Seeing Hanna

Seeing Hanna1

Hanna is hard to deal with. I know, because I’m her brother. Her younger brother. Hanna has something wrong with her brain, dad told me once that it was called retardation or something–and her brain was at the level of a six-year-old girl.2

Sometimes she gets angry and throws stuff, one day she smashed in the television with a ceramic elephant. It made dad go irate. I guess that’s part of the reason he tried to get a nanny, but as I said–Hanna is a hand full, and so most nannies quit within a week.3

The first day Miss Lambton came in for work, Hanna was in one of her fits. Dad told Miss Lambton how to get around the house and what to watch for in Hanna. I sighed and looked over at my sister, who was bitting at the head of a stuffed giraffe. 4

“Hanna, no.” I said bluntly–as that’s the way you have to talk to Hanna–and grabbed the giraffe. “No biting.” I said again, reinforcing the statement. Hanna shrieked and pawed for the animal, clawing at my hands. Miss Lambton tried to listen to dad, but it was obvious that the scene was gaining most of her attention.5

“Hanna. Stop it.” I said, louder, sterner. Hanna sighed dejectedly, as if she almost understood, but I knew she didn’t really–she was just tired and wanted to give up. Either way, it didn’t matter, the giraffe would live another day regardless.6

Dad walked passed and nodded at me, in a gesture of love I suppose. Whatever. Miss Lambton walked over to me and smiled. “Hello, I’m Miss Lambton. And I take it you’re Devon, correct?” She said happily, but without the usual tone adults used when speaking with children–I nodded. Miss Lambton turned and faced Hanna, who was now on all fours and moaning like some dying animal. 7

“Hello there Hanna.” Miss Lambton said as she dropped down to her knees, her face a foot or so above Hanna’s head. Hanna looked up, her eyes staring up at the strange woman. “My name’s Miss Lambton.” Miss Lambton said like she was talking to a normal person.8

Hanna opened her mouth as if to speak, and then brought her hand up and slapped Miss Lambton square in the face.9

“Hanna!” I yelled, running up to her. “No Hitting!” I yelled, trying to pull Hanna away from Miss Lambton, this caused Hanna to begin shrieking in an inhuman manner.10

“Just a moment.” Miss Lambton said, as I let go of Hanna. “Hanna . . . ” She began. “What do you want?” She asked, as if Hanna understood. She can’t understand one word, let alone a sentence. I thought to myself.11

Hanna shrieked again, causing Miss Lambton to shake her head. “Devon . . . Your father told me Hanna had the mentality of a six-year-old . . . ” She said over the shrieks.12

I nodded. “Yes.” I said. “She can’t read or write, or talk.” I paused. “You probably noticed, but she wears diapers too.”13

Miss Lambton raised an eyebrow at this. “I’m sorry . . . I just don’t understand.” I didn’t expect her to, no one else did, but instead of giving up she tried talking to Hanna again. “Is there something you want, Hanna?” She asked. Hanna looked up at Miss Lambton, but then smacked at her legs like an animal.14

“It’s no use.” I said. “She doesn’t understand words either.”15

Miss Lambton shook her head. “Wether she functions at the level of a six-year-old or not–she should still be able to speak, use the restroom, and understand what people say. Are you sure she isn’t deaf?” At this, Hanna picked up the giraffe again and began to rip at its legs.16

“I...don’t really know.” I admitted. “I just know that she’s like a little kid. She’s sixteen–three years older than me–but they say her brain is like a six-year old’s.”17

Miss Lambton took the giraffe from Hanna. “Don’t hurt him.” She said. “Play nicely.” She added, as if Hanna would understand, she then gave the animal back to her. “She isn’t deaf . . . ” Miss Lambton said. “She’s not deaf or mute–by the sound of her screaming.” She paused. “Do you know what I’m saying, Hanna?” she asked. Hanna looked away, but Miss Lambton traced her eyes with her own.18

“Hanna.” She said sternly. Hanna turned around and faced Miss Lambton, looking up at her–this time without any violence. It was odd, because Hanna was very violent and loud around strangers–and never responded to them like that. In fact, she didn’t respond to her name often at all–even to me.19

“You’re not as dumb as they think, now are you?” She asked, perhaps to herself, she laughed a bit. “No. You may think you’re six years old, but I believe you’ve been allowed to deteriorate into an infant.”20

“What are you talking about? We take good care of Hanna!” I yelled, taking offense at where Miss Lambton was going. Perhaps she was upset, trying to blame it on us, on me. “Hanna’s brain is like a six-year old’s, she is dumb, she always will be!”21

Miss Lambton stood up. “Yes.” She said. “She will always be dumb, if you keep an attitude like that. Hanna may have the brain of a six-year-old, but . . . I think she should at least be able to act like a six-year-old instead of like a baby. She isn’t quite as dumb as you say she is, and besides that–I can tell that she wants to learn.”22

I was mad. This woman had only been here for a few hours–what did she know!? Nothing. Not even close to what I knew, because I was her brother, I knew Hanna. I lived with Hanna. I stood there and brooded with anger as Hanna began to sink her teeth back into the neck of the giraffe. 23

“How can you know that?” I said, trying to remain calm. “You haven’t raised Hanna.  You don’t know what she’s like. This is very mild compared to what she usually is like!”24

“I’m not blaming anyone.” Miss Lambton said, thinking to herself. “It’s not anyone’s fault I guess . . . But I wonder . . . why your sister is allowed to act like a two-year old–and you are forced to act like you’re twenty.” She said, obviously blaming my father in her own mind.25

Miss Lambton turned and dropped back to her knees, she ripped the giraffe from Hanna and put it aside. “You didn’t answer me.” I said, still upset. “How can you just drop in here, and say all this stuff? How can you tell what Hanna wants, what she needs!?”26

Miss Lambton sighed, picking up the thin body of my ‘older’ sister in her arms and twisting her to face me. “Look at those.” She said. “Her eyes.”27

I paused. What is she talking about!? I thought, I was so upset, but I looked down in spite of myself. Down at her face, into Hanna’s eyes.28

She had deep blue eyes, with a hint of green. The light had caught in them, allowing them to shine with a sharpness I hadn’t seen before. Hanna blinked, and I looked up at Miss Lambton. “You see . . . those aren’t the eyes of a two-year-old. Those aren’t the eyes of some idiot who cannot learn . . . ” She turned Hanna toward herself, and Hanna narrowed her eyes at the pressure of Miss Lambton’s arms. “Those are the eyes of a young girl.” She said, ending a thought in her own mind.29

I stood there and watched as Hanna opened her arms. Hanna had hugged people before, usually me or dad–and usually only when she was hurt or crying. But now, Hanna was opening her arms to hug this nanny, this woman whom she hardly knew. Whom I hardly knew. 30

It wasn’t because Hanna was hurt. I thought. It was because she understood. She understood what Miss Lambton was saying, and she tried to show it in the only way she could. A real, conscious embrace.31

I glanced at Hanna as she turned her head around to face me. Her arms clinging around the strange woman’s neck. I looked back into her blue eyes, and for the first time, I felt like I had a sister.32