Book Read Free

Identical

Page 31

by Ellen Hopkins


  the binge-and-purge cycle

  that my alter and I seem to have shared.

  Speaking of bingeing, I’m starving.

  “You eat. I’ll throw it up. You’d be

  a regular oinker if not for me.”

  They weren’t really worried about

  kidney disease. Carol just used

  that as an excuse to keep me here.

  “She’s a real pal. What she’s really

  after is dissecting our psyche.”

  If I let her into my head, maybe she

  can make you frigging disappear.

  I’m sick of listening to you.

  “Well, then, you go away and let me out.

  I want to play. And I need to get high.”

  I want so much to talk to Carol.

  But I’m not even sure where to begin.

  Drug abuse. Alcohol. Bulimia…

  “Don’t forget that lovely bit about

  shaving until you slice yourself open.”

  And that’s the easy stuff. Promiscuity.

  Dissociative identity disorder. And

  the granddaddy of all—fucking Daddy.

  “More accurately, letting Daddy

  fuck you and keeping it to yourself.”

  Even if I tell her every bit of it,

  there’s no guarantee she can fix me.

  Suicide sounds better and better.

  “Yeah, but you’d have to get it right.

  Or maybe, just leave that to me.”

  What Do I Have to Live For?

  Can’t think of a single thing.

  Mom? A long-distance mother

  focused completely on herself.

  Friends? Not a single one I’ve

  allowed myself to get close to.

  School? Can’t stomach the thought

  of seeing Old Man Lawler again.

  Drama? Oh well, that’s what

  understudies are for, right?

  Boyfriend? Don’t make me

  laugh. I’d much rather cry.

  “Hey, you can’t really blame him.”

  I Can’t Blame Ian at All

  He’s solid.

  “You’re fractured.”

  He’s hopeful.

  “You’re hopeless.”

  He’s always there.

  “You’re half there.”

  He’s faithful.

  “You’re so not.”

  He’s giving.

  “You’re afraid to give.”

  He’s honest.

  “You lie all the time.”

  He’s loving.

  “You don’t know how to love.”

  But I Do Know What Love Is

  And all because of Ian.

  I’m still not sure how

  to give it, but I’ve tasted

  it. Maybe that’s enough.

  Maybe that’s more than

  some people ever get.

  Maybe I really need

  to taste it right now.

  I haven’t let myself break

  down and weep in a very

  long time. Could never see

  much use in it, really.

  Tears impress no one. But,

  oh yeah, there’s no one

  here to impress. So I go

  ahead and let tears fall.

  Rain. Storm. Flood. My

  pillow soaks with the salt

  of regret, and I rest my

  head against it, until…

  Someone’s in My Room

  I wake, certain of it. It’s early

  evening, and the room is pale

  and the soft perfume of roses

  drifts from the nightstand.

  Hey. How are you feeling?

  I think it can’t be, but when

  I turn my head, it’s Ian’s face

  I see. The tears start up again

  immediately. “Better now.”

  I should have come sooner, but…

  He stands, comes over, sits

  on the bed, gently brushes

  the moisture from my cheeks.

  “It’s okay.” He’s here now.

  No. I should have been here for you.

  He opens his arms and I drop

  into their circle. “Oh God,

  Ian, I’m so sorry. I don’t know

  what to tell you, where to begin….”

  Don’t. Not now. Just let me hold you.

  Must Be a Dream

  But if it is, I need to stay

  locked inside it forever.

  I can’t believe he’s here.

  I can’t believe he still loves

  me, but my heart says he does.

  “Oh, Ian. I love you so much.

  I’m so sorry I ever hurt you.

  If you give me time, help me

  get well and strong, I promise

  to make everything up to you.”

  He’s quiet for a long time.

  Finally he says, I don’t know

  exactly what’s wrong with you,

  or with your life. It would be

  easier to walk away, put you

  and your pain behind me. I’ve had

  days to think it over, and at first

  that’s what I decided to do.

  But I love you so much, the idea

  of life without you in it is scarier

  than trying to deal with this. I’ve

  talked with Dr. Shore, who tells me

  you’ve got a long road to recovery.

  I don’t know if we can get

  through this, but I want to try.

  Okay, One Thing to Live For

  And right now, one thing is enough.

  I have to believe we can make it.

  Without that, I have nothing at all.

  One thing to live for. One day at a time.

  It will not be easy to let him all the way in.

  But if I can open up to anyone, it’s Ian.

  Okay, maybe to Carol—Dr. Shore—first.

  Then she can show me how to let him in.

  One thing to live for. One day at a time.

  Daddy will try to stand in the way.

  So I have to push Daddy out of my way.

  To do that, I need Ian’s strength behind me.

  One thing to live for. One day at a time.

  Daddy Comes to Pick Me Up

  And all the courage I gathered overnight

  dissipates like smoke in winter wind.

  He hands me a paper bag. Clean clothes.

  The ones you have here stink to high heaven.

  Dutifully I go into the bathroom, slip into soft

  blue velour. It should feel comforting. But…

  When I emerge, Daddy is looking at Ian’s roses.

  I hope he has enough sense to stay away.

  Wrong! “Ian is the only good thing in my life.

  Don’t you dare try to keep him away from me!”

  Daddy’s stare is iron. I guess we’re lucky

  you aren’t pregnant, aren’t we?

  “Shut up! Ian and I never…Don’t you get

  that love doesn’t have to be about sex?”

  He stays in control, in case Carol is near.

  Don’t you ever tell me to shut up again.

  “Or what, Daddy? I won’t let you hurt me

  anymore. I swear to God I’ll tell everything.”

  He comes closer, lowers his voice. Go ahead.

  Your word against mine. No one will believe you.

  I will. The voice precedes a woman—

  not quite familiar—through the door.

  Daddy’s jaw drops. Mother! Dear God.

  How did…what are you doing here?

  Grandma Charlotte. Yes, I can almost

  remember her face. Only it’s thinner,

  her gray eyes clearer. And she smells

  of expensive perfume. Not whiskey.

  She draws near, reaches out one hand, but

  doesn’t touch me. Kaeleigh. How
pretty you

  are. So like your mother. Forgive my long

  absence. And, please, forgive my silence.

  Six Months

  Since my grandmother re-entered

  my life. Six months of relative

  safety. Ha-ha. Forgive the pun.

  I live with her now, in my parents’

  postcard-pretty dwelling, coiffed

  and manicured from curb to chimney.

  Like me, it’s perfect on the outside.

  But behind the Norman Rockwell facade,

  I’m slowly coming to terms with our secrets.

  That day in the hospital, Grandma

  Charlotte confessed hers: I was too

  young to be a mother, only sixteen.

  Ted was not a bad man. When I got

  pregnant, he did the right thing

  and married me. But we came from

  different places. I was a child of privilege,

  he a sweet blue-collar man. He was my

  rebellion. And when he couldn’t give

  me the life I was used to, I fell into

  addictions. Whiskey. Cigarettes. And,

  to fight my depression, Prozac.

  He cheated, yes, but that’s not why

  I left. I left from utter boredom.

  And I left your poor father behind.

  Daddy winced, but continued to

  listen. I wanted to know more.

  I wanted to know everything.

  Alcoholism is not a pretty thing,

  and I was an ugly alcoholic.

  I moved in with a string of men.

  None wanted to deal with a drunk,

  and eventually all of them showed

  me the door. One time, I decided

  I needed to find Ray, see how he

  was doing. I tracked him to Santa

  Barbara, a couple of years before

  the accident. Your mother and he

  seemed happy enough. Happy to

  have two beautiful daughters.

  I wanted to be part of your family,

  even managed to clean up my act

  so they’d let me spend time with you.

  “So it was you who used to babysit

  us. I remember we used to play

  Monopoly and checkers, didn’t we?”

  She nodded. It was a wonderful

  time of my life. But then…

  then the accident happened.

  When Raeanne died, I only knew

  one way to cope. I’m sorry,

  Kaeleigh. You needed me.

  But I needed Dewar’s to get me

  through the funeral. Once I started

  drinking again, I couldn’t stop.

  I noticed Daddy’s fingers,

  drumming the arm of his chair.

  “But why did you go away?”

  Grandma Charlotte glanced at

  Daddy, whose drumming quickened.

  We can talk about that later.

  Turned Out

  That part of the story helped

  me make some major decisions.

  That part of the story went like this:

  I wanted to stay in your life, knew

  you might need me. Your mother

  was broken, your father cold as

  the death of his daughter—the death

  he most certainly caused. The death

  none of us could really accept.

  One day I came over and walked

  in unannounced. I heard noise

  in the bathroom, so stumbled back

  to investigate, about three sheets

  in the wind. I was drunk but not too

  drunk to take in what was going on.

  Your mother was gone, and your

  father was washing you. Only the way

  he was washing you was all wrong.

  He was touching you in a sexual

  way, Kaeleigh. I confronted him,

  but he just laughed in my face.

  “I’m a respected judge and you are

  nothing more than a disgusting

  drunk. Who would people believe?

  I could take you down, Mother.

  Will take you down. You made me

  what I am. You and my father.”

  He ordered me to leave, and I did.

  In fact, I ran. Forgive me, Kaeleigh.

  I should have kept you safe.

  Instead I drank even more to forget.

  I drank until one day I looked in

  the mirror and saw death.

  Getting sober once and for all

  wasn’t easy. But I didn’t want

  to die until I knew you were okay.

  And I didn’t want to come back

  into your life, needing Dewar’s

  to cope with what I found.

  I Forgave Her

  She got sober for me. Besides,

  Daddy played the same card

  with me, and I believed him, too.

  Anyway, Carol says the only way

  to get past all this is to forgive

  who I can. Confront, and forgive.

  Easier said than done. I want to

  forgive Mom. But how can I when

  she won’t say she’s sorry, or even

  admit her role in this melodrama?

  I did confront her. I asked how

  she could have closed her eyes,

  pretended nothing was wrong. She

  turned it back on me. Why didn’t

  you tell? Why didn’t you get help?

  I hated her for a while. Now

  I kind of feel sorry for her. When

  Raeanne died, it emptied

  every ounce of love from Mom’s

  heart. Why couldn’t she save

  just a spoonful—for me?

  Drained Dry

  Of love, she’s surviving fine

  in DC. Comes home once in a while,

  more because it’s expected of her

  than to spend time with me.

  I think I scare her. I mean, how

  can she be certain which one

  of me she’s spending time with?

  Dissociative identity disorder

  wasn’t even in her dictionary,

  let alone on her radar.

  Now that it’s on mine, I suppose

  I’ll always do a double take

  whenever I happen to pass

  by a mirror.

  Except for Ian

  No one at school knows

  about the two sides of me.

  Ian swore himself to secrecy.

  Everyone else thinks I had

  a mild case of viral meningitis.

  Well, DID is a brain thing, after all.

  I missed some school, but not

  much, made it up quickly, so

  I’m not really behind. At Carol’s

  urging, I apologized to Mr. Lawler,

  who gave me an A for the semester.

  In fact, I managed a 3.5 GPA. All As.

  Except PE. Can’t have everything.

  Drama? The play went perfectly.

  We brought ’em to their feet.

  I still hate Madison, avoid her

  when I can. But I don’t get in her

  face. The game has lost its appeal.

  I Cringe

  If I see Ty or Mick, who I guess

  walked until he found his truck

  and never said a word to anyone.

  Ty is the only other person who

  might suspect DID. But there are

  lots of reasons for him to keep quiet.

  Carol has helped me understand

  why I pushed myself into such explicit

  sexual behavior. It was programmed

  into me when I was very small.

  Part of me hated it. Part of me

  couldn’t help but enjoy it. Part.

  I’m taking driver’s training.

  When I’m ready, Grandma

  Charlotte will sig
n for my license.

  One cool thing. She and Grandpa

  Ted are talking again. Not like they’re

  dating, but at least they’re cordial.

  I still work at the old folks’ home,

  but only one day a week, mostly

  just to stay in touch with Greta.

  She Is My Real Angel

  And the only one who understands

  the depth of Daddy’s deceptions.

  Not even Carol knows firsthand

  how it feels to be hurt in such a way

  by someone who’s supposed to protect you.

  Greta is the one who convinced me

  I had to confront Daddy with every

  ugly truth, had to force him out of my

  life. If you don’t, you will never

  begin to heal. And you can heal.

  I didn’t want him to go to prison.

  He probably would have pulled

 

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