She Was The Challenge He'd Been Waiting For.

Isabella Randall was unique, to put it lightly. She was shy, and her parents overly protective of her. She was as introverted as could be, spending most of her time locked up in her room reading rather than experiencing the world outside. She lived in a childlike state, full of wonder, though the mystical nature should have ceased years before. It was as if Peter Pan and his lost boys rather than her own parents raised her.

Sadness wasn’t an emotion she allowed herself to feel. It was easier to not acknowledge it, to not feel rather than to feel sad. She was inquisitive and thoughtful, her mind overworking itself. She had this overactive mind on top of her overactive imagination. She was quite odd, and her parents were incredibly concerned. Since she was a child, she was this way, and as she got older, though her parents hoped it would change, it never did.

Isabella tended to keep to herself, even in school. She was always quiet, only speaking when spoken to, and spending almost all of her time in the library when she wasn’t in class. She didn’t care much for recess. She didn’t want to play house or with dolls. She didn’t want to pretend to be a princess… all she wanted to do was read. In fact, her parents couldn’t understand why she didn’t like the things that other little girls like. The only thing that she did take a liking to was Disney.

Her favorite character soon became Minnie Mouse, and her room was decorated as so. She slept with a stuffed Minnie and a Minnie nightlight. Without it, she could not sleep. Even with it, her sleep schedule was not normal, only lasting a couple hours before she was awake. She would lay in bed with a book or watching classic romance movies until the rest of the household woke up. By staying awake, the nightmares couldn’t get to her. She was protected in some way with open eyes. Something about Isabella that many didn’t understand was her fear of the dark. Even as she grew older, that fear didn’t leave.

Her only true friend was her older brother, Travis. He was the only one who seemed to understand her. He didn’t judge her. Travis always seemed to know what to do in any situation. He always knew that meeting new people was difficult for Isabella, and would divert the attention from her onto himself. He was much more outgoing, had plenty more friends. Still he adored his younger sister, seeing things in her that no one else took the time to. He didn’t mind that she clung to him in an unsure state much of the time. Or how she needed to be reminded more than once to do things that normal people wouldn’t need to be reminded once for. Many a time when their parents left, Isabella would stay put until either they came back or Travis was by her side. She didn’t like talking to strangers and if Travis hadn’t diverted the attention already, she would stare at him until he did.

Her parents had her tested. They didn’t understand what was wrong with her. Mrs. Randall was a psychiatrist, so she was able to use her connections to get Isabella proper testing with neurologists and doctors. Just as she didn’t like associating with strangers, these doctors were no better. They asked too many questions, often intrusive. They gave her lots of papers to fill out. Tests that she didn’t understand. They watched her, judged her, and made her uncomfortable, but her parents had asked her to cooperate, so she did.

The tests came back just as Mrs. Randall had assumed, Isabella had Asperser’s Syndrome. Deciding that she would take her own daughter as a client, she began sessions with the child. She did thorough research to decide how to help. But Isabella didn’t totally understand what was happening, choosing to play with the hem of her skirt or keep her eyes on something on the ground rather than engaging in conversation.
But the only person Isabella was really sure she could talk to was her older brother.

They were as close as siblings could be, and she worshipped the ground that Travis walked on. Likewise, Travis understood that Isabella was different than other people and that she required extra attention. If he was jealous, he never let on. But everything changed later that year. No one understood that Travis really had been unhappy. That Isabella was his favorite person because she made things feel so much simpler than they were. He hadn’t been jealous of her, but he had needed some attention that her parents had given solely to her.

He was lost and unsure of things. So much had happened for him… he caught his girlfriend cheating on him, the football team lost the championship game, his grades were slipping… No one was there for him and even as Isabella tried, she didn’t seem to understand the severity of it. He killed himself, swallowing a whole bottle of pills. There was no note or explanation, just his lifeless body.

Isabella had gone upstairs to ask him to come play with her when she found him. She didn’t understand why he wasn’t moving, why he wouldn’t answer to her calls. She sat with him for a while, wondering when he’d wake up when her parents found them. The two of them were devastated. Still, for whatever reason, Isabella couldn’t understand that Travis was dead. That he wasn’t coming back. She didn't understand why they were burying him in the ground. She didn't understand why she was so alone. The only conclusion that she could come to was that it was her fault.

Hoping it would help all of them, Mr. Randall moved the three from Philadelphia to Baltimore. The outskirts of the capital city in a place called Timonium. Mrs. Randall was able to continue her job, accepting new patients while Mr. Randall joined a law office in the city. Still, they decided that it would be best for Isabella to keep her home and homeschool her.

She didn’t understand her parents decision to move. She wasn’t totally certain why Travis wasn’t with them. How now he was a forgotten piece of her childhood. She did not know of her parents worrying. She was happy. She was happy without anyone else because she could depend on herself. But what if someone wanted to be let in? What if someone wanted to be a part of her life. The girl hadn’t really thought about it. She was content enough in keeping to herself, so it didn’t bother her that she wasn’t going to a real school. She loved her parents and thought that they were the smartest people she knew, so if they chose to impart their wisdom on her; she should be all ears.

If there was one thing about this new house that Isabella loved, it was the swingset it came with. Perhaps she was a little old to appreciate such, but she did. Their old house had a swingset similar and being able to relax on a swing made her happy. In fact, it would make her tune out just about anything around her. She could probably spend a whole day just swinging. It didn’t take much brainpower, which allowed her mind to continue thinking about whatever she pleased. She liked people watching, though she never as much as greeted them.

Many came to her house for expensive sessions with her mother. Isabella wondered if her mother was some sort of superhero because she seemed to be able to heal so many. Isabella didn’t really understand why people came to her mother. Why did they need to talk? Couldn’t they keep everything in like she did? Couldn’t they keep a secret? She didn’t quite get that there were some things that people needed to talk to a therapist about.

One of her mother’s patients stuck out to her the most though. He was not much older than her, she knew that much. But he dressed really funny. His jeans were often too tight and clung to his thin frame. He wore t-shirts with logos she wasn’t familiar with. And his hair was longer than Travis’ had been. She didn’t understand the feelings this boy caused her. She didn’t even know his name. All she knew was that there was something about him that intrigued her. That she wanted to talk to him. To know him. But she didn’t know if she’d be able to.

Isabella was on the swing when he came out. He didn’t look happy. Isabella didn’t understand that most people who came to see her mother were indeed unhappy. Still, she didn’t like the idea that he was sad. She didn’t move from the swing, though, she didn’t know if she should say anything. Isabella felt a lot of things, she was full of empathy, and compassion, she just didn’t know how to express it. The girl ran a hand through her hair before locking her fingers on the swing, curling them tightly. Keeping a steady glance on the boy, she sat there, not swinging, just watching. He didn’t move from his spot either, hands in his hair, fixing it nervously.

“Are you upset?” She spoke, her voice soft and airy. It was a stupid question, but it was a conversation starter. She smiled softly at him as if coaxing him to answer, but not pushing. She didn’t want to push him like her mother often pushed her in their “sessions.” It was hard to talk about things for her, and she could imagine this boy probably didn’t want to talk about whatever he spoke to her mother about.

“You noticed?” He asked softly, bringing his hands to his sides and accompanying her on the swings. “Yeah… I’m sad.”

“You shouldn’t be. Life’s about happy things.”

He smiled softly. “What’s your name?”

“Isabella.” The girl answered quietly. “What’s yours?”

“Alex.”