Demetrius Porter – the baby.

This blog is not edited.

A Year Old

Demetrius turned on his stomach and slid down the stairs. Any other time, a child would probably laugh at the makeshift slide, but his face was stone as he found his way downstairs. He stood to his feet and walked over to his big brother Vant who was sitting on the couch, covered up while watching TV.

“Hey Demetrius,” Vant lifted his head to speak to his baby brother but didn’t receive a reply. He just stood there staring at him. He was kind of used to him being that way. He was an angry baby. An odd baby.

The TV was on Rocket Power so after not getting a response, Vant simply went back to watching the show. Demetrius followed his line of sight and then back to his brother who sat comfortably snugged under a rugrats throw blanket. He rubbed his tired red eyes then scratched his hair.

Demetrius’ little head was spinning as he stood there. In his one-year-old body he didn’t know what the warmness was nor what the pounding inside of his head meant. It was simply extremely uncomfortable, and he couldn’t possibly express how he was feeling, however, he could see.

With his one-year-old eyes, he could see he wanted to be comforted like Vant was getting in the moment. That blanket looked to be doing the job, so he wanted it.

Stomping over, Demetrius grabbed the end of the blanket and pulled. Not paying him much attention, Vant just grabbed it back, putting over himself once more until he felt the tug-of-war his little brother was trying to ensue over a blanket, he had first.

“Let it go, Demetrius.”

“NO!” he stomped his little foot. “Mine!” he continued to pull.

“I had it first, so let it go,” Vant kept a grip on the end. He used his other hand to reach for another blanket that was near and held it out. “Here, take this one.”

Demetrius snatched it from him and threw it to the floor. “Me have!” he shouted, still trying to take Vant’s blanket. He was breathing heavily like a bull. As his tugs for a one-year-old baby seemed to have much more strength than his twelve-month body should have.

If Vant hadn’t been there himself to witness he wouldn’t have even probably believed it but his baby brother’s eyes turned extremely red and the anger on his face did not look normal even according to a five-year-old. Demetrius appeared as if he wanted to kill him.

“Let…go!” Demetrius tugged harder.

“No, I had it FIRST!” Vant pulled back and it brought Demetrius with it.

“LET GOOOOOOOO!” Demetrius shouted so loud and long his entire face shook and was now turning red as well. “Gimme!”

“No!” Vant sat all the way up. “Let it go!” he pushed his brother with his other hand and Demetrius went clean off.

“STAHHHHH!” he screamed and stomped his feet in place.

“Daddy!” Vant called out! “Stop, Demetrius!”

Hassan’s heavy footsteps quickened from above them, down the stairs, then he entered the room appearing worried until he realized the situation.

“Demetrius, calm down, come here. I’ll get you another one,” he said, gentler than he’d ever talked to anyone in his life. His baby, baby, didn’t like any raised voices or aggression. Hassan could admit that even he didn’t know what to do. His son wouldn’t even listen to him.

Hassan picked him up, having to pry the blanket from his tight tiny grip. He wrapped his son in a gentle bear hug hoping to calm him down just a little bit. He rubbed his back, feeling his small body tremble.

“It’s okay…calm down,” he spoke softer than ever. “What can Daddy get for you?”

Demetrius lifted his head and pointed at Vant’s blanket. He had a look on his face, it was more than mean. Hassan recognized it very well. His facial expression displayed malevolence.”

“Cut that shit out!” Hassan snapped, not meaning to raise his voice but he didn’t want his son staring at his own brother with such hate. A year old was all Hassan could think. Then the next thought, what would the rest of his life look like?”

“I’m not giving you my blanket, cry baby!” Vant stuck his tongue out at his little brother.

Demetrius tried to crawl down his father as if Vant weren’t bigger than him. His anger to be so young was appalling.

“You want to go with me to get Lake from school?” Hassan asked his tired looking son, trying to redirect him. Demetrius nodded his head up and down, rubbing his eyes. “Vant you comin’?”

“No, I wanna watch TV.”

“Ard…” Hassan stood at the bottom of the steps. “Mucci!” He didn’t bother with Rasheeda or Adrianna because they paid their kids no mind even when they sat in front of them.

“Hm?” she peeked over the banister. “Hi Demetrius!” she smiled. He was her favorite. When Hassan brought him home, she fell in love with the fussy mean baby. Reminded her so much of his father.

“Vant down here and Wreck upstairs sleep, I’m about to go get Lake. I’m taking him with me.”

“Ard, bye Demetrius with your cute bad ass.”

“Don’t say he bad.” Hassan didn’t like Demetrius being called any names. Especially anything associated with his son not being good. This wasn’t something he was choosing to be. Without any confirmation, he already knew the life his child was about to lead, and it pained him.

They left to get Lake from school and as soon as they turned the corner Demetrius was knocked out. While Hassan waited for Lake to be let out of school, he could take his eyes off of his son. He could vividly remember when he started feeling changes in his emotions. What his body felt like and how it affected his mind. He was a pre-teen. His son was only one. He had to do something that would help his baby boy. He couldn’t see him drown the way he was.

Even as he slept, his little face didn’t look as if it were getting any peaceful sleep. It was balled up and his eyebrows were squinched. He close eyelids moved and it only made Hassan feel as if his son got the same disturbed sleep that he did. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually had real rest, and Demetrius seemed to struggle with it too. It fucked with his heart deeply. This was his fault.

The loud bell rang and kids sprang out the double doors of the school.

Suddenly Demetrius woke up, looking around wildly and crazily. Hassan was happy he was strapped in because he would’ve cause mayhem. His eyes were redder from exhaustion. He put his hand on top of Lake’s head and patted it making him laugh. It was always as if with one look, he could read someone’s emotions.

“Thank you, Demetrius,” Lake smiled.

“What’s wrong?” Hassan asked his son and before he could get to the bottom of it. Demetrius started yelling as if to back him up. “I got—” he laughed. “I got it son.” It was extraordinary what he could register at his age.

As Hassan listened to Lake express himself and what had him feeling sad, Demetruis’ face nearly touched his as he talked. He was looking into his eyes, watching his mouth. This was something he and the psychiatrist thought was extraordinary about him and why she specifically thought he was simply an intelligent little boy because he critically analyzed at two.

“DA DA!” Demetrius screamed trying to get himself out of the seat. Lake unhooked him before Hassan knew it and his son seemed like a damn Tasmanian devil all over the car.

“Demetrius…boy! Get back in your seat.”

“NO!”

“It’s okay Daddy, I’ll hold him,” Lake said, cradling his little brother. Demetrius laid calmly against his chest while he rubbed his back. He put his thumb in his mouth, closing his eyes. Comfortable now, that he was in a set of arms he felt safe.

Two Years Old

He sat at a small table while Hassan and Demetria talked to the lady he had been seeing that asked him questions about his feelings. He didn’t fully understand everything that was being talked about, but he watched faces. Closely. He could read his mother’s distraught and anger when she looked at him. Miss Oceana never looked at Lake like that. However, his father, he seemed…sad.

“So, you mean to tell me my child is crazy?” Demetria asked.

“Ma’am we don’t refer to mentally ill individuals as crazy,” the psychiatrist informed her. “Also, I don’t want to officially diagnose him so young because with time, things can change. However, since we do know that it is hereditary on his father’s side and he is struggling in ways we can see behaviorally the likeliness that these assumptions would be true are—”

After a year of Demetrius being completely unhinged, Hassan caved and took him back to his doctor. His pediatrician referred them to a specialist who passed them on to the psychiatrist they were currently seeing, and she couldn’t believe a toddler held such blatant symptoms of mental disease. This was no case of the terrible twos. She’d never seen it this young before.

The psychiatrist peeked over behind Hassan and Demetria, and she watched Demetrius watch them. As if he actually could at some degree formulate what was being said. She couldn’t pinpoint if he was a rare case of extreme intelligence or voidness she’d never seen before which disturbed her even more. She would even go as far as linking a little bit of sociopath behavior but again, it was unheard of for such a young boy.

Again, in all of her years of practice with children, she’d never seen anything like Demetrius Porter.

From what she’d gotten from his parents, he was in a loving home. It wasn’t perfect; however, he was loved and well taken care of. She did note that bipolarism, depression and anxiety did run on his father’s side of the family which definitely could play a role in the child’s disturbing behavior, however, this young? How could that even be studied when he was still learning to put together words in a proper sentence. The boy was in pull ups for Christ sakes.

At the moment, his father was looking for treatment while his mother was pulling away because Demetrius wasn’t the child she expected. One thing she wasn’t going to do was diagnose a two-year-old with any type of mania because there was no real way to read it this young. She could help him with therapy which they were currently working on but still, something wasn’t quite connecting him to average childlike behavior. She hadn’t seen him laugh once since she took him on as a patient.

Demetrius’ eyes met his mother’s as she turned to look at him. The whole meeting he was silent at the small table. Didn’t venture to the toy second to play like most children, didn’t even get up once. He just sat there. Her own child spooked her. The look in his eyes was like he knew they were talking about him, like he could tell exactly what they were saying. It freaked her out; he made her uncomfortable. She had an uncle who was schizophrenic, and he did nothing but drive their entire family crazy. That was her view on mental illness and to her anybody that couldn’t conduct themselves by definition of normal were indeed that. To her, Demetrius acted just like her psychotic uncle.

Lately, since seeing the psychiatrist Demetrius had been wanting to get closer to her but she was hesitant. The past two years had done a number on her emotionally and although it wasn’t his fault, she didn’t like the fact that something was definitely wrong with him inside. He didn’t hold the same weight to her as Hassan’s other children. She gave him the defective son.

Nobody thought such negative things except her. Everyone else in the house catered to Demetrius the best they could, and they all loved him. He was like dealing with a mini-Hassan, so no one saw any difference and the love came pure. However, he didn’t get that same patience and nurturing from his mother.

“Isn’t there a place we can put him?”

“Bitch what?” Hassan looked at her like she was crazy. If she wasn’t pregnant, he would’ve fucked her up for asking such a stupid evil question.

After that, much of the conversation zoned out for Demetrius. He didn’t completely understand but he heard his mommy say, “put him.” He didn’t like that. At two, he did not like that.

“There are facilities for children with behavioral issues but both of you would need to agree and honestly, I don’t think that will solve anything. I believe with continued patience, therapy and this may be stepping out of my bounds, but lots of love…Demetrius can grow and be perfectly capable to live a healthy high functioning life. Again, I am not diagnosing a two-year-old with bipolar disorder, or anything else for that matter. It would be impractical of me without more observation because he’s so young, but you are welcome to get a second opinion.”

Demetrius watched his mother snatch her purse and storm out of the room. His eyes stayed on the door wanting her to come back and take him with her. He didn’t want to see his mommy cry. He wanted her to smile at him. To laugh with him the way he’d seen other mommies laugh with their little boys. He wanted her to look happy when she looked at him. Instead, she was always crying. Or staring. He never understood why.

Why was she always crying or just staring at him?

Hassan stood up and grabbed his son from trying to run after her. Demetrius always wanted her no matter what. The whole meeting he hadn’t moved until now. He had so much disrespectful shit to say to his baby momma, but he wasn’t going to make it about her simple ass. His son needed help and with or without her, he was going to get it.

“Mommy sad?”

“I don’t know man, she’ll be ard.”

“Demetrius,” the psychiatrist leaned down. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay.” That was the way he knew to answer so she wouldn’t ask him more questions about how he felt because he didn’t know. He just knew, “okay,” seemed to make her happy so that was what he said. That was what he processed at two-years-old.

Squinting, the psychiatrist smiled, on to the child. Demetrius was remarkably intelligent and unusually self-aware for his age. There was something about the way his mind worked that made her want to observe him far longer than she wanted to diagnose him. She wasn’t convinced medication was the answer, not because he didn’t struggle, but because she feared dulling a mind that seemed to experience the world with uncommon depth. What others might mistake for pathology, she suspected was, at least in part, the natural architecture of an extraordinary brain.

They spent a great deal of time with the feelings chart, helping him put words to the emotions he experienced. Demetrius was much more emotionally aware than his parents gave him credit for. At least his mother. Hassan seemed to understand far more. His feelings weren’t absent, they simply required an extraordinary amount of patience to uncover. She suspected his father was doing the best he could. With three other children at home and another on the way, it was inevitable that some things would slip through the cracks. But Demetrius deserved the time it took to truly understand him. She wanted to continue working with him before making any definitive medical decision. Two years old simply felt too young for the kind of diagnosis everyone seemed so eager to give.

“You okay man?” Hassan asked, as he carried him through the building to the parking garage. He received a nod in return. Once they were outside, Demetria stood up against the car smoking a cigarette. “Are you stupid?” he smacked it from her hand, connecting with her face some.

“I needed something!”

“Mommy…” Demetrius reached out for her, but she turned, putting her hand on the door. “Mommy!”

“Take him,” Hassan told her.”

“I don’t feel like holding him right now.”

“Don’t do this to him.” Hassan tried to give her their son and she refused.

“Mommy!”

“Hassan please open the door,” she insisted, ignoring her baby.

“Mommy!”

“NO!” she screamed at Demetrius and he jumped back in his father’s arms. His eyes went from white to red as he stared at the woman who gave birth to him. His little throat clogged and fist tightened on his father’s shirt. It felt like forever, but it was seconds before he let out a cry that gave Hassan chills. It was silent at first then downright pain stricken once his volume adjusted. That rejection from his mommy did something to him inside. It gave him a feeling he wouldn’t be able to explain at his age, but it was a feeling no less.

*******

The night before Demetrius screamed and cried while banging on the bedroom door for his mother to let him in but she refused to open it for her son. Of course, Hassan kicked it down and made her sit with him.

Their son cuddled against her, trying to get comfortable and be nurtured while she wouldn’t even wrap her arms around him. It pissed Hassan off something serious. If she wasn’t currently pregnant, she would be picking up all types of her body parts from the floor.

“You gonna stop treating him the way you do.” Hassan walked right over the shambled door on the floor. “The only one he’s calm with and you act like he got the fuckin’ plague.”

“He doesn’t do it with you either.”

“So the fuck what! He would take you over me any day!”

Once Demetrius started going to therapy, something about the way his psychiatrist soothed his mind made him crave his mother’s love. He would still have episodes and express his anger towards people violently but not Demetria. When it came to her, he was gentle, but her aggressiveness didn’t mix well with his spontaneous emotional combustions. If she’d responded to him more softly Demetrius would have calmed the same way he did in therapy, but Demetria already wrote her own son off as a bad seed.

Up until yesterday, she sometimes interacted with her child, now, she disregarded him like he wasn’t there. It didn’t matter if it was currently or when a doctor would diagnose her son officially, she knew her child was a demon reincarnated.

“Well…” she shrugged. “I don’t know what you expect me to do. If he has it, he can’t be cured he will be like that for the rest of his life.”

Demetrius didn’t understand most of the words they were saying but he could feel his mother’s chest against his face as she and Hassan argued and her heart just…it…it didn’t beat the way his father’s did when he was being held or talked about him. He could feel some sort of heat and aggressive pounding. He didn’t like it at all, but he stayed there…wanting her love, even if it came with anger.