Walsh Family Universe V2

Tuesday afternoon, Shannon made an announcement over lunch. "You have a visitor coming today. Miss Jessica from the facility. She's a play therapist."

Ash looked up from his cut-up sandwich. "What's that?"

"Someone who helps children learn to play and express themselves through play. She's going to come once a week to spend time with you." Shannon wiped his hands with a napkin. "It'll be fun! She brings lots of toys and games."

A therapist. Another professional to assess him, monitor his progress, report back to the facility on how well he was adapting.

The doorbell rang at 2:00 sharp. Shannon answered it, welcoming in a woman in her late twenties with a bright smile and a large bag slung over her shoulder.

"Hi! You must be Noam!" Miss Jessica crouched down to his level immediately. She had warm brown eyes and her hair in a ponytail. "I'm Miss Jessica. I brought some fun things to play with today."

Ash stood in the living room, wary. Miss Jessica didn't wait for a response—just started unpacking her bag onto the floor. Toy animals. A small dollhouse. Action figures. Cars. Puppets. Play food.

"Your mom's going to give us some space to play," Miss Jessica said cheerfully. "She'll be right in the kitchen if we need her, but this time is just for you and me."

Shannon retreated to the kitchen, though Ash could see her through the doorway, pretending to work on her laptop while definitely listening.

Miss Jessica settled cross-legged on the floor. "So, Noam, do any of these toys look interesting to you?"

Ash stared at the array. They were toddler toys. Preschool toys. Things designed for imaginative play, for pretending, for the kind of engagement his adult brain had no interest in.

"Not really."

"That's okay! We can just talk for a bit if you want. Get to know each other." Miss Jessica's smile didn't waver. "How are you doing? Your mom says you're settling in well."

"I'm fine."

"Just fine? Not good or great or anything?"

"Fine."

Miss Jessica nodded thoughtfully. "You know, it's okay to have feelings about big changes. Moving to a new situation can be hard, even when people are trying to help."

Ash said nothing. This was some kind of assessment, clearly. Testing his emotional state, his verbal skills, his willingness to engage.

"I notice you're not playing with any toys right now," Miss Jessica observed. "Do you play at home? With blocks or cars or anything?"

"Sometimes."

"What do you like to play with?"

"Blocks. I guess."

"Blocks are great! You can build so many things." Miss Jessica picked up a toy car. "I bet you could build a garage for this car. Want to try?"

"No."

"Okay. What if we just drive the car around for a bit?" She rolled it across the floor toward him. "Vroom vroom!"

The car stopped at Ash's feet. He stared at it.

Miss Jessica waited. Patient. Not pushing, but clearly expecting him to engage somehow.

Finally, grudgingly, Ash picked up the car. Rolled it a few inches along the floor. Stopped.

"There we go! Where's your car going?"

"Nowhere. It's just a car."

"But we can pretend it's going somewhere. Maybe to the store? Or to visit a friend?"

"It's a toy car. It doesn't go anywhere."

Miss Jessica's smile remained warm. "I know it's just a toy. But pretending is fun! When we pretend, we can make up stories and adventures. The car could be going anywhere we imagine."

Ash set the car down. "I don't want to pretend."

"That's okay. We don't have to pretend right now." Miss Jessica pulled out a puppet—a soft dog with floppy ears. She put it on her hand, made it wave at Ash. "Hi there! I'm Buddy the dog! What's your name?"

Ash stared at the puppet. At this grown woman making a stuffed dog talk in a silly voice, expecting him to respond to it like it was real.

"I know it's you talking," he said flatly.

"Well, yes, I'm making Buddy talk. But we can still play along!" The puppet bounced closer. "Buddy wants to be your friend. Do you want to pet him?"

"No."

The puppet retreated slightly. Miss Jessica's real voice returned. "Noam, I'm noticing you're being pretty resistant to playing. That's okay—I'm not going to force you. But I'm curious why. Can you tell me what's making it hard to play?"

"Because I'm not actually two years old."

The words came out before Ash could stop them. Sharper than he'd intended.

Miss Jessica's expression shifted—still warm, but more serious. "You're right. You're not. You're Noam, and you have all your adult thoughts and memories. That must make playing with toys feel strange."

Ash blinked. She'd acknowledged it. Hadn't pretended he was actually a toddler.

"But here's the thing," Miss Jessica continued gently. "Your body is two years old. And two-year-old bodies need play. Not just for fun, but for development. For learning motor skills and problem-solving and how to express feelings." She set the puppet aside. "I'm not here to make you forget who you are. I'm here to help you find ways to engage with the world in your current body."

"By playing pretend?"

"By learning that play doesn't have to be childish or demeaning. It can be a way to express yourself, to practice skills, to have experiences in a safe space." Miss Jessica picked up two animal figures—a lion and an elephant. "These are just plastic toys. But if we wanted, we could use them to act out feelings or situations. The lion could be angry, the elephant could be scared. We could explore those emotions through play."

"That sounds like therapy."

"It is therapy. Play therapy. That's exactly what I do." Miss Jessica smiled. "I help people—especially people in your unique situation—learn to engage with play in meaningful ways."

She set the animals down between them. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But I'm going to be here every week, and we're going to spend an hour together. We can sit in silence if that's what you need. Or we can talk. Or eventually, maybe, we can play."

The hour stretched out. Miss Jessica tried different approaches—offering different toys, asking gentle questions, sometimes just sitting quietly while Ash refused to engage.

Near the end, she pulled out play food. "Do you ever help your mom in the kitchen?"

"No."

"Well, we could pretend to cook something. You could show me how to make your favorite food."

"I don't have a favorite food."

"Everyone has a favorite food." Miss Jessica arranged plastic vegetables on a tiny plastic cutting board. "What did you used to like? Before?"

Before. When he was Ash. When he had preferences and choices and a life.

"I don't remember."

It was a lie. He remembered pizza from the corner place near his apartment. Remembered cheap Chinese takeout. Remembered the things he'd eaten as an adult that had nothing to do with cut-up sandwiches and oatmeal.

But saying it felt like giving her something. Like letting her into his head.

"That's okay," Miss Jessica said. "Maybe you'll remember eventually." She started putting toys back in her bag. "Our time is almost up for today. But I'll be back next week, same time."

Shannon appeared in the doorway. "How did it go?"

"We're still getting to know each other," Miss Jessica said diplomatically. "These things take time."

After Miss Jessica left, Shannon sat Ash at his table with a snack. "She's very nice, isn't she?"

"I guess."

"Did you like playing with her toys?"

"I didn't play with her toys."

Shannon's expression showed concern. "Honey, Miss Jessica is here to help you. You need to try to engage with her."

"I don't need help playing."

"You do, actually. You need help adjusting to your new situation, and play is an important part of that." Shannon stroked his hair. "Next week, I want you to try harder. Okay?"

The following Tuesday, Miss Jessica returned with her bag of toys. This time she set up the dollhouse first thing.

"This is a family house," she explained, arranging small furniture pieces. "There's a mommy and daddy and a little boy. Want to help me set it up?"

Ash sat with his arms crossed. "No."

"What if we just arrange the furniture? You can decide where things go."

"I don't care where things go."

Miss Jessica placed the furniture herself—living room, kitchen, bedroom. Then she pulled out the small family figures. "The little boy is waking up. What do you think happens next in his day?"

"He gets his diaper changed because he's a toddler."

"Okay, sure. And after that?"

"He eats breakfast that someone else makes. Then he plays with toys he didn't choose. Then he takes a nap when he's told to." Ash's voice was flat, reciting his routine. "Then more playing. Then dinner. Then bath. Then bed."

"That sounds like a pretty structured day," Miss Jessica observed. "How does the little boy feel about that structure?"

"He hates it."

"Why does he hate it?"

"Because he didn't choose any of it. Because he has no control. Because everyone makes decisions for him."

Miss Jessica moved the little boy figure through the dollhouse. "But the mommy and daddy love him. They're trying to take care of him."

"That doesn't make it better."

"No, I guess it doesn't." Miss Jessica set the figure down. "What would make it better? For the little boy?"

Ash stared at the dollhouse. At the perfect little family in their perfect little house. "Nothing. Nothing can make it better."

"That's a hard feeling. Hopelessness." Miss Jessica's voice was gentle. "But even in hard situations, sometimes there are small things that help. Small pleasures or comforts."

Patrick tossing him in the air. Chocolate melting on his tongue. The squeeze of the rubber duck.

Ash pushed the thought away. "Not really."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Miss Jessica pulled out the puppets again—the dog and a cat this time.

"I'm going to tell a story," she said. "You don't have to participate, just listen."

She put on both puppets and started acting out a simple tale. The dog and cat were friends. The dog had to move to a new house and was sad about leaving. The cat came to visit and they played together, and the dog felt a little better.

It was simplistic. Obvious metaphor. Exactly the kind of therapeutic storytelling designed for actual children processing change.

But Ash found himself watching despite his resistance. The puppets moved expressively. Miss Jessica did different voices. The story had a gentle rhythm to it.

When it ended, Miss Jessica looked at him. "What did you think?"

"It was okay."

"Just okay?"

"The dog was stupid for feeling better just because his friend visited. A visit doesn't change anything."

"Maybe not. But it might make the hard things a little more bearable." Miss Jessica removed the puppets. "What makes hard things bearable for you, Noam?"

Nothing, Ash wanted to say. But that wasn't quite true anymore, was it?

"I don't know."

"That's an honest answer. Better than 'nothing.'" Miss Jessica started packing up. "See you next week."

The third week, Miss Jessica brought something different—a large pad of paper and washable markers.

"We're going to draw today," she announced. "Not coloring books—just free drawing. Whatever you want."

Ash looked at the blank paper. At the markers in their bright colors. "I don't want to draw."

"Why not?"

Because he'd been an artist. Because he'd created real art with charcoal and purpose and vision. Because drawing with washable markers designed for toddlers felt like a mockery of everything he'd been.

"Just don't."

"Okay. I'll draw then. You can watch." Miss Jessica picked up a blue marker and started drawing. A simple stick figure. Then a house. A sun. A tree. "This is my house. That's me. See?"

She continued drawing, narrating as she went. Building a little scene with simple shapes and lines.

After a few minutes, Ash reached for a marker. Red. Drew a circle on the edge of her paper.

"Oh! What's that?" Miss Jessica asked.

"Just a circle."

"Can I add to it?" Without waiting for permission, she drew a smile inside the circle. Two dots for eyes. "Now it's a happy face! Want to make another one?"

Ash drew another circle. Miss Jessica turned it into a sad face.

They went back and forth—Ash drawing basic shapes, Miss Jessica transforming them into simple characters or objects. Eventually Ash started drawing the transformations himself. Circle becomes a sun. Rectangle becomes a building. Triangle becomes a tree.

"Look at that! You're creating a whole world," Miss Jessica said. "What's happening in this world?"

"Nothing. They're just shapes."

"But they could be more than shapes if we wanted. That sun could be shining on that building. That tree could be growing next to the house."

"That's stupid."

"Maybe. But it's also kind of fun, isn't it? Making something out of nothing?"

Ash looked at the paper. At the simple drawings that had emerged from their back-and-forth. It wasn't art. Not remotely. But it was creation of a sort. Making marks, forming images, building something that hadn't existed before.

His hands remembered creation, even if it was just washable markers on paper.

"I guess," he admitted quietly.

"Next week, we can draw more if you want. Or try something else. Whatever you're comfortable with." Miss Jessica capped the markers. "You did really good work today."

After she left, Shannon looked at the drawing paper. "Did you make this with Miss Jessica?"

"She made most of it."

"But you drew too! I can tell. This is wonderful, honey." Shannon took a picture of it. "I'm so proud of you for trying."

The fourth week, Miss Jessica brought play dough. "We're going to make things. Whatever you want."

Ash stared at the colorful containers. He'd used play dough at his table before—Shannon had given it to him for busy work. But he'd just made balls and snakes, mindless shapes.

"What if I don't want to make anything?"

"Then we can just squish it. Sometimes squishing is fun too." Miss Jessica opened a container and pulled out a lump of blue play dough. Started kneading it in her hands. "This is nice, right? The texture?"

It was nice. Ash knew it was nice—his hands had felt it before. The slightly cool, slightly sticky, perfectly malleable texture.

He took some red play dough. Rolled it into a ball. Flattened it. Rolled it again.

"What are you making?" Miss Jessica asked.

"Nothing."

"It doesn't have to be nothing. It can just be shapes. Or it can be something if you decide you want it to be."

Ash formed the play dough into a rough snake shape. Then coiled it. Made it look vaguely like a snail.

"A snail!" Miss Jessica said. "That's creative. What's his name?"

"He doesn't have a name. It's just play dough."

"But we can give him a name. We can make up a whole story about him if we want."

"Why would we want to?"

"Because that's what play is. Making up stories. Using imagination. Letting yourself be creative without worrying about whether it's perfect or makes sense." Miss Jessica formed her blue play dough into a rough flower shape. "This is Sally the flower. She lives in a garden. Maybe your snail comes to visit her?"

Ash looked at his play dough snail. At Miss Jessica's flower. At the invitation to engage in pretend play like an actual child.

He moved the snail closer to the flower.

"The snail is going to visit," he said flatly.

"Wonderful! What does the snail say to Sally?"

"...Hi."

"Hi, Mr. Snail!" Miss Jessica made her flower voice enthusiastic. "Want to be friends?"

This was ridiculous. They were two adults making play dough objects talk to each other. This was exactly the kind of infantilizing therapeutic exercise he'd been dreading.

But his hands were forming another shape now. A green worm. And somehow, without quite deciding to, Ash was creating a scene. The snail and flower and worm, simple figures in a simple play dough world.

"The worm lives here too," he heard himself say.

"What's the worm's name?"

"I don't know. Just worm."

"Hi, Just Worm!" Miss Jessica made the flower wave.

Despite himself, Ash felt his mouth quirk slightly. Not quite a smile, but close.

They spent the rest of the session making simple figures and moving them around, creating loose narratives that didn't quite make sense but didn't have to. It was low-stakes creation. Meaningless play.

But Ash's hands remembered creation. And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.

By the fifth week, Ash didn't resist when Miss Jessica arrived. Didn't refuse to engage immediately. Just sat down with her and waited to see what she'd brought.

This time it was action figures. Superheroes and dinosaurs and various characters meant for imaginative play.

"I thought we could act out a story," Miss Jessica said. "You pick a character, I'll pick one, and we'll see what happens."

Ash picked a T-Rex. Miss Jessica picked a superhero.

"Roar!" Ash made the T-Rex stomp across the floor. Not because he particularly wanted to, but because that's what came naturally. That's what the toy suggested.

"Oh no! A dinosaur!" Miss Jessica's superhero flew toward it. "I'll save the day!"

They played. Actually played. Moving figures around, making sound effects, creating a loose story about dinosaurs and heroes and adventures. It was silly and simple and exactly the kind of thing toddlers did.

But somewhere in the middle of it, Ash realized he wasn't hating it.

His hands knew how to move the toys. His brain supplied the sound effects automatically. The imaginative play his adult mind resisted was somehow easier in his toddler body, his toddler brain that wanted to engage this way.

"You're really good at this," Miss Jessica observed near the end. "You create interesting stories."

"They're stupid stories."

"But you're engaging. That's huge progress from week one." She started packing up. "Next week, maybe we can try dress-up. I'll bring some costumes."

After she left, Shannon hugged Ash tight. "Miss Jessica says you're doing wonderfully in play therapy. She's so impressed with your progress."

Progress. Learning to play pretend like a toddler. Learning to engage with toys and stories and imaginative play.

Learning to be the child they wanted him to be.

That night, lying in the crib, Ash thought about the T-Rex in his hands. The roar he'd made. The story that had emerged without him quite choosing it.

Play therapy wasn't making him accept his situation. Wasn't making him believe this was okay.

But it was teaching him how to exist in it. How to engage with his toddler body's capabilities and needs. How to find expression and creativity in the limited spaces available to him.

Five thousand seven hundred and seventy-two days to go.

And somewhere in those days, there would be play dough and dinosaurs and washable markers.

Simple creation. Childish play.

Ways to be creative without being Ash.

Ways to exist without surrendering.

Or maybe—and this was the frightening thought—ways to surrender so gradually he wouldn't notice until it was complete.

Until playing with dinosaurs felt natural instead of performative.

Until pretend was genuine instead of forced.

Until Noam wasn't a role he played but simply who he was.

Miss Jessica would be back next week.

And despite everything, Ash realized he was curious what she'd bring.

What game they'd play.

What small piece of creativity he might access through toddler toys and therapeutic play.

The curiosity felt like betrayal.

But it was there anyway.

Growing stronger each week.

Making him wonder if maybe—just maybe—five thousand days of this would leave anything of Ash behind at all.