by M. Billiter
I tilted my head toward him.
He raised an eyebrow. “Did you actually think the navy would take you?”
I shrugged. “I wanted to see how far I could get in the process.”
Aaron shook his head and drove past our high school. Suddenly it seemed much smaller to me.
“Then why did you tell on yourself?” he asked. “To Mom, about the voices and stuff.”
“I didn’t want to risk other people’s lives.”
For a moment, my brother looked at me and I looked at him. “I’m sorry you had to withdraw your application to the Navy,” he said finally.
“I didn’t want someone else to not get considered when I knew I wouldn’t get past the psych eval. Me withdrawing gave someone else a chance.”
“You’re a straight-up gangster,” Aaron said.
I laughed. “You’re an idiot.”
“So how are you and Dakota? You patch things up?”
A good, warm feeling filled me at the thought of my girl. “Yeah.”
“You guys still together?”
“Yup. She came and saw me in the hospital. I was able to, you know, explain to her what was going on.”
“That’s cool.”
I laughed. “No, bro, it wasn’t. Having to tell my girlfriend I have schizophrenia isn’t something I ever thought I’d have to do.”
“Yeah, but dude, it’s Dakota. She’s so chill.”
“I know, but I was pretty mean to her.”
Aaron turned his focus away from the road for a moment. “No, it was that prick Trevor. It wasn’t you.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re kind of one and the same.”
“I understand that, but anyone who knows you knows you weren’t in your right mind.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks, bro.”
“I’m your twin. I knew you’d never do and say what you were doing.” He turned into our subdivision. “You and Dakota going to the homecoming dance?”
“That's the plan,” I said as he pulled up in front of our house. “You taking Chelsea?”
“Nah, I broke up with her.” He cut the engine.
I looked at the “Welcome Home” banner made out of construction paper. Carson and Jack. My chest swelled. It was draped across the front door, and snow had collected on the triangle-shaped pennant. The letters “me” in “Home” sagged. Still, it was cute as hell.
“I don’t know who I’m taking to the dance,” Aaron said. “I’m just kind of winging it.”
The front door opened and my mom stood behind the glass dormer. I stared at her, and again there was a tug in my chest.
“Me too.”
37
Tara
I stood on the perimeter of the gym, watching everyone else dance. Tapping my feet, I felt like Scarlett O’Hara when she attended a fundraising gala but couldn’t dance because she was in mourning.
“I just want to dance,” Scarlett had said as she collected coats and watched the evening unfold without her.
I understood. Mourning fit. Aaron and Branson were attending what would be their last high school dance together. Aaron would have others, but Branson wouldn’t. I hadn’t reconciled that yet. And maybe I didn’t need to.
At the last minute, the boys asked me to chaperone. Chaperones weren't encouraged to dance, which I discovered when I showed up and was pointed toward the back of the gymnasium and told to be an “adult presence” in the room. Ironically, since I was no longer employed by the university, I wasn’t as concerned about my “adult presence.”
I had dug through the back of my closet and pulled out a fun and flirty black taffeta pleated skirt. It had extra body and volume that would kick up on the dance floor—if I ever got on the dance floor. I teamed it with a charcoal-colored cashmere sweater, black tights, and chunky heeled patent leather Mary Janes that gave me an extra three inches. I was party ready.
The gym was alive with swing music. Better yet, my son was home. My Branson was home. I wanted to dance because I felt like I was floating on air. Everywhere I looked, everything around me sparkled and shone.
The theme of the night was Paris, and it felt like I'd been transported to another country. For certain it didn’t feel like we were in Casper, Wyoming.
Strands of lights were strung across the ceiling, transforming the gym into a starry night that even Van Gogh would have been lost in. Themes of France and French impressionist-inspired art filled the room. It was an eclectic assortment that blended together oddly well with the country western music.
I had lost Branson and Dakota and Aaron and his date in the crowd from the moment we arrived. I didn’t even bother to look for them anymore; they were having fun, and that was all that mattered. For this one night, everything in my life was good—maybe even perfect. So I tapped my feet and swayed to the music.
When the first slow song of the evening began, it practically cleared the gymnasium floor, teens scattering.
I turned to the other parent beside me. “Don’t they know these are the best songs?”
She smiled. “Youth. It’s wasted.”
I was about to say something else to her when she nodded toward someone approaching. I turned in that direction.
He bowed slightly before me. “May I have this dance?” he asked.
I nodded because he literally took my breath away, then followed him onto the dance floor as Hunter Hayes sang “Wanted.”
“Mom,” Branson said as I placed my hand in his. “Let me lead.”
I smiled. “What about Dakota?”
He blushed. “Actually, she’s the one who suggested it.”
I laughed as my tall, graceful son moved us around the dance floor like a king among men. It felt as though my feet never touched the ground.
When Scarlett ignores what others think and does what feels right for her, dancing the Virginia Reel with Rhett Butler, she says, “Tonight I’m going to dance and dance.” When my seventeen-year-old didn’t care what his classmates thought, I felt like the luckiest girl in the room. And we danced.
Tears streamed down my face. I didn’t want the dance to end—ever. I didn’t want that moment with my lucid, happy son to vanish.
“Mom.”
I could hear the tone shift in his voice.
“Don’t,” I said, stopping him.
“You lost your job.”
“But I didn’t lose you.”
“Mom.”
“Branson, jobs are replaceable. Children aren’t.” I flicked away a tear. “Please, just dance with me. We haven’t danced enough in our family.”
He smiled, and in that smile, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time: hope.
38
Tara
In my bedroom there was a vanity that would rival any period piece on Downton Abbey. While it wasn't huge, it had a grand, eye-catching presence. It dated back to the early 1800s, something I bought at an estate sale. But unlike most furniture of that era, instead of the dark, foreboding mahogany, my vanity was a rich, creamy walnut the color of butterscotch. Three drawers ran down the left side of the piece, where I stored my silk scarves and wool winter hats, just like Granny. But the bottom drawer wasn’t neatly arranged or strategically on display. It held trinkets my children had made that I would never part with.
I pulled on the hand-carved decorative knob and opened the drawer. All my inspiration, all my motivation, everything that used to keep me going when I wanted to quit work on my master’s degree, when I wanted to stop writing the college handbook, when I wanted to toss in the towel and pick up waitressing again was in that drawer. Dust lined the lip of the drawer because I rarely, if ever, dug through its contents. I earned my master’s degree, I wrote the book that landed on the New York Times bestseller list, and I never looked at another server tray again. But in achieving all that success, I lost sight of what motivated me. What gave me purpose and direction when my life had little to none.
I opened the rainbow-striped box that held my life, and te
ars collected in the corner of my eyes. My throat swelled and no matter how hard I swallowed, I knew the last decade I had missed would come crashing down on me.
I gently removed the silver chain that rested on top of the handmade cards and valentines. A long, thin chain with two intertwining silver hearts, a birthday gift from Aaron and Branson that I never wore because it was cheap costume jewelry that wouldn’t possibly fit in with any of my designer suits.
I lowered my head and cried. I’m so sorry. I’ve had my priorities all wrong. Hot tears of shame and regret ran down my face and smeared my makeup. A large ruby-like ring was beside the necklace, and I placed it on my finger. Another gift. I wiped my eyes, unlatched the necklace's clasp and secured it around my neck, then glanced in the vanity mirror.
Two silver hearts laid perfectly against my ivory silk blouse. Even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t have cared.
I held out my hand and smiled.
“I know how much you like red, Momma,” Branson had said when he proudly presented it to me. It was the size of a golf ball and sat on my hand like a beacon for the world to see. My son’s heart on my hand.
My chest shook and I couldn’t stop crying. Come on, Tara. Get it together. You can do this. He’s counting on you.
“Mom?”
His voice came from the doorway to my room. I discreetly wiped my eyes, closed the drawer, and rose to meet my son.
“You ready?” he said.
I wanted to shake my head. No. I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready. I tried to quiet the inferno in my chest, but it was like trying to stop a volcano about to erupt.
I walked toward my beautiful son and gently touched his cheek. “I’m not sure I know how to do this,” I confessed, the tears still falling.
“Well, that makes two of us. But I….” A flicker of concern flashed across his face before he looked down at the carpet in my room.
I reached for his hand and was about to say something when he burst out laughing.
Startled, I jumped. “What?”
“That is a gawd-awful ring.”
Now when my chest shook, it was with laughter. “This?” I held my hand out on display. “This bling is some swaggy shit, dog.”
Branson shook his head. “Please stop. You are—”
“I’m a gangsta straight out of Casper.” I stole a move from my daughter and started to bounce my shoulders up and down. “Know what this is?”
Branson slowly shook his head. “No idea.”
“It’s my shoulder dance to make you laugh.”
He reached up and gently cupped my shoulders to stop the rhythm. “I’m going to be okay.”
I leaned my head against his, and his hands dropped from my shoulders and wrapped around my back. My boy was hugging me.
“I love you, Mom.”
“Oh, Branson, I love you more than you will ever know.”
Please don’t go. Stay here. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you better.
Heat coursed through my body like a rash that couldn’t get out. I was so empty I didn’t think I could hurt any more, but the pain still cut through me swifter and faster than before.
I’ll be better with your medication. I promise. I’ll be a better mom. Don’t leave. But I silenced my selfish thoughts. Branson needed my support, not my voice weighing him down. He had a lifetime of voices doing that; I wasn’t going to be one more.
I gently pulled away from my son and held his hands in mine. “Since that day you called me and told me about the voices, the static, I’ve done everything to avoid getting to this point.” I took a slow, steady breath. “I think I always knew there would come a time when you would have to go somewhere… for treatment.” I swallowed hard. “And I’ve just had a hard time letting go.”
“Mom, you’re the only one I trusted to tell,” he said. His hazel eyes were soft and full of life.
“I know. And that couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“It’s easier now.”
I softly smiled. “I know you’ll be away for a while. And if you need more time, take it. Take as long as you need,” I said, and meant it. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here wearing my ruby dazzler.” I squeezed his hand and he smiled. “Just come back to me, Branson.”
“I will.”
39
Branson
I walked to the garage with Aaron, and he put my suitcase in the trunk of our mom’s car. “No matter what happens, I’ll always love you,” he said, closing the trunk.
“I know.”
“Seriously.” He stared at me. “Get better, because I want my twin 100 percent for college or I’ll have to room with some crazy person.” He smiled, and it was like looking at a positive reflection of myself on better days.
Aaron pulled me into a hug, holding me tight for what seemed like a really long time before he let go. Tears filled his eyes. “Love you, bro.”
“I love you too.”
Carson was next, still dressed in her pajamas. She wrapped her arms around me. “Get better,” she told me.
“Will do.”
Little Jack handed me a Pokémon card. “This is my only Charmander card.”
“Oh, buddy, you don’t have to give me your only Charmander card.”
Jack pursed his lips together. “No, it’s okay. Charmanders have fire power. This will help you recover.”
My throat tightened. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
Jack raised his shoulders. “I love you, Branson. You’re my big brother.”
I bent down and scooped him up in my arms. “I’m sorry I was rough with you and called you names. I was….” I thought of what Dr. Cordova often said. “I have an illness, but now I’m taking my medication.”
Jack’s arms squeezed my neck and tickled me. I laughed and so did he. “I know,” he said. “I take my Scooby-Doo vitamins every day.”
I set him down and put my Charmander card in my back pocket as Carson took Jack inside the house.
Dakota stood off to the side. My beautiful girlfriend.
“Don’t hide over there,” I said.
“I’m not hiding.” She giggled and walked into my outstretched arms.
“I’m coming back. It’s not like I’m going overseas or off to war or something. I’m not going to be gone forever.”
“Shut the hell up!” She swatted my chest. “I know that.”
I kissed the top of her head. “I can have visitors.” I lowered my voice. “And I think they allow conjugal visits.”
She shook her head. “Shh! Your mom’s right over there.”
I smiled. “Yeah, I’d better get going.” I kissed her gently, softly, lovingly. “I love you, Dakota.”
She nodded with tears in her eyes. “Love you too.”
I looked over at Aaron. “Keep an eye on her.”
“Of course.”
I glanced across the garage at my mom. In her eyes, I saw that no matter what I did or who I was, it wouldn’t matter to her. For a moment, I wanted to reach out and hug her again. Instead I said, “Ready?”
She nodded with a smile.
As she pulled out of the driveway, Dakota and Aaron followed the car out and stood on the snowy sidewalk beside our house. I glanced in the side-view mirror. Everything I loved, I was leaving behind. I wanted to be with them, but I knew I wasn’t like them. Not yet. Probably not ever.
I had to let go of them as much as they had to let go of me.
I had to let go so I could come back.
And more than anything, I wanted to come back.
Epilogue / Branson
I turned on the audio recording app, tucked my cell phone into my pocket, and made my way to his office.
Dr. Cordova was in his high-back chair with a legal pad on his knee and pen in his hand.
“Branson, hello. How was your day?”
I sat down on the couch. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it wasn’t a hospital room, so I was grateful. “Good.”
> “So we made a switch about a month ago. How is the medication doing?”
“It's going really, really well.” It felt like a swarm of butterflies took flight in my stomach. I hadn’t felt this good in a really long time.
“How is it going well?”
“Um, it’s been working the same as the last medication you had me on in the treatment center, but without all the side effects. I’m not bloated. I lost a lot, and I mean a lot of weight. I think my mood’s increased a lot too. I think I’m happier.”
“You were discharged from the treatment center almost three months ago?” He flipped through my file that was beneath his legal pad.
“Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“That’s right. We found the medication had lost some of its effectiveness. Sometimes medications can plateau, which is why we made the switch last month.”
I nodded.
“So you’re on the new dosage twice a day, every day. What time are you taking your pills?”
“Once in the morning and once at night right before I go to bed.” I thought about the two pill containers that lined my bathroom. If I happened to miss the daily pill trackers, there was no missing the bottles next to my body spray and deodorant.
“How are the symptoms?”
“Really well,” I said.
“No trouble?” Dr. Cordova looked at me skeptically.
“If I don’t take the medication, I can’t sleep very well, but if I do, I fall asleep right away.” “Do you forget to take it often?” His voice sparked with interest.
“I forgot it yesterday, but that was the only time.”
“So your moods, how would you describe them?”
“Happy.” I nodded. “Yeah, happy.”
“So how are things going today?”
“Do you mean is Trevor here?” I looked at Dr. Cordova, who smiled.
“Is he? Is Trevor joining us today?” he asked.