by her father, separated from her twin brother, Paul, and biological mother, Norah until she was 24 years old. Her father -- who was a doctor -- David, gave her to his assistant, Caroline Gill, who was instructed to take Phoebe to an institution; Caroline could not bring herself to just abandon the little baby, so she took Phoebe to another city and raised her, never telling Phoebe of the family she left behind. David was not strong enough to tell his wife that he gave their daughter away, so he tells his wife that their daughter died at birth. This secret stays hidden until David dies, two decades later. Caroline Gill then finds the strength to have the truth revealed, and this is Phoebe's view on the day she met her mother and her twin. This is my first try at writing fiction, so sorry if it is not exactly the finest piece of writing. Just for future reference, in the piece, I mention a person named Al and one named Rain. Al is Caroline's husband who she met while taking care of Phoebe. Rain is Phoebe's pet cat.

Phoebe walked outside carrying the tray of lemonade to Caroline, who was kneeling down in front of the garden, pulling out weeds that now lay strewn around her. The warmth of the sun washed down over her and she giggled; a slight breeze lifting her thin brown hair away from her face -- her body short and stout. She set the tray down on a table next to the garden and Caroline looked up at her, a smile appearing on her face, but also a worried line growing above her eyebrows. Caroline's eyes suddenly darted past Phoebe, seeing something behind her; her smile faltered, but Phoebe didn't seem to notice.

"Honey, why don't you sit down," Caroline said cheerily, but there was a nervous undertone in her voice.

Phoebe's giggle filled the air once more, ringing on through the breeze, and her voice, high and childish, yet the words somewhat slurred, answered her mother, "Yes, Mom. Do you want some lemonade?"

"Sure sweetie," Caroline answered as she sat down next to Phoebe, "why don't you pour me some, my hands are dirty from weeding the garden."

Caroline watched Phoebe as she poured the lemonade, her eyes seeing Phoebe's hands -- small and fragile -- carefully pick up the glass and smile as she succeeded in pouring the pale yellow liquid in a glass full of ice, but her heart aching as she realized what would come; Phoebe was so young and inexperienced in the world and none of it was her fault. Caroline sighed as Phoebe, content with having done the task she was told, smiled once more, her face slightly rounder and wider than a girl of twenty-four, her eyes, slanting such a slight bit upwards, that it was hardly noticeable. But it was noticed, noticed and recognized as the mental disability that had latched on to Phoebe and held her as she grew and aged on the outside; her brain still young.

Phoebe didn't seem to notice her mother's anxiousness, she was content that she was here with her mother, and the happiness of fulfilling the simple task of pouring lemonade still hung on her face. She had no way of knowing that within ten minutes, her whole life would be altered; she would not understand why the things that happened did, or for what reason they applied to her.

There was the sound of gravel popping as the red car pulled into the alley behind the yard where Phoebe and Caroline sat, and then the sound of car doors slamming, footsteps.

Caroline saw them before Phoebe, and quickly stood up and stepped in front of Phoebe's line of vision, not quite wanting Phoebe's moment of happiness to end. Phoebe tried to peer around her mother, the smile still resting on her face.

"Hello, Caroline," Phoebe heard a tentative voice of a woman speak from in front of Caroline.

"Norah, Paul," answered Caroline nervously.

"Who is it Mom?" asked Phoebe, a slight tremble in her voice.

Caroline took a deep breath, and then forced herself to smile, turning around to face Phoebe, "This woman is your mother, Phoebe, and this boy is your brother."

Phoebe's forehead scrunched in confusion, and tears formed in her eyes. Her lower lip trembled, and her face flushed with anger.

"I know this is hard to understand Phoebe," spoke the woman who had come, "but you grew inside of my stomach, and then once you were born," -- the woman breathed in deeply, as if struggling to say the words -- "your mother, Caroline, took you and raised you."

The tears that had welled up in Phoebe's eyes began to slowly slide down her face, and her high voice pierced the air, "My mother is not you. I don't have a brother."

Phoebe stepped away from her mother, feeling betrayed and confused; anger. All these feelings rushing up inside her collided, and another set of tears rolled down her rosy cheeks. Why are these mean people lying to me? Why is mom not trying to stop them? Phoebe's thoughts showed on her face and Caroline tried to step closer to her, but Phoebe backed away, shaking her head.

"No, no, no, no!" Phoebe shrieked, "Your liars! People who lie are bad people!"

Phoebe eyes looked questioningly up at Caroline as if asking her if she was right, and then she turned her gaze on Norah and Paul, who stood in front of Caroline. Norah's eyes were rimmed with tears and Paul's face was pale. Caroline's shoulders sagged and she turned towards Phoebe, pleading in her voice, and asked her to go show Paul her room while Norah and she talked. Phoebe unwillingly started towards the house, Paul following her.

"Your room is great." Paul said softly after Phoebe had led him upstairs to her room which was painted pink and had a small twin bed against one wall, a white filmy canopy top hanging over it. Caroline had decorated the room when she was little, and Phoebe had never wanted it changed. The sunlight streaming through the window captured the dust specks slowing spinning around the room, and for a moment, the room held still. Phoebe caught in the light, next to Paul, the brother she had never known; her twin.

"Thanks," murmured Phoebe, her face blushing.

"I'm sure this is really confusing to you. It's confusing for me too."

Phoebe only nodded.

"So, what's your favorite color?"

"Green. Not bright though...more like the color of grass."

"That's my favorite color too."

Phoebe smiled and then the room was silent. Phoebe looked at Paul. His hair was the same color as hers, a soft brown, but his was more full. They had the same green eyes.

"I'd really like to know you Phoebe," Paul broke the silence. His eyes cast down, barely visible through his hair hanging down over his face.

I don't understand why these people want to know me. Mom should have told them to leave. She should have told them that she is my mother; that I am her daughter. I don't want to leave Mom, especially with people that I barely know. I don't want to leave Al and Rain and my garden. I already have a family, I don't want another one. Phoebe once again only nodded.

The room went silent once more, and then footsteps were heard on the stairs and Caroline popped her head in through the door.

"Phoebe, Paul and Norah are going to leave now. Why don't you come downstairs and say good-bye?"

Paul stood, and Phoebe rose only to mumble a good-bye. She then went and sat on her bed, listening to the footsteps go back down the stairs and then out onto the front porch. She heard Norah and Caroline's voices mixing into the summer air, but she did not listen to what was being said. A few moments later, car doors closed and the sound of tires hitting gravel got softer. Phoebe sat on her bed, eyes closed, angry, hurt tears making paths down her cheeks.


Thanks for reading this if you have. Any comments on what I could change, should change, or add to this piece would be great. Again, thanks for taking the time to read this.