He threw them back. "DUI, no license, you have to drive."
"Ah shit, Justin."
He had enough common sense to be quiet for the short distance to Mildred's house. I stared at the road and cursed my brain for not having the strength to fight off a memory of another Thanksgiving...
***
"Maggie, I ran into Sam Hutchinson's mother at the dentist's office today, and she said he could drive you home for Thanksgiving break. He bought a car over summer vacation," my mom's voice announced through my cell phone.
"Excuse me?" I replied, believing the connection failed. "Did you say Sam Hutchinson?"
"You heard me, Maggie. He'll drive you home from school. I gave his mom your number. She said to tell you that he would call within the next few days to make the arrangements. He lives off campus, but she said that his apartment is not that far from your dormitory."
"Mom, there is no way in hell that I am riding anywhere with Sam Hutchinson. He never uttered one word to me in seven years of school. What makes you think he would want to chauffeur me to Ellwood?"
"Because his mother said he would. He's nice boy. Why wouldn't he want to give you a ride? Besides, I know you'll be safe alone in a car with him."
"Safe, Mom, safe? Are you nuts? Safety is not the issue. He wouldn't look at me, or even speak to me if I was the last female on the planet."
"Then there is no problem. Actually, it doesn't matter if you want to ride with Sam or not. You'll ride with him because I am not driving to Pittsburgh if I don't have to."
"Mom, you don't understand."
"What's there to understand? It's a ride, and you'll take it. End of conversation, and can you, at least, try to be nice to him?"
"Nice to him? Mom, he's going to be pissed when he hears he has to spend forty-five minutes alone in a car with me. Fine, I will sit in the car, but I will not humiliate myself by attempting to talk to someone who dismissed me as invisible."
***
I parked the car on the street in front of Mildred's house. As I lifted the latch to open my door, Justin reached out and took my hand. "Wipe away the tears, Maggie." Sadness consumed his blue eyes. "You're lucky. You enjoyed a few good years with him, and you're still on speaking terms. That's better than I've ever been able to do with a girlfriend. Enjoy the good memories."
"I want him back and I don't know how to make him want me." I could hear defeat in my voice.
"Not your destiny, Maggie. Bipolar, remember."
I pulled my hand away, got out of the car, and slammed the door. Destiny sucks.
Mildred stared in disbelief when Justin walked through the front door. Clearly, no one bothered to tell her he was coming. Smiling, he walked over to her, bowed deeply, presented the flowers, and locked her into a giant hug. When his grasp loosened, she pulled away and tentatively said, "Good to see you, Justin. I'm glad you came." Her eyes clashed with her words.
Once inside the house, I ditched Justin. He latched onto Amy, following behind as she scuttled around the kitchen doing her best to save the meal. Mildred assigned Aunt Dori and me the task of table-setting, and the men, Ed, Uncle Roy, and Uncle Max, retired to the basement man cave. When the opposing football team scored, a string of foul words would blast through the floor boards. Mark set up his computer in the living room and quickly became engrossed in the brief he was preparing. Mildred focused all of her energy on smothering Kelsey with hugs and attention. Mildred prefered human beings before they learn to speak.
Talking to Aunt Dori while setting the table distracted my thoughts from the supermarket encounter. Placing salad forks evenly on the white linen napkin, she confessed that life with my uncle had often been trying.
"Maggie, a week before the wedding, he took me out to a fancy restaurant and over dinner, he explained his depression problem. But nothing could have prepared me for his first bout. Roy locked himself in the bedroom. For days, he didn't go to work, and he wouldn't open the bedroom door." She paused for a moment and counted knives. "He locked me out and I slept on the sofa. I cried and cried. I really thought that I had done something wrong, and he was angry with me. To make up, I cooked fancy dinners and left them at the door. He didn't eat them. I would sit outside the bedroom door begging for forgiveness. Out of total frustration, I started banging on the door with my fists. He opened the door. Through my sobs, you know the kind that crushes your ribs, I demanded an explanation. He just walked out of the room to the bathroom. I grabbed some of my things, got into my car, and started driving toward my mom's house."
I stopped putting water glasses on the table. Instead, I just stood, riveted by her words. "Aunt Dori, what happened when you got to your mom's house?"
"I never made it to my mom's house. Something in my heart told me to turn around and go home. I found the door to the bedroom unlocked. Roy was just lying on the bed, tears streaking his face. I wrapped my arms around him, helpless. We cried together for a long time." Aunt Dori sighed. "I didn't know it at the time, but it was a really bad episode. Roy got out of bed the next day and went to work, but he didn't behave like my Roy for weeks and weeks. But I learned he wanted to explain it to me, but he just didn't know how."
"But, Aunt Dori, you understand it now, right?" I asked.
"I understand as well as anyone who has never been through it can. But I can't lie to you, Maggie. It took me years to reach this point. During the early part of our marriage, I believed if I made everything in our world perfect, the depression would go away. I got my real estate license to help support the family budget, took cooking classes, and cleaned compulsively. Most of all, I obsessed over the children, school performance, manners, appearance, and even participation in sports."
"Yeah, I noticed you were always stricter than my parents."
"After years of running myself to exhaustion, I realized none of those things eased Roy's depression," she said with a far-away look in her eyes. Shaking her head, she leaned over and fussed with the flowers in the center of the table. "Roy's depression had no external cause or cure. War waged inside of his head. I could only hold his hand. Now the current drug is helping and living with him is much easier."
I wanted to ask her if she could do her life over, would she still marry him, but Aunt Mildred announced dinner was ready.
Mark ceremoniously carried the scrumptious-looking turkey from the kitchen to the table. Amy trailed in behind him, theatrically brandishing a giant fork and carving knife. She winked at me and mouthed the words, "Sage and pepper."
I shifted my focus from Amy's face to the cork that was refusing to come out of the wine bottle in my hands. Twisting the corkscrew, I felt a smile spread my lips, remembering the argument between Amy and Aunt Mildred over the use of spices and salt in cooking. Mildred didn't cook with spices, herbs, or salt and Amy, as a trained chef, declared bland food sacrilegious. After two Thanksgiving disasters, they reached a truce. Aunt Mildred would cook the food, and Amy could add her spices just before serving.
Doing my best sommelier imitation, I hung a white cloth napkin over my arm and proceeded to ask each person, "White or red?"
Cringing when Justin requested red, I glanced over at Mark before pouring.
Mark looked at Justin and then hesitantly nodded. I reluctantly poured it into his glass.
Mark gracefully controlled the dinner conversation. The first time I opened my mouth to say something, he threw me a threatening look that said "Do not even think about discussing anything controversial."
I threw back a superficial grin that stated, "I have just begun to fight."
The food tasted delicious. Stuffed, we all lounged in our chairs, allowing our stomachs time to prepare for desert. During this brief pause between courses, Justin stood, lifted his glass, and said, "Maggie, wine refills all around. A toast is in order."
I stood up and looked at Mark's strained features. I watched him mentally wrestle with the decision of whether or not to allow Justin another drink. Mark looked at me and gave me a signal with his han
d, which indicated Justin should receive only half of a glass. After I completed pouring, faces strained as the family elevated their wine glasses.
Hearing his slurring of words, it was obvious Justin had consumed more than one glass of wine and forgotten his sobriety promise to Mark. "First, to my lovely cousin-in-law Amy. Her culinary skills transformed a bland nursing-home quality meal into a feast to remember."
The jaws around the table slackened, and the eyes shifted toward Aunt Mildred, attempting to gauge her anger level. The pre-dinner cocktail and the wine had softened Aunt Mildred's demeanor. Noticing all eyes were on her, she said, "Here, here, to Amy's delicious spices."
"And to my genetically perfect cousin Mark, whose generosity brought me to this table today. His genes will continue the family line. His birthright is success, love, and happiness. I will enjoy it vicariously." Justin bowed in contrived humbleness toward Mark.
Around the table, people lowered their glasses, but Justin continued speaking. "Finally, I lift my glass to my gorgeous cousin, Maggie, who like me, inherited this genetic scourge that tortured Grandma, George, Ella, and unknown relatives past. I lift my glass to the end of the line, may we be the last of the Hovis family forced to live a life of hell and loneliness. Our genetic trash shall be disposed of when our bodies are tossed into the grave, forever denying this curse existence."
Above the buffet, the antique cuckoo clock ticked.
The sound reverberated through the emotion-saturated air. No one spoke, and all eye contact ceased. My body went rigid from processing Justin's words, "genetic trash" and "tossed into a grave." Quizzically, I turned to face him. Relaxed in the chair, he continued sipping from his wine glass, eyes sparkling victoriously, and a cold screw-you-all grin triumphantly appearing between each swallow.
Cold, I suddenly couldn't shake the sensation of being lost in a late-night snow storm, frozen, silent, and dark.
Ed broke through the stillness. He rose from his chair and announced, "I think we are all ready for dessert. Amy, it would be an honor to assist you in the serving of the cheesecake."
Nervous chatter followed as everyone jumped at the chance to move beyond the toast. My mom jumped up. "I'll brew the coffee. Maggie, please help me with the cups and saucers."
Silently, I followed her into the kitchen. The moment we were away from the crowd, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. Her tears triggered mine. She managed to choke out the words. "He's wrong, Maggie. He's wrong. Don't believe him. He's just bitter because he screwed up his own life. The disease didn't do it. He never took his medicine the way it was prescribed, and he drinks and does drugs. He would be fine if he followed the doctor's instructions. Your life will be beautiful, Maggie. You will be a brilliant lawyer and some day, your perfect man will knock on your door. Together, you'll give me beautiful grandchildren. Justin is mean and spiteful."
My mom desperately wanted to believe in the future she painted with her pretty words. She used the hug as a fortress to block out her own doubt. As my ears processed the sound of her voice, the rest of my body accepted the truth that Justin spoke. I buried my face into her shoulder to avoid speaking my thoughts.
Ed and Amy worked in tandem to lighten the mood during dessert. Amy cracked us up by mimicking Mark changing a diaper. For an encore, she exaggerated an imitation of Steph's eating everything in sight during our sleepover. Ed jumped in with a few off-color jokes and a story about the heel of my mom's shoe breaking completely off at his niece's fancy thirtieth birthday party. Sadly, Aunt Dori and Uncle Roy sat quietly, neither made eye contact with me. I believe I heard a collective sigh of relief when Aunt Mildred got up from the table to clear dessert dishes.
Inventing a large quantity of homework, I thanked Aunt Mildred and Uncle Max for the lovely dinner. After the obligatory round of hugs and kisses, I walked alone to my car, grateful Justin was staying with Mark.
CHAPTER 15
Emptiness
No follow-up discussion of the Thanksgiving incident occurred. Even Amy lacked the courage to bring up the subject when I arrived at her house early for babysitting duty the following weekend. I preferred to ignore the subject. Talking about it equated to reliving it. No one complained when Justin announced that he would remain in California for Christmas. Without him at the table, it would be much easier to erase the toast from the collective family memory.
Final exams fell between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I couldn't pull myself away from the books and skipped two therapy appointments with Karen. The overwhelming amount of homework reduced my life to eat, sleep, class, and study.
I promised Karen I would show up for my first appointment of the New Year. Actually, I couldn't wait to tell her about my stable mood. Today, I trotted down the flight of steps leading to her basement office. When I entered the waiting area, it tickled me to see that the magazine selection was updated. Good bye Car & Driver, hello Ladies Home Journal. I hit the buzzer, sat down, and started leafing through one of the outdated copies.
I heard the click of the doorknob before I saw the door open. "Hi, Maggie. Come on in."
Quickly, we settled into our regular spots. Karen skipped the pleasantries and got to the point. "So tell me, are the drugs still working?"
"Yes, Karen, the lights are still shining. The change inside of my head is incredible. It is pure joy, and I'm proud to say my mood has remained the same since before Thanksgiving."
She glowed with happiness. "Another patient once described the drug hitting as a switch in the brain flicked from the 'off' position to the 'on' position. As I understand it when that drug hits, the world brightens,"
"Brightened is a gross understatement," I said.
"Are you experiencing any side effects?" She asked.
"Other than caffeine bothering me, none. I've switched to decaf."
"How's the noisy brain?"
"Karen, to me, quieting the brain was a term my yoga instructor used as a polite replacement for the words she really wanted to say, 'Class, shut up.' Now I understand she said it because she meant it. People do have the ability to control their thoughts. Before this medication, my brain acted like a turbo-charged, six-slice toaster. Instead of whole-wheat or rye bread popping out of the slots, mine popped out random thoughts, all at the same time. I never really focused on one idea at a time."
"That bad?" she asked.
Uncrossing my legs and leaning forward, I replied, "Absolutely. During my classes, it amazed me how other people managed to take such detailed notes during lectures. Now I understand. Their sole focus was the professor's words. Try comprehending a lecture, taking notes, and listening to an IPod simultaneously. The IPod in my brain generated a constant something. Call it vibes, energy or noise, whatever. I just know my brain never shut off."
"How's your note taking now?"
I smiled and gave her the thumbs up. "But I'm not going to lie to you. Part of this change pisses me off. If this is how normal people feel every day, I want a redo of high school and college. Hell, I want a redo of my life. With a head like this, I would have graduated with a 4.00 GPA. I worked three times harder than everyone else to concentrate and comprehend the information."
"Are you complaining, Maggie?"
"No," I said, shaking my head.
We sat in silence for a few seconds, smiling. For Karen, I think it was a smile of pride. After all, she figured out that something more than depression was going on in my head. I hoped my smile radiated gratitude.
Finally, she broke the silence. "Now I guess it's time to discuss the reason that brought you to my office in the first place. How does Sam fit into this new way of thinking?"
"I ran into him at the supermarket in Ellwood on Thanksgiving day. My cousin, Justin and I were looking at the flowers, and he walked up behind us. He caught me so off guard. When I turned to look at him, his beautiful eyes took my breath away. The few minutes we spoke were friendly, but awkward. Justin's presence made the air even more uncomfortable. It was the first time I'd seen
him since he arrived at Julie's party with that girl."
"Do you plan on explaining the diagnosis and the medication to him?" she asked.
Running my fingers through my hair and gazing at the framed diplomas decorating the wall, I mulled the question for a few seconds. "I don't know what I am going to do. I want to call him or e-mail, but I am afraid of his reaction to my diagnosis. Sam likes things simple. Anything complicated throws him off balance. He plans everything and makes extensive detailed lists. In the beginning, I think my last-minute decisions and spur-of-the-moment activities charmed him. Like the morning, I pulled him from bed at 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday, tossed a pair of shorts and a T-shirt at him, and told him to 'get dressed.'
"I cooked a huge breakfast of eggs, bacon, pancakes, and forced him to eat. He balked when I pushed him out of the door and into the passenger side of my car. I refused to answer any of his questions until we pulled into the Kennywood parking lot. 'An amusement park--why?' he asked, and appeared to be very uncomfortable.
"'Hurry,' I kept repeating, towing him by the arm in the direction of the gate. 'We have to be in first, or we'll fail.' The 'fail' part put him over the edge. He stopped moving and planted his legs. 'Fail at what? What's going on, Maggie?' he demanded.
"He sneered, a bad sign. His locked knees indicated he wasn't moving until I explained what was going on.
"I tugged at his arm, hoping to get him to budge, as I outlined the plan for the day. 'Sam, we're going to ride nothing but the Steel Phantom all day, hopefully, setting the record for the most rides in one day. That's the reason for the big breakfast and comfortable clothes. We won't have time to stop and eat.'"
Karen sat in her chair smiling. "Sounds like fun to me. Except for the big breakfast part combined with a roller coaster."
"Sam's stomach was like a vault, once something got inside, very difficult to get out," I said, before continuing the story. "At that point, we were standing at the gate, and I didn't know if he would be upset with the idea or willing to go along with it. Gaging his reaction was never easy, but he started laughing and kissed me. 'Run,' he said, 'or we'll have to wait in line.'
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