by Kelly Harms
The EMT’s face bends into a grimace. He looks at his lead; she looks back.
“Maybe we should pull over,” she says. “Tell Trina to pull over.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” the second says. “I’m the one who has to chart this. What if we can’t bill?”
I clear my throat. “WHAT IF I SUE?”
I am off that ambulance in under twenty-five seconds. Tim climbs down from the driver’s cab with confusion and sympathy in his eyes. For a second I want to rail at him too—why would he call the ambulance? Doesn’t he know what Jessica might do? Might have already done? But then tears are in my eyes, and I know he must have been frightened to see me lying there wherever I collapsed, not knowing just how many times I have shorted out my own brain in the face of crippling fear.
“I’m sorry, Tim,” I say, when he is standing by the curb with me and the ambulance is pulling away. I realize, in that moment, I don’t apologize very often. It would be too much to acknowledge where I have failed others, where I have failed myself. Now I can only pray I get a chance to apologize to Jessica. “I can’t lie around in a narcotic haze while Jessica’s out there somewhere.”
He nods. “I understand completely,” he says, and I can see from his eyes that this is true. “I don’t know if you were awake at all before, but Mia was there too. She has your phone; she’s calling your sister. She thought she might know where she could be. And the fire department came too. I asked them if they could stop the lifts. They got in the police and mountain patrol, had the lifts shut down in minutes. There’s a lot of people out there looking now.”
“What good does stopping a lift do if she’s already on the lift?” I cry. I feel the weight of hopelessness throwing its heavy blanket on me, begging me to give up, to stop trying. I refuse. I am starting to wheeze again. I can feel my chest growing tight once more. I know I could go dark again, but I don’t care.
Tim puts a hand on my arm. “I know you’re worried,” is all he says. “But are you sure you wouldn’t be better off getting some medical help right now?”
I inhale with purpose. “Maybe I would be, Tim. But Jessica would not. We need to do whatever we can for her before it’s too late.”
“Ok, then,” he says, and even in my panic, some little bubble of my brain tells me this: You are angry, you are in trouble, but you somehow still aren’t alone. “Let’s go find her.”
MIA
Clutching Paige’s phone for dear life, I understand, for the first time, what a cell phone is really for. This, this horrible frantic set of moments bleeding into moments, this is what people like my mom mean when they say they just keep a phone for an “emergency.”
So I keep that phone from relocking like it is the difference between life and death, and maybe it is. When I am not looking up places I think I might find Jessica and navigating from one to the next, I am calling Jessica. First it rings for a while before I go to voice mail, and then, eventually, the immediate click of the computer recording tells me the phone is now off.
Tim texts me an update from the ski hill. He got the police to shut down all the lifts, and now they are searching for her on ATVs. They have Tim’s number, and he says if he learns anything, he’ll call. He hasn’t called.
So I call Mom. She is the person who knows what to do in any situation, the person who has never failed me, not even once, the person who, I finally realize, never will, not so long as we are both in this world. I tell her as quickly as I can what’s going on. I tell her about the girl who commented before my wedding, how I replied, how she disappeared, and how I found her again, got a second chance to help her, and somehow missed it again. I tell her, best as I can remember, exactly what I told Jessica weeks ago: I told her to find her own Mike. I remembered, in some small corner of my brain, that a best friend who truly knows how to do the job is all you need to get through even the hardest times. My best friends were Mike and Andy, and Mom’s were Andy and me, and Azalea’s was Maggie the kitchen chicken. Those friends, three legged, two footed, and winged, got us through the hard times. When our best friends left us, we weren’t really the same.
I don’t know who Jessica’s friends were before her suicide attempt, but it’s easy to see that her sister, Paige, took on the role after it. I suspect that Paige knew Jessica had posted her cry for help on my thread and thought I had let her down. And maybe in that moment I did let her down. Maybe anyone in my shoes would have been unable to change the circumstances. You can’t save anyone through Pictey posts alone. But as a result of this, Paige was watching me as I faked the wedding, and she saw the opportunity when I signed off, and she took it. And though it’s taken me some time to realize it, I benefited from it all, without even knowing what was going on, because I got away from that godforsaken app and everything associated with it. Even if it was only for a little while, it was the best little while I’ve had since Mike has been gone.
I tell Mom all of this, as quickly as humanly possible. She says, “Oh, of course!” because now that I say it out loud, it is so obvious. If you were my biggest fan—no, if you were @Mia&Mike’s biggest fan—and you once believed in that feed unquestioningly and read every post with your heart wide open, and there was something hurting you so badly that you weren’t sure if you wanted to even keep going, where would you go?
You’d go to the Humane Society.
Mom signs off so she can get out the phone book and start calling the county animal-rescue centers. When she gets a lead, she calls me back. I point the car from one place to another, but there are only so many spots to try, and the clock keeps turning numbers over and leaving me more and more fearful as it does.
Through it all, Mom calls me back, once, twice, four times, and each time she says, “We’ll find her,” and I pray she is right. If my hunch about what she has gone to do is wrong, then I have to believe it is probably too late. Please, let me be right.
And then, while looking in a place that is fruitless, I have a thought.
The tiniest, most far-reaching memory.
I point my car toward Black Diamond Baron’s.
It was on a blackboard behind Dewey’s head on that first night out, that not-a-date that he and I both wanted badly to be a date. It was written in chalk, in beautiful swirly script, and I remember being tempted. Terribly tempted, and then changing my mind because I couldn’t stomach any more loss. Like with Dewey—someone who made my heart sing but who I kept at bay because of even the slightest chance at pain.
What an idiot I was. What was my plan for the rest of my life, exactly? I wonder. To orchestrate things so I lived only an online life and never had to lose anyone real again? To reduce my existence, my happinesses and sorrows, to the number of followers gained or lost on any given day? To sell strangers on a lifestyle that brought me absolutely no joy? To be nothing but a recipient of “likes”?
Here’s what that blackboard said:
ADOPT-A-THON SATURDAY
Come by and meet your new best friend.
Dogs and cats available for adoption all day.
Save an animal and your next drink’s on us.
I speed toward the restaurant while my mom stays on the line in silence. I pray. And at a stoplight, I send out a quick text.
And then there she is, on the sidewalk bench in front of the big open-air café that bustles with happy diners and their beloved dogs. I double-park and leap out of the car, still clutching her sister’s phone.
Jessica is lying flat on her back on the bench, and her arms are hanging out by her sides. Her eyes are closed, and she is still. On her belly is a dog. A rough-looking black dog who is licking her face. My heart pounds, but my feet won’t move.
But then she lifts up her arms to pet the dog, and the dog sits down right on her throat, and she says, “OOF!” And my whole body starts to shake with relief. I take as many deep breaths as I can between the car and the park bench, and then I come up to the bench and say, “Jessica, we haven’t been properly introduced. My name is
Mia Bell. May I sit down?”
She looks at me with her raw red eyes. She breathes out. She sits upright on the bench and moves the dog to her lap in a smooth motion that makes it seem like she’s been a dog owner all her life. She gestures to the space she’s made for me to sit down and says, without malice, “For all your bullshit, you were right about dogs.”
“Did you adopt this dog?” I ask her.
“Yes. And it was crazy and probably wrong, and I may have to give her back, because I can’t take care of her, but while I was doing it, it was the right thing to do, because it was better than my other idea, and it makes my other idea impossible. When you have to care for something, you have to live.”
I feel the sensation of my heart tightening and hope and relief rushing through me in a mingled slurry. “It wasn’t crazy,” I say, my voice thick. “And it wasn’t wrong. And you don’t have to give her back.”
“I have to go to the suicide rehab center,” she says. “Until the meds work or I’m not crazy anymore, whichever comes first. Who is going to take care of her? My parents hate pets.”
I shake my head at her needless worry. “I’ll take her,” I say without even thinking for a second. “I’d love to have her. I’ll make sure she’s safe and cared for so when you get home she’s there waiting for you.”
“But then she’ll be yours,” says Jessica.
“No. This is clearly your dog.”
“You kind of do need a dog of your own,” she points out. I look at this girl, who is right this second at the lowest moment that I hope her life will ever show her, and she is thinking about what I need.
I inhale deeply. Let it out. “Let me tell you about how I was when I adopted Mike,” I say. “I was lost. I was trying to start a business that no one seemed to want, and my brother, the only person who understood me, had just died, and my mother, the person who didn’t seem to understand anything, was left all alone far, far away. I couldn’t face her because I was hurting so much, and I didn’t know how we were supposed to work as a family without my brother to make us work. I knew I was being selfish to ignore my mom’s sadness, and I started to feel worse every day. I started to feel terrible.
“The day before I got Mike, I couldn’t get out of bed. I lay there, and I wasn’t even crying anymore. I was just lying in bed and feeling absolutely nothing, which, it turns out, is worse than feeling sadness or grief. For a few hours, I thought I would never feel better than I felt right then. I believed that this was my life now, a loop of loneliness, guilt, and loss.”
My eyes close. A single tear has gotten loose, even though that was all so long ago. I remember how awful it felt, and I hate that anyone else would ever have to feel that way. Especially this girl, too young to be despairing already. Maybe just a decade older than Azalea. But without even one loving chicken.
“So what did you do?” asks Jessica.
“I was driving to the store to buy something. I don’t remember what. I was too sad to eat much, and I wasn’t exactly taking care of myself. But I was driving to the store, because I couldn’t figure out what else to do with myself, and I saw someone slow their car down right in front of me. And then they slowed down more, and I had to step on the brake hard, and I honked. Their driver-side window rolled down, and it being LA, I thought they were going to give me the finger. But instead I watched a whimpering dog being forced out the window in the intersection. They started to drive while the dog was half in and half out of the window. I saw the dog drop to the pavement and heard the most awful noise of his scream, and I’m not sure exactly what happened next, because it was a busy crossroads and tons of people stopped and the traffic was halted and it was all a blur. I just remember that somehow the dog was in my back seat bleeding and I was racing to the nearest animal hospital.
“That was Mike,” I say, petting the little black hound mix with the long muzzle that has chosen Jessica. “Mike went through all that to come live with me. After the surgeries he needed constant care. He could never be alone. He was anxious and needy, and he shed everywhere. He was irreplaceable. I tried to replace him, with Tucker, with my followers, but no one, real or virtual, could compare to Mike.
“Losing Mike was hard,” I tell her. “But not as hard as never having had him. Thanks to him,” I say, thinking of Andy, Mom, Dewey, recalling the stricken look in Paige’s eyes when she watched Jessica run away, “I know love when I see it.
“This dog,” I tell Jessica, and I 100 percent believe what I am saying and wish only that I’d said it to her better the first time she asked, when she was only ones and zeros and not flesh and blood. “This dog will keep you alive. This dog will make you glad you are alive. If you go to therapy and take your meds and stay close with the people who love you and walk this dog twice a day, you will survive. And then, one day, you’ll realize you feel better. All the way better.”
She looks into my eyes. “Do you promise?” she asks.
I nod.
“Because I got thrown out of my college for cheating. And my only sister just came into my life for the first time, but it turns out she’s, like, an identity thief.” She grimaces. “Sorry about that. And my mom is kind of a handful. And I have no plans for the future and no idea what I’m going to do next. What do I do next?”
She looks at me for answers. Not @Mia&Mike. Just me. Mia Bell. I try to think about what I believe, really believe. Not what I’d post. What’s in my heart. “You’re going to pet the dog,” I say at last. “And you’re not going to hurt yourself. That’s all you have to do next.”
PAIGE
Somehow, Tim manages to bike at top speeds standing up while I teeter on the back of his bike all the way to the restaurant with the novelty straws.
I see Jessica and Mia on a bench, and my whole being erupts in tears of relief. Tim stops suddenly, and I fall off the back. When I get to my feet, Jessica and Mia are there to lift me up. I take Mia’s hand and look her in the eyes.
“Thank you,” I tell her, though I’ve been crying so hard some snot runs into my mouth.
She looks at me, takes me in. I’m the woman who ruined her feed. She’s the person who saved my sister.
She keeps hold of my hand, though I am standing now, and says, “I think I know why you did what you did. Even so, I expect you to help me undo it.”
I cry more. These are some of the first tears I’ve shed in almost twenty years, but apparently it’s like riding a bike. Or falling off a bike, in my case.
Then I wrap my arms around my sister. She hugs back, and when the hug has lasted too long, she pulls back and clears her throat.
“I thought you were going to die. I saw you go on the chairlift, and I thought . . .” My voice trails off.
She nods. “Ever since I came back with you to the inn, I’ve been thinking about that chairlift,” she admits. “Just thinking about it. I’ve been scared even knowing how close it is. I never said anything to you, because I know you’ve got the same thing I do. Major depression. Anxiety disorder. You did what I did when you were sixteen.”
My mouth falls open.
“You attempted suicide?” Mia asks. I can’t speak for shock, so I look at Jessica to answer on my behalf.
She nods. “She thought I don’t know, but I do. She took a ton of pills, and my mom noticed they weren’t in her purse and went straight home and called 911. My mom loves a good selection of psychopharmacology with her at all times. I was little, too young to remember, but we have gossipy neighbors who still talk about Paige all the time.”
I look for words, stammer helplessly.
“I wish you’d just told me yourself,” Jessica goes on, before I can think what to say. “Then we could have been more honest with each other, before we went through all this. I want to know how you got through, and I want to tell you what led up to my attempt. I want to make a plan for dealing with Mom and getting us both back on our feet.”
I cover my mouth to keep in a sob. When I think I can speak, I say only, “Oh, Jessica, I
’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I wanted to help you, but I didn’t know how to go back to that time.”
Jessica nods. “I think I understand, actually. When you first walked into my hospital room, I thought: Finally someone who will understand. I thought you were sent by the universe to fix me.” Her voice stutters for a moment around thick emotion. “But that’s not fair; you can’t fix me,” says Jessica. “You’re broken too.”
Mia speaks up. “We’re all a little bit broken, though, aren’t we? Let’s face it: I’m a tech addict. Paige is a hacker. My mom is a loner. You cheated on an exam. We’re all just good people accidentally on purpose hurting ourselves.”
“I guess . . . everyone is going to get broken at one time or other,” Jessica adds. She looks at me, and I realize, with our matching wet eyes and tear-thickened voices, we have never seemed more alike.
I take both her hands in mine. “For the record, I did come here to fix you,” I tell her. “I just didn’t realize how much fixing I needed myself.”
Jessica only shrugs and proves once again just how smart she can be by saying, “Then all we can do is try to help everyone fix each other.”
I think of my panic attacks, of the Karrins and Tims who have set me back on my feet each time I’ve gone down. I think of Cary and Jessica and maybe even Mia and her followers too. I thought I depended on no one, but that’s not true at all. And for the first time in a long time, I’m ok with that.
MIA
Dear friends of the @Mia&Mike feed,
A lot has happened on this feed in the last month.
Most of it is not true.
On June 4th when I posted several pictures of my wedding gown, I had recently learned that my engagement had been called off. I was disappointed and did not know how to handle the news. Rather than post about it or stay quiet, I decided to act as if the cancellation had never happened. I justified this by telling myself that you did not want to know about the bad things going on in my life and only wanted to see the happy, perfect, airbrushed version of Mia Bell at any given time.