Birthdays of a Princess Read Online Free PDF Page A

purpose.
    “Leave me alone. I told you already, I don’t remember a thing.”
    He tries a different angle. “Nothing? You know who you are, don’t
you?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Tell me about your childhood. Surely you’ll remember where you grew
up. Let’s talk about that.”
    “Talking is not for me, it is too unstructured.” Will he understand
that? I can’t drag fragments of memories to the surface and explain them at the
same time. Writing them down seems to help me get them in order. When I hold
onto a pencil, it seems much less threatening to follow a sequence of thoughts.
    So I cross my arms, press my lips together and watch his reaction.
    With a casual shrug of his shoulder, he closes his own empty
notebook.
    “I’m sorry then. You leave me with no choice. My assessment will
state that you are unwilling to cooperate. I will recommend that you should be
remanded until a more comprehensive assessment establishes your mental state
and until the police have been able to complete their investigation. I’ll
forward my recommendations to the court in the next few days. This means bail
is out of the question for the time being.”
    Hallelujah. I will not be sent back to my mom.
    “It’s over,” he says. “You played your card, and you wasted it.”
     
    After the interview, they take me back to the prison part of the
complex.
    I have to surrender my green sweat suit and am given a purple
combination. Can you believe this, purple , the color I hate even more
than pink—then they dump me in a cell block they call Living Unit. Again, can
you believe this? A living cell! Is that the opposite of dead cell?
    According to the instruction booklet they gave me—together with a
hygiene pack (toothbrush, toothpaste, soap) and one set of bedding—there are
many Living Units in the prison. For security reasons each unit is isolated
from the others. I will have to share my Living Unit with up to seven other
girls.
    Lucky for me, I’m the only inmate, oops, resident, in this
particular Living Unit for the time being, due to the current low adolescent
crime level in the Province. They tell me this might change any day, and I hope
my luck will hold indefinitely. I can’t stand other girls around me. If another
Living Unit resident-inmate does arrive, and they pair her with me, I’ll make
sure I’ll be locked into solitary faster than the speed of light.
    My cell is similar to the one in the medical assessment ward, except
for one rather disgusting element. Next to my bunk bed is a stainless steel
toilet. The door has a narrow glass window inserted for the guard to peek
through it. There is no way I can cover it. I own nothing. That’s why, I guess,
there is no wardrobe in here. I have a small desk with a chair in front, and
there is a window between the bed and the desk. I can actually look through the
metal bars if I stretch my neck. The outside is segmented into neat squares.
    Lying on my bunk bed, I study my rights and responsibilities in the
instruction booklet. I am a Level 1, which means, no privileges. For me, it’s
lights out at 8.30 pm every night.
    A very faint Vancouver night shines into my cell. Thank you, city
lights. I can’t sleep yet, it’s too early. A conversation forms in the dark,
and as much as I try, I can’t stop asking questions and giving answers. It’s a
vicious circle, a merry-go-round of nonsense.
    To appease my carousel mind, I take my journal and scribble along in
the semi-dark.
     
    Birthday One
    Okay, I’m not trying to fool you again. I know that you know by now
that I wouldn’t remember that particular birthday either. But according to
Gracie, this birthday number one was an important one. It was the day my mom
turned around.
    You see, until then, she’d been deeply depressed, which is
understandable for several reasons. Her husband didn’t leave her any money (first
reason) because he hadn’t really been her husband. In all the excitement of
their youthful passion, this formality