by Nicole Wells
"Don't tell me it's gonna be okay."
Her lips press together, and she minutely shakes her head back and forth. "It's not okay," she whispers, still holding my challenging gaze.
I feel like someone trying to start a fight. I don't know why. I was just feeling thankful for her. My emotions are like scattershot, more ugly chaos to what I once understood.
She's the picture of frailty, but stalwart in the face of my buffeting emotions. Instead of rising to my challenge, she stays gentle.
"But whatever you feel is."
I look away as I feel the telltale heaviness to my eyes. I am so tired of crying, sometimes I think it can't be possible to shed more tears.
I hear her take a shaky in-breath.
"And whatever you need, I'm here for you."
I look back to her, and I see the tears in her eyes, too. She reaches out her hand and rests it on my shoulder. I'm sweaty and I don't want to be touched, but her hand is already there.
"You're never alone."
"I know, Mom." My eyes skirt away. I didn't mean it to come out as a whine.
"No, Enya, I need you to know." I look back and see tear tracks. Her grip has changed on my shoulder, like I'm her lifeline now.
"I couldn't reach through to your dad. He'd disappear to a place and wouldn't let me in. I couldn't let him know."
"Oh, Mom." The guilt and what-ifs are the worst part about suicide. There's this alternate universe that just keeps going, a constant contrast to a reality you want to deny. You can't say “It’s not your fault” to someone who's been through, and still guiltily living through, that. If a loved one had a stroke and you didn't bring them to the hospital, is it your fault they later died? It took a lot of appointments for me to get to a point where I was mad at Dad’s depression more than I was mad at him, or my mom, or me.
"I know. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I just can't—" An angry sigh escapes because there are no words for this indescribable place. I just can't deal? I can't imagine what comes next for me? I can't give up hope that there is some undiscovered cure? I can't believe this is happening? I can't go on, which is stupid because right now I can. It’s the future I'm being robbed of. I can't stand myself in this space of roller-coaster emotions because I thought I'd deal better.
She seems to understand and takes control of the conversation, "Like any disease, your father had times when the depression was better controlled. He was researching and compiling things he'd found to help him come to terms with his fate. He'd read and re-read his notes, and then he'd be reinvigorated with life for a while. I've looked through them, and I think you'd find them useful. He's got quotes from various people, notes on the pathology, and plans for things he could do, almost like a journal. In those moments, he could face the facts, and I think he showed a lucidity, wisdom, and grace around the cards he'd been dealt."
I'm trying to picture this side of my dad, letting it overtake my memory of the broken down dad I last knew.
"I thought you might want to look at it sometime. Maybe you'll find it helpful like he did."
"Thanks, Mom. I'm not ready now. Honestly, everything is so raw. I'm so raw. But knowing that exists, it does help. And knowing you're here. I don't know when, but I'll get through this moment. I'll climb up and be able to look around at some point, and figure things out."
She quirks her mouth in a sad smile and says, "No rush" as she comes in for a hug. I try to push her away from my sweat-soaked body, but she's surprisingly strong.
"Eww, gross!” I squeak, the comedic relief a reflexive counterpart to all the drama. But she doesn't join in, only kisses me gently on my temple.
chapter 4
I dream there is a body next to mine, keeping me warm and safe. Keeping me from being alone. I stretch out my arm, knowing I can do things in dreams that I could never do in real life. I touch planes and angles in the darkness, trying to see with my fingers but still blind. I snuggle into him, my knight in shining armor, and picture forests of pine trees with crowns of sparkling stars. I breathe in his calming scent and feel peace settle deep within me. Lights twinkle as I release my lucidity and slip farther into my subconscious.
——— ———
A COUPLE OF DAYS LATER, I wake up knowing it's time to call Yasmin back. I've only been using my phone for the requisite appointments with my counselor and ignoring all the texts from my friends. But if my best friend Yasmin is doing something so drastic as actually dialing on her phone, then it's time to face the real world.
"Hey, Yasmin," I say it like Yass-meen because it's her pet peeve when people say her name wrong.
"Good God, Enya, are you ok?"
I didn't tell anyone I was taking the test, because then I'd have to tell them the results. My counselor would probably think this was me exerting what control I could in my life.
"I don't want to talk about me right now. How are you?"
She's a great friend, even like an older sister to me, and doesn't pause at my request, even though something is obviously going on with me right now. She gets me and hearing her confident, smoky voice already is a balm to my soul. A return to normalcy- in my inverted world.
"Not much change here, still an abhorrence to God and going to Hell." she jokes. For her 18th birthday, she came out to her parents. It didn't go well. I admire her devotion to a religion that shuns her, but she explains that's her parent's view, not Islam. She says to her, Islam is peace, is the Way. Why would she let prejudice rob her of that?
She's so brave because in many countries she'd be put to death. It's crazy. And even here in the US, it's not enough that she feels shunned by so many strangers for her religion and wearing the hijab, but to then be shunned by so much of her religious community too? And yet, despite being on the receiving end of so much hate, she has so much hope. "Hey," she used to tell me, "if there can be a Muslim supermodel who follows hadith on the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition, then anything is possible!"
So she's dead to her parents and siblings but her Auntie has been sheltering her until she's off to the University of Michigan in a month. Yemeni families are pretty close, and so she's got a bit of extended family around, even though there's not a huge Yemeni community here in Maryland, like there is in Dearborn, by her college.
Auntie's husband died in the Gulf War, and she was never able to have children. So, her Auntie's alone in the house that's a few streets over from mine, and she's a little closer to the realization that life doesn't always follow your plan. She's learned to not count on plans and to treasure what's here.
I appreciate her Auntie, especially compared to her other family members. And I'm thankful Yasmin has her. She needs at least one family member in addition to her friends. I've always worried about Yasmin, because it is so huge to fill the shoes she does, and she's a little too fearless about it. But she helped organize the Muslim and LGBTQ vigil for the Florida club shootings last year over in Montgomery Village, so tolerance is possible.
Her parents think it’s her involvement in that event that put the ideas in her head, and that their extreme reaction will help turn her around. It's like they don't know the real her — she's an undeterred trailblazer. And she still prays five times a day. I don't think she knows how much I look up to her. Even though I have avoided her, I'm so glad she called.
"Have you heard from that Imam in Toronto?"
"Yeah, he wrote back a while ago but I had to be careful and wait to check my email at the library because I don't want my Auntie to see. Like I already knew, there's no established LGBTQ Muslim society in Dearborn, but just knowing a gay Imam exists means a lot. On breaks I plan to travel there and be part of his Toronto community. It's only like five hours away. And hey, maybe I'll go to some school in Britain for postgrad. There's supposedly a huge gay Muslim population there."
I never doubt Yasmin. She's the most self-possessed person I know. It's like she's always known who she is and what she's supposed to do. It's a level of self-assurance tha
t I greedily absorb by proxy from my topsy-turvy world. I should probably tell her what's going on with me, but I admire her so much I feel like it would be letting her down. I know it doesn't make sense. Brené Brown, one of the many resources I’ve learned about from my acupuncturist, would say it's shame and to lean into it. But talking to her now, I feel even more resolve to not tell her. She feels like this pristine area of my life that's untouched by disease. She feels like hope, and I'm not ready to blemish that yet.
"So, Jacob's been texting me." Jacob is my other best friend.
"He's worried about you." He's amazingly perceptive in picking up on all my moods and cues for a guy. Must be all the Taylor Swift music. Yasmin and I like to tease him incessantly for being such a Swiftie. I'm more of a Twenty One Pilots girl myself.
"Oh my God, did you guys actually chat?" Like with all other teenagers, sarcasm is an essential means of communication for me. Yasmin and Jacob get along, but I wouldn't call them besties.
I'm an extrovert compared to Jacob. He's your quintessential geek. He's brilliant at every subject, so I have no idea if he'll do something with science or humanities when he gets to college, but he's mentioned molecular biology and social work as a double major. He's been on this process of self-discovery since I met him in middle school and has a lot of passion for changing the world, especially Native American Indian rights.
There's a lot of trauma in his family history, less than most Natives apparently, but enough to shake him up. He's not a registered member of a Tribe because the local Delaware/Lenape aren't recognized, but they have passed it down that his grandfather was part of that Lenape tribe. A white family adopted and Christianized him like so many other indigenous kids in the late 1950s and onwards. If Yasmin knows who she is, Jacob is still searching. Still waters run deep and all that. When I first met him, he was this shy, tall but chubby kid with glasses who seemed to know more than the teachers. I'll never get why he let me into his bubble, but I'm so thankful he did.
"Nah. I couldn't have him blowing up my phone and have Auntie worry. I'm enough strain on her as it is. And, hey, if you know any eunuchs, I'm looking for someone I can safely text. My best friend went AWOL, and she was the only one approved by the powers that be."
Yeah, she gets me, but she also always calls it like it is. I've been a lousy friend.
"I'm sor—"
"Girl, I'm just kidding. If you don't feel like explaining, I get it. If you need some time off, that's cool. Just give me a heads-up? Because there are people that love you, Enya, and need to know before you go all radio silent. I could track those people down and let them know if you gave me enough lead time..."
I crack a smile. The muscles feel weird. "You're the best, Yasmin." My voice is a little tremulous and it's all feeling a bit much again. Crying on the phone with your best friend crosses a line, and I'm still not ready to share.
"I better go let him know..." I was gonna say that I'm still alive and kicking, but I catch myself. Cue the tears.
"Love, ya girl. Text me later, ok?"
"Yup." I disconnect before I leak any more of the emotion that I've been trying to hold back.
I shower and take my time eating breakfast. Mom has already eaten but still joins me. There's some sanctity to routine. I feel like telling Mom I talked to Yasmin, like, "Hey, can I get credit for trying to resume Life-After-DDay?" Mom's been hovering like I'm a skittish animal about to fly the coop, but not so much that she's smothering me and I do have to flee. But I don't tell her about Yasmin, because I can't promise her the implied promise. There are no promises for me anymore.
I retreat to my room. Even though I'm getting tired of these same four walls, there's an established comfort and privacy here that's what I need when I reach out to Jacob.
> hey
the reply is instant:
OMG you're alive!!!!! [shocked face]<
I'm tempted to egg him for his unintended yet horrible faux pas. He really has a lack of social grace.
>so, road trip?
I type instead. I should have premeditated that one more...
umm, yeah?<
still leaving in a couple weeks<
He's going to Berkeley on scholarship and he's been planning to take a camper to get there, shipping what he doesn't need. Considering we live in Maryland, that's no small undertaking. But he's Jacob, and I know he's dotted all the "i"s and crossed all the "t"s. He's been so exuberant about it, living simply, it's hard not to share his excitement. He’s going to explore his Native American roots by visiting tribal areas and reservations. I know he’s been in contact with several people from different tribes, trying to coordinate it all. When he talks about it, I get the sense they’re some important members of the tribe, and he’s excited but nervous about meeting them.
Every tribe is different so it's kinda like a German visiting Ireland to get to his roots. Or, maybe more accurately, being an African American and embracing the entire continent of Africa because your heritage and country of origin were stolen from you.
>i mean, can i come with?
It’s a few minutes before I get a response. I don't even see the little three dots that tells me he's writing and re-writing a reply.
what's going on?<
I swipe at the tears. My heart is broken. I feel broken. I am broken. But I can't tell him that. And yet, for the first time since DDay, I feel a little less messed up. I feel like going with him is what I need, even if it is a spur of the moment idea.
>I miss my dad
I answer instead. And I realize how much it's the truth. My dad was more than a best friend. He was my confidante, my support, my sounding board, my buddy, my go-to guy. And now he's gone. I think he was all those things in part because he was always there. The mundane things we did together as well as the big events. It was something I never needed to question, that my dad was there for me if I needed him. And not just physically there. He was there in a way mom was not. Mom would often judge or expect. Dad was just there, in the moment, present to me. And now he's not.
Dad used to take me camping. It was his love, and I loved it because of him.
>I want to see more of the world, too, before September.
>And I need to go camping
How will you get back?<
You can go anytime<
I thought you said your mom needed you??<
>idk
>nvmd
I can see he's starting to type, but I beat him to it:
>ur right it doesn't make sense
>although mom is better
You haven't taken care of yourself<
Since your dad died<
I think it's a good idea, Cloverleaf <
Just logistics, yknow?<
He's fond of the nickname he's given me, and if he's using it, I think he really might be okay with this.
>think about it, k?
>don't say yes for me
YES!!<
>say yes if you want a buddy
>you dork.
>i wasn't done
Ur driving 50%<
really, i could use a tag along<
but u know me<
people [ugh face]<
>let's talk more
and ur my good luck charm<
>after you figure out all the logistics [wink face]
Cloverleaf [cloverleaf pic]<
>[laugh emoji]
[thumbs up]<
I rue the day in middle school when I confessed to him that I thought I lived in Cloverleaf, Maryland until I was seven years old. The town is actually called Cloverly. And actually, I kinda like having a special name just between us.
I hop off my bed, feeling less alone and, I admit to myself, a little excited. I'll be with Jacob. There will be lots of distractions. It is something I would love to do. And tackling this feels like a project I can throw myself into. I can put all the deep thoughts on a back burner and research places to go — I kinda love doing that. And pick which board games to bring — I reall
y love doing that!
chapter 5
BEFORE I SECOND-GUESS MYSELF, I find my mom in the family room. She's on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, typing on her laptop. When she looks up at me, her face brightens with a smile.
"Hi, honey!" I haven't heard her this chipper in a long time, and I figure I must look a little less morose.
"Hey, Mom." I come around the couch and sit angled towards her, legs tucked underneath me. "I was thinking..."
Honestly, I didn't think about how to broach this with her. I pause and as the pause drags on, she closes the computer and turns her entire body towards me.
"...I'd like to travel a bit..." Her face still looks open, inviting me to talk more. Eighteen years and I’ve developed a keen early warning radar for a mother's disapproval.
"And I really need to get outside. Like, camping." I see a flash of something in her face and I hurry on, "Just this summer. Before September." I'm careful not to commit to the prior plan of going to the University of Maryland, Baltimore County. We haven't talked about it, but I can't imagine going to college. Not right now. And definitely not pre-med. It's four years of college, four years of med school, and a minimum of three years Residency plus an Integrative Medicine Fellowship to be a doctor. That's time I no longer have to waste.
"Sure, honey," she says with a little less enthusiasm. "I'm not great at camping like your dad, but we'll have a great time. No holds barred." She smiles kinda grimly and I feel like a jerk for prodding at the memory of dad and for misleading her about my company.