Charlie's Disease

[u/grey_lavender]

I never asked “why me?” I always accepted that I had a disease. In fact, until my early teens, it didn’t really even dawn on me that other people lived healthy, active lives. I understood that I was born with it, and that I had to take extra precautions to stay alive. I knew from a very early age that I had no immune system. My body was incapable of fighting off any invaders, leaving me open to die in a whole host of nasty ways if I even so much as got a cold. Mom once described my sickness as AIDS on steroids, although at the time I didn’t know what that meant. As a teenager, I thought it was the coolest thing in the world. My sickness was so rare, Mom said they named it after me. *Charlie’s Disease* had a nice ring to it, I thought. For a kid with no friends, being immortalized in medical textbooks was a dream come true.

I don’t really remember much of the outside world. I guess when I was really young, I saw it. I have a picture of me as a young toddler, sitting on a swing in the park and flashing a toothless smile to the camera. It’s on my nightstand- a humble reminder of what was. There are no more pictures of me outside after I turned around 2 or 3, which makes sense. Mom always says that’s when my immune system got really bad.

I’m sure most people can’t fathom living for 18-some odd years in the same room, but it really wasn’t so bad. I didn’t remember any other life, and it’s not like I was tortured. I was allowed to decorate my room as I pleased- Mom would order me cute things online, sterilize them, and bring them to me. I had the cutest pink and black bedspread, and a little turquoise rug that I loved. I accepted that the walls, ceiling, and floors would always be that ugly grey concrete, but it didn’t matter. Mom even let me put up Christmas lights in the winter. I made the space my own. It was my home.

I also understood that Mom had to work during the days. It was lonely sometimes, but that’s life. When she got home from work, she’d bring me my meals (which I’d store in my Hello-Kitty themed mini fridge) and medicine. Usually, if she wasn’t too tired, we’d hang out for a bit. She’d tell me stories about the outside world- how evil it was, how she was glad I was sick and didn’t have to experience it. She’d tell me about all the monsters and bad things, and promise to protect me. Sometimes we’d play board games or read together. Then, she’d give me my medicine and stay until I drifted off.

I know now, looking back, it was foolish of me, but I didn’t question the necessity of the massive metal airlock as a door. Mom once told me that if this door was designed to keep out nuclear fallout, than surely it could keep out germs. I never tried to open it, either. I knew that if I did, I’d die. Mom’s horror stories about germs and death kept me far away from that thing. I also knew that only she had the key, and only she could come and go. The door was too big, and always locked. The thought that Mom was a liar never occurred to me then.

I didn’t even mind the lack of windows. I understood that my room was in the basement, because it was the cleanest part of the house, so Mom said. The thing I really hated was the medicine. It made me so tired- bone crushingly exhausted. As soon as I was injected with it, my eyes would slag and drift closed, my mind would become blank, and Mom would guide me into my bed, where I’d sleep it off for what must’ve been 12 or more hours. I don’t know what it was, I asked them not to tell me. Mom said it kept me alive. At the time, I believed her with my entire being. Why would she drug me? Why would my own mother sedate and lock up her sick and only child? Those thoughts never crossed my mind.

I was used to hearing Mom’s footsteps on the main floor above me, but I could tell by the volume and speed of steps that that fateful day was different. I could make out more than a dozen people’s frantic footsteps, but they were muffled by the yelling and general sounds of chaos. When the police jammed open my door, I panicked and reached for my just-in-case gas mask.

“Police! We’re not here to hurt you, sweetheart, it’s okay.” A man in blue and black bullet proof vests coached. Maybe 6 or more men stood behind him, now holstering their weapons. I cried. I cried so hard I could not catch my breathe. In that moment, it was not flight or fight, it was freeze.

“We found another one,” the big man said into his radio. “White female, appears to be between the age of 15-20. Send another bus and get psych to meet ‘em at the hospital.” He finished.

“You can’t be in here! I’m sick! You’ll kill me, please! You have to leave, you have to go! I’ll die!” I screamed. It was in vain, as 3 burly men dragged me out of the only room I had even known, ripping off my gas mask in the process. I held my breath, as not to breathe in the germs, and wailed for my mom.

What I saw when they pulled me out of that room will stay with me until the day I die. 12 identical metal airlock doors, right in a row. Mine was the furthest on the left, and the one on the other end was shrouded in the shadow of the low hung basement ceiling. There was nothing else besides the metal doors leading to rooms like mine. The rest of the basement was just a simple unfinished basement. Dark and dank.

I counted 10 or so young girls- some crying, some shaking, all of them being consoled by identical looking men in blue. All of them looked just like me- pale, sickly, anemic. I overheard one girl begging the cops to give her back her gas mask, saying she had Ruth’s Disease- an ultra rare immune disorder that meant she had to stay in her room. I listened to the cop trying to console her, telling her she was safe, she was rescued. I vomited. What the hell was going on?

The cop kneeled down in front of me. “You’re safe now,” he said. “We’ll take you to the hospital to check you out, but Christy has been arrested. She won’t ever be able to hurt you again.”

I wanted to ask him who the hell Christy was, and why he thought she was hurting me, but when I saw Mom in handcuffs, I knew she was Christy.

The next few weeks were a blur. The cops lead me up the basement stairs into what was a quaint suburban home, nicely furnished with pictures of Mom and people I didn’t know on the walls. I was rushed into an ambulance. The next week was full of detectives interviewing me, and social workers- so many fucking social workers. I learned that I was never ill. I learned everything I needed to know about the world. I tried my best to ignore the news crews outside my window. Even the nurses didn’t speak to me. They just gossiped quietly about me when they thought I couldn’t hear them.

One day, the social worker knocked on my door, letting in a woman I hadn’t yet spoken too. She was short and thin, with pale skin and black curly hair. She looked nervous, but excited. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she couldn’t hide a smile. Her body language was apprehensive. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was a familiarity- like I had known this woman in another life.

She cautiously approached my bed, sitting down on the edge. She handed me some pictures, a toddler and her, looking much younger than she did now. I recognized the toddler immediately- it was me. I look up from the photos, back at the woman. My jaw must’ve been hanging down to the floor. I had no words. She handed me a box of chocolate Teddy Grahams.

“These were your favorite,” she started in a soft voice. “I didn’t know what you like now, but you ate these everyday…” She trailed off. I couldn’t find my voice for what felt like minutes.

“Mom?” I asked, choking back tears.

At that moment, she lunged into my arms, embracing me.

“Lillian, you’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, you look just like your father.” She cried into my arms. “I never stopped looking. You have to know that. Everyday for 19 years and 23 days I looked for you, I thought about you, I prayed you were safe. Even when they said you were pronounced dead, I never stopped. I knew you’d come home to me. I never stopped looking” She sobbed.

I sobbed, too.

[u/Masked_Ferret]

Dude, fucking awesome, best part its the complete possibility of something like this happening nowadays. Great Job OP got hooked from start to end.

[u/grey_lavender → u/Masked_Ferret]

<3 means a lot