“Keep running Joe. Keep running away. Tell me, where’s that gonna get you? Maybe slicing up your other arm, and taking another fifty or sixty or a hundred pills. Run away Joe and never wake up.”
“Damn you. What’d you want from me? I’ve told you all my secrets. I’ve talked about why I did it. I’ve ruined everything. Can’t you see that? What more do you want from me?”
“I don’t want a thing from you. I just want you to be honest with yourself. Be honest with yourself, so you can forgive yourself.”
“For what? For what?”
“That’s what you need to tell me, Joe-boy. You tell me. For what?”
“This is such crap. You’re trying to dig things up that aren’t there. You think you know me but you don’t know anything. I’m done. Okay. I’m done. I need to go.” Joe opened the office door and walked slowly to the dayroom. Deep breaths, deep breaths. A few more. Push the emotions back into the abyss. Some things can’t, won’t be forgiven. What does Braxton know anyway?
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Joseph K! Your parents are here.” Miss Linda elongated each syllable as she called from the hallway from the main doors to the locked unit.
“I don’t think so.” Joe barked back as he put a Jack and Ace down on the table. “Black Jack again. My luck runneth over. You two are very lucky to be learning from the master.”
“Oh I think so. Get your butt up. Com’on.” Linda retorted, then said, “You’re not placing bets on those games are ya? No gambling. No poker.”
Steven and Maddie declared their innocence in unison as Joe looked over his shoulder; both parents were walking down the corridor. He closed his eyes – a whirlwind of confusion hit his brain hard. He stood slowly. Motionless, he watched his parents approach. His mom had on a dated pants suit; he and his brother always joked that she was trying to look like Hilary Clinton when she wore it. Her shoulder length blonde hair, pulled back behind her ears, used to give her a girlish look, not anymore. Her eyes betrayed any attempt to defy the aging process; so tired and dull now. When had they become so glazed and lifeless? He tried to remember when he first noticed the life fading from her eyes. When was the last time he’d seen that glimmer of zeal and joy, and that endless hope which touched everyone around her? Was it last year? Or the year before? Years, it must have been years. He knew the transformation was partly his fault and partly the short-lived stepdad’s, but most of the culpability lay on his father shoulders; he had ruined all their lives. He glared at his dad, proudly declaring his unbounded hatred.
His father, Robert, wore khaki trousers, the kind overloaded with useless pockets. The well-starched maroon polo shirt and sunglasses sitting on top of his head fueled the disdain, which for years, had been churning in Joe’s inner core. Trying to look like a thirty something when he’s nearly fifty. So pathetic. If I could hate him more, I would.
As his father neared, Joe carefully turned up the side of his mouth, rolled his eyes and shook his head. Robert and Sarah seemed to ignore the nonverbal declaration that he had no interest in seeing his father and was unimpressed by his presence. His parents stood staring for a moment; both their faces conveyed fear, or shock – or was it disappointment? Maybe just pity. Joe wasn’t sure; he decided it must be pity. After an abbreviated eternity, his mother embraced him. He could feel her cool tears on his right cheek. He did not want her to let go. How could he have done this to her? How could he have come so close to destroying her? Maybe he had destroyed her. He whispered in her ear, “I’m so sorry mom. I’m so sorry.”
She whispered back, “No. I’m sorry I let you down. I should have done something. I should have known something was wrong. I should have …”
“It was nothing to do with you mom. Nothing. Why’s he here?”
Sarah pulled back and grabbed Robert’s hand. She pulled him toward Joe. “He’s your father, Joe. He cares. He needs to see you. And you need to see him. He loves you.”
Robert stepped toward Joe, his arms beginning to extend. Joe stepped back. “Goddamn you. This is bullshit. Screw you. Get the hell away from me you freakin’ bastard.” Those and other words and phrases swirled in Joe’s head; things he’d, for years, longed to spew out with the full force of an erupting volcano. Joe folded his arms. “You don’t need to be here dad. I’m fine.”
Robert’s words came out quickly. “You’re fine? You nearly … good-god, nearly killed yourself. You’re not fine. What the hell happened for you to do such a thing? How could …”
Sarah grabbed Roberts’s arm and said, “Joe, where can we go to visit? We need some quiet, and some privacy.”
The three retreated to Joe’s bedroom. Joe plopped on his bed and pushed himself backward until his spine dug into the cold wall. Sarah straightened Steven’s bedcover. With a tissue, she carefully picked up a pair of dirty socks and threw them into a corner of the room. “Goodness. How do you put up with this … mess? What kind of child lives like this?” She and Robert sat carefully on the edge of Steven’s bed.
“Crazy ones, mom. Crazy ones.” His parents showed no appreciation for the sarcastic remark. “I suppose ones that never lived in a decent home.”
“I suppose so.” Mom shook her head, then said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. It’s just been … “
Robert interrupted. “Been too damn hard for your mother. I can see why now. You have no idea what you’ve put us through.” His father’s authoritative tone echoed off the bare walls of the small bedroom.
The volcano’s core pushed up, threatening to erupt, bringing its inevitable chaos and destruction. Joe bit his lower lip and shook his head. “I feel bad enough, dad. I’m sorry. That’s all I can say.”
“Why? I don’t understand this. How could do such a thing?” Robert drew in a quick breath. “Such a … a selfish act.” His father’s eyes oozed with contempt – certainly not pity.
Guilt. Horrible, cruel, unrelenting guilt had pronounced the sentence that he no longer deserved to live. But no one would understand that. No one needed to know anything. “I really don’t know why. And please, don’t keep asking, ’cause there is no good answer. I just did something stupid. I felt a bit depressed and here I am. I don’t want to die. I’m fine now. I just want to go home, back to my own bed. Go back to school. I’m ready to go home. I hate this place.”
Sarah said, “I want you home. When can you come home?”
“Maybe a week or two. Or three. I don’t know. They don’t trust me yet.” Joe mimicked his psychiatrist’s middle-eastern accent. ‘This was a very serious attempt. You very nearly died. We must be sure you are safe.’ That’s what the shrink keeps saying.”
“Well, I know this much, you’re coming home with me. Your mom obviously cannot cope with you.” His dad stood up as he said this.
Joe looked at his mom, waiting for her to put his dad in his place. She looked down and clasped her hands and squeezed them until her knuckles turned white. In an quiet and, what seemed apologetic voice, she said, “Well … we have talked about this. It may be … well, be for the best.”
Eruption! “No way. No way. No freakin’ way. Mark my words, that is never gonna happen.” Joe’s finger trembled as he pointed it at his father. Spit spewed from his mouth as he screamed. “You! As far as I am concerned, have no right to be my father. You lost that right when you walked out on us and decided to screw every slut that would look at you. You lost that right when you turned your back on us and treated us like pitiful puppies at the pound, throwing us a goddamn bone now and then, thinking we would just come around and lick your sorry face. As far as I see it, you are not my father and you can go to hell. Go to hell and screw all the sluts down there. I ain’t gonna live with you.”
Linda came through the door. “Joe, I think it’s time you went to the quiet room."
***
“And how’d that feel?”
“What do you think? Bad. Horrible. It was god-awful. And … I don’t know, it kind’a felt good, awesome. Is that possible? Th
at’s confusing. How can something feel great and awful at the same time? One second I’m glad I told him off, the next I feel terrible … embarrassed.” Joe lay on the floor in Braxton’s office. He held his head up slightly with clasped hands.”
Braxton’s chair squeaked as he leaned back and tucked his left leg behind his right knee. “Ahh, the wondrous rollercoaster of emotion. Let yourself feel both. Don’t be ashamed of either. The important question is which one you’re going to settle on.”
“Maybe I need both. Balance me out.”
“Maybe you’re right. Your mom? What’d she say?”
“Nothing. Just cried. Sniffed. That’s what she does, sniffle.” Joe whined and drew in several short breaths. “Like that. She always sniffles, doesn’t really cry.”
“Sounds cynical to me. What is it? Don’t trust her sniffles?”
“Maybe. It bothers me … that she doesn’t get angry, like she should … angry at dad. She doesn’t hate him like she should. That makes me mad. Yeah, real mad. Shouldn’t, but it does.”
“There’s no right or wrong when it comes to emotions kiddo. They are what they are. Your job is to get them out … in the right way. Honor them, but never let them lead you around by the nose.”
“Lead me to slicing my wrist again? Taking pills again?”
“Indeed. And cussing out your dad, well, not the best approach to problem solving. But sometimes we have to explode, let it all out so we can move on. What about your dad, what did he say? What’d he do? You’re in one piece, so I know he didn’t slap the hell out of ya.”
“He …” Joe sat up. “He cried.” Joe paused and shook his head. “Tears. He just wiped them away, turned and left. That was it. Yeah. That was it.”
“Tears of remorse.”
“What?”
“Tears saying he’s sorry. Or maybe they’re tears of grief. Maybe your father’s grieving that he missed watching his son grow up, grieving that he wasn’t the father he should’ve, could’ve been.”
“Geez man. I don’t care what his sorry tears are about. Dead to me. He’s dead to me. When can I go home? Why the hell don’t you tell me?”
“Avoiding reality again? What would be different if you did go home? Are you safe?”
“I’m not going to kill myself if that’s what you mean. Geez. I’m fine. Staying here is just making me worse.”
“Are you safe though?”
Joe got up and took a book off the bookshelf and opened it, not noticing the title. “I’m safe. I’m fine. You trying to piss me off again? Why do you do that?”
“Are you safe … with your emotions? Can you handle the jumble of emotions still inside there? Can you handle that monster load of guilt? Or anger? Or self-loathing, or self-pity … or whatever it is you’re carrying around.”
“I can handle whatever it is you think it is.” Joe shut the book and gripped it hard; he felt an intense and irresistible urge to throw the book at Braxton’s fathead. Then he noticed the name of it and laughed – ‘Tame the Rage: Dealing with male domestic violence.’
“Take that one with you. Have a look at it.”
“That’s okay. I’m good.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
A few days later Joe, Maddie, and Steven wandered around the courtyard on an unusually mild autumn afternoon. As always, just the three of them– other patients carefully avoided the crazed Indian, the ‘too good for anybody else’ white boy and the shy, pitiful Emo girl who tagged along with them.
“JFK. Eleventh. And yeah I did play football and was pretty damn good at it. And you?” Finally, it happened; Joe reluctantly responded to Maddie’s question, one she had asked three times before. And now he had revealed a snippet of his private life – the name of his high school and his grade. For two weeks his guilt had been building; she deserved more – more openness, honesty, and less games. After all, Maddie had gotten him through the living hell of hospital existence. And she had helped him forget, at least for passing moments, his act of cowardice and allowed him to push away the guilt and shame that lead up to it. As well, she helped him pretend that the inevitable tragic consequence of his recent past, would somehow bypass him.
“I go to Jefferson. I’m a junior this year. Just took my SATs. I’m sure I screwed them up. I …”
Steven raised his hand and waved it and said, “Wait. It’s my turn. I’m in eighth grade. I’m supposed to be in tenth. But being in the damn hospitals ruined school for me. I don’t care though, school’s boring and useless, for jack asses, don’t need it, it’s a waste of …”
“Jefferson? That’s a rough school, lots of fights, so I hear. Gang stuff” Joe and Maddie had adapted as only human beings can to life’s difficult obstacles; ignoring Steven’s constant interjections had become effortless.
“Is it? Oh. No, it’s not so bad. JFK? Hey, don’t lots of preps go there? What music do you like? Don’t tell anyone, but I love the classics, Bach, Chopin, Schuman.”
“You kidding? I figured you’d be into the screamo rubbish. Me? Give me the classic rock and a little heavy metal, ‘Korn,’ ‘Tool,’ ‘Smashing Pumpkins.’”
It started – peeling back layers: likes and dislikes, then revelation of family secrets; Joe’s useless father, the abusive stepdad; even Maddie’s loss of innocence. Two days later the question came again, “You don’t have to tell me. But why did you want to die?”
Joe leaned close to Maddie and touched her elbow with his. His voice was unsure and apologetic, “It just seemed easier than living. At that moment anyway. I don’t know, it’s like I got to the place where everything came crashing down and fell apart. Everyone assumed my life was so perfect. But it was a mess. I was a mess. Just felt it was too hard to go on. Why go on, when it’s so god-awful hard? That’s what you think, when you get a certain point. You come to the place where you feel you don’t want to live, deal with all the garbage life throws at you. And then you start feeling you don’t deserve to live. Yeah. That’s what I felt, didn’t deserve to be here. That everyone would be better off without me. That’s a dangerous place to be. That’s when you grab the pills, the knife.”
“But why? Why’d you feel like that?
“I don’t know.” Joe looked into Maddie’s green eyes. It’s okay, it’s safe. “That’s not true. I did something I shouldn’t have done. It didn’t feel wrong at the time. I thought it was the right thing to do. It doesn’t matter. Guilt, I guess. Couldn’t deal with the mistake and with the guilt, with the craziness of it all. And before you ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask what I did. Okay? That’s just something I have to live with, deal with. And don’t ask why – it just is.” Joe looked at Maddie. Her round, rather girlish face, oversized horn-rimmed glasses, and those pink and green streaks, made her look so innocent, so cute, so desirable; the antithesis of the few girls he had dated – preppy types, all about looks, clothes, status, being with the right people, the right crowd. Joe never felt he was in the right crowd, or was the right people. He knew he could really like her, really care about her – maybe more. But she was a damaged kid, that’s why she’s in the hospital – everyone in this place was hurt, suffering, struggling; not normal, not able. And she’s a cutter. Cutting … cutting her soft and pure skin, skin too white, too innocent to be mutilated like that. Yes, too damaged to be more than a friend in the hospital.
“I bet he killed someone. What’d you bet?” Steven blurted out loudly.
“Shut up Steve.” Joe punched Steven hard on the arm.
Maddie ignored Steven’s intrusion. “Okay. I won’t ask. And before you ask. I cut because it feels good. It makes me feel … alive. I don’t know why, but it does. It’s the blood oozing out. It’s like it lets the pain out, the ugliness out. And there’s the anticipation. That’s a big part of it, the anticipation of the blade caressing my skin, the blood, the relief. God, it sounds so crazy, so crazy when you talk about it.”
“Holy crap, that is crazy. Are you crazy Maddie? Joe, don’t you have to be crazy to do that sort
of thing? Now, you trying to kill yourself, that’s just being depressed or whatever. At least that makes sense. Watching your blood come out? Anticipation? That’s craaaazzzzie.”
“I know it’s crazy Steve. I hate that I do it … that I did it. It’s really stupid and embarrassing. I don’t like doing it, but it’s like I have to do it. Like something inside me wants out. And I hate that. It’s like an addiction. That’s what my therapist says. It is an addiction. I hate it, hate that I’ve been doing it, but I … It’s like I had to do it.”
Steven screamed out, “Crazy is what crazy does and you Maddie-Maddie, is just plan crazy. Damn! That’s …”
Joe shouted, “Steven, shut up for God’s sake! Like Braxton says, there is a reason for every behavior, just got to figure it out.”
Maddie laughed and said, “Yes. And you have to replace it with something positive.... positive …”
In unison all three, imitating Braxton’s low raspy voice, said, “Coping skills, positive coping skills.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Hey. You awake? Look at this.” Steve was standing over Joe’s bed. He ruffled Joe’s hair. “Lookie.”
“Not now. Good God. Leave me alone for once.”
He pulled Joe’s arm up and put a piece of paper in his hand. Why do I put up with his games? Like rooming with a ten year old, no, eight year old. He unfolded the paper and held it up to the light coming through the small window on the door. “Flipping hell. What’s this?”
“Has Maddie’s number. Even has her address on it. I snuck it off the nurse’s table. Today, when everyone ran off to deal with crazy Dylan, when he was hit’n that autistic kid.” Steven roughed up Joe’s hair again. “You can call her. Go see her, when you get out. I know you love her. Yip, you’re gonna go see her and get into her pants. I know that’s what she’s dying for, just like you are. I see the way you two goggle at each other.”
Life So Perfect Page 4