by Monroe, Anya
He flinches at those words and
pulls his hand from mine
and those blurry tears appear and suddenly
define
the moment for me us.
Unclear.
“No, Lou-Lou, we’re not.”
His head is still turned from mine
and I can’t see his face,
but I can recount
the times Benji has said no to me.
Not once.
93.
I’m a wreck
walking out of the hospital room
and find Ms. Francine
waiting
for me.
Patiently
always here for me.
She’s knitting me gloves
to match my scarf.
She opens her arms
and even though I think I don’t want it,
I let her wrap her arms around me
anyway.
Suddenly, those feelings of
unclear
are swept away.
And nothing feels gray.
Everything suddenly
feels very
black and white
and that is
terrifying.
I want
familiar.
She’s been sitting ready
steady, feeling heavy
on this still same chair
waiting for me before she goes
anywhere.
I am to
Benji
what she is to
me.
There for me.
Taking care of me.
Wanting the best for me.
And I give into
her hug
I don’t turn away
or hide my face away
or pretend to look away-
I stay.
It makes me think that maybe
it’s what I wanted
all along.
Maybe it’s exactly
where I belong.
And once again, I feel sick inside
disgusting inside
just want to hide
because giving into her
kindness
is giving into
blindness.
Because now I am walking into the
black
and
white.
94.
The office is cold.
It’s a week before Christmas
been working at the 6-Spot. Sold
at least a million records.
Everyone saying they want to be
a deejay.
Or something equally exciting
as they browse the displays.
I’m doing okay there.
But here-
in Terry’s office
I’m forced to sit and listen
about the situation that’s arisen
with Benji.
“So, you went to the hospital with Ms. Francine. Can you tell me how that felt for you?”
I’ve spent the last several
days
regretting the
ways
I’ve allowed Ms. F in.
I let her in when I was down
like a little girl lost
now found
and I don’t want to go there again.
Especially, not with Terry.
“I can imagine it was very scary, Louisa. As your counselor, I want to talk to you about what happened to Benji and how that’s going to affect him for the next few years.”
I close my eyes.
Count 1, 2, 3.
I don’t want to do this.
I will just agree
to everything she says
so I can go.
I open my eyes.
“Benji attempted suicide, Louisa, and was nearly successful. If he hadn’t been found in the bathroom when he was, he wouldn’t have survived his injuries.”
“So injury- that means someone did this to him?”
“No, he did this to himself. Your brother is very confused and conflicted.”
“I think it’s a mistake. It had to be an accident. Benji wouldn’t do that, not on purpose.”
“Louisa, I know trying to believe it was an accident makes it seem less scary, but he did do this to himself. On purpose. He even left a note, for you.”
“No.”
“No what, Louisa?”
“No, you’re wrong. You’re wrong about Benji. You don’t know him like I do. He would never hurt anything on purpose.”
That still strange voice
is rising again
finding me again
crawling out again.
I want to push it in
deep in my skin.
“You’re right, I don’t know Benji like you do. But I do know that this has happened. And you need to understand that, Louisa, so you can move forward.”
“Forward? To where? To what? So I can keep coming here to you and talk about the fact that I have nothing if I don’t have Benji?”
“No one is taking Benji away from you, Louisa.”
“You’re right, Terry, he’s the one trying to get away from me!”
That voice found a way out and
I’m shaking
as I’m awaking
to the truth.
“Louisa, would you like his letter? It was written to you.”
95.
She hands it to me
to read
so I can understand things
more plainly.
The letters are scrawled in his
crooked slant way.
The way I spent afternoons
attempting to correct
same old me
trying to perfect.
Because if things are done perfectly
or as good as can be
then maybe I won’t be used for Dad’s negativity.
The page looks crumbled up
then smoothed again
trying to pretend it’s
something it’s not.
“Lou-Lou,
Remember when we were little and we’d lie in your bed together, looking at the night? You always said the sky made sense because it was all black sky and all white stars, nothing was confusing outside out window. Nothing was gray like inside our house.
You taught me everything I know. You taught me to count and to tie my shoes. You made sure I had clothes to wear. You would put me on the kitchen counter and put Band-Aids on the places that were hurt and even though we both knew no Band-Aid was big enough for our kind of broken, but you still tried.
I can’t try like that, like you. It’s too hard.
I want things to be black like the sky and white like the stars and I know you, more then anyone on earth, can understand that.
I love you, Lou-Lou, you and only you.
Benji
I fold it up.
Smaller and smaller still
until it is in the palm of my hand
I can’t look up, don’t know if I ever will.
“So what happens now? Is he going back to the group home?”
My voice
retreats again
concedes again
coming back in-
side.
“No, Louisa. He can’t go back there in the state of duress he’s under. He’s been transferred to a long-term Inpatient Program. His multiple diagnoses make him an ideal candidate for this kind of treatment.”
“What do you mean? Multiple diagnoses?”
My voice is a whisper
attempting to transfer
my fear
to Terry.
“Benji has been seeing a lot of doctors this past year since entering the group home. It hasn’t been going well. You have seen glimpses of this on your visits with him. How he throws things, runs away, steals. Not to mention the anti-social behavior at school.”
“So because he ran away once and got mad you’r
e sending him to a mental hospital?”
It doesn’t add up.
Why won’t she fess up and
explain what
is really going on.
“Louisa, there are a lot of doctors still trying to help Benji. The pieces you see at visits are just a small snapshot of the big picture for Benji. He’s experiencing severe post-traumatic stress, just like you, but he expresses it in a much different way. He requires constant supervision, at least for now.”
“So what does that mean for me? For my mom? I thought we were all going to be a family again.”
I feel the chill
of my will-
power being stripped from me
as I say those words out loud
no longer bound
inside.
“You and your mom are still on the path of reunification, but Benji is not going to be a part of that plan.”
96.
Her words echo deep down.
I’ve been walking around
the last few days knowing that
possibility
the gravity
of the situation.
But wanting to believe best case
scenario.
For Benji. For me.
For our fucked up semblance of a family.
But Terry’s told me straight up
that ain’t gonna happen.
Like, ever.
Like, never.
Life with my mom will be
better than nothing,
but it’s just not what I planned.
Planned for the past two years
since I was
put in a system
I didn’t understand.
And Benji?
What about that little boy in all of this?
Doesn’t anyone think that him
being with me
the one who loves
him would do anything for him
has got to be better somehow
than a hospital bed and gown?
That I can provide the things that he needs
hope and love and a reminder to brush his teeth?
It’s what I always did
and I still want to do it
and taking that from me
hurts the most
and taking that from him
hurts the most
of
all.
And it just feels like the people
in charge are not thinking
of the
two kids
in the middle of a mess
a man created
a long, long time ago
before we ever could know
what was really happening
and now that we do
our choices are few.
Benji: Committed
Louisa: Admitted-
ly
lost and confused.
97.
Toby gives me a stack of paper towels
Windex and a kiss on the cheek.
Fingerprints streak the window
and the scene outside is just as bleak.
The snow-white wash is now dirty slush
and everyone who comes through the door
is a hurried mush.
Two days till Christmas.
At least the record store avoids
obnoxious jingle bell songs
opting instead for hipster
Indie bands rocking along.
I can deal. with. that.
Just as I finish washing the doors,
Jess appears.
She’s perfectly dressed for a blizzard in
a Dr. Seuss book.
Neon pink cap and
coat to match.
“What’s up?” I ask, knowing she’s probably ready to freak out on me.
I’ve been avoiding all texts, emails, and
pokes.
Pretending that work is keeping me too busy
to joke
or hang out or you know, be a friend.
God.
“Are you mad at me or something?” she asks.
Jess follows me back to the supply closet.
I put up the cleaner and towels
in perfect order.
Wanting to maintain that I have total control.
Give no one a hint that I’m about to fold
if I can’t find something to grab
hold
of.
“No, why would I be mad at you?”
I try and act casual, but she can tell
my lie is blaringly
bad.
“I don’t know, Louisa, you’ve been totally MIA all week, and I was getting pissed, but then I came in here and saw that guy.”
She points to Toby
in his skinny fit Levi’s
black square frames
flannel shirt sweater vest
tousled hair barely tamed.
“And I totally get why you have been busy!” She laughs at me
like I am supposed to be in on it.
I don’t have time for this
anymore.
“It’s not that, Jess. God. Okay? I just have a bunch of shit going on…and Ms. F is being a hard ass…you know? So cut it out.”
I turn to walk away
not wanting to spend my break this way.
I’m being a horrible friend
and I know it,
but I don’t know how to stop it
unless I let her
in.
And since I’m not prepared for that
my best bet
is to push her away first
before she I can be hurt.
“What’s your problem, Louisa? I’ve just been worried about you, and my parents wanted you to come with us to our cabin for New Years so I’ve been wanting to ask you that too, but whatever. Clearly you don’t want to hang out with me. I can get a fucking clue.”
Self-Preservation
Can Be A
Bitch.
“I don’t think I’d be able go anyway. Besides, I’m sure Markus would love to make snow angels or whatever with you.”
“I don’t want to go with Markus. I wanted to go with you, my best friend.”
“Well, it won’t work for me. I have this job now, Jess, I have to be responsible, okay?”
“The store isn’t even open those days, Louisa.” She points to the sign on the freshly washed door. CLOSED: CHRISTMAS EVE and DAY. NEW YEARS EVE and DAY. “Why do you have to be like this?”
“It’s not you, it’s me, Jess. I swear. I just don’t have time for….”
I wave my arms in front of myself
saying words I don’t mean
probably causing a scene.
“So, you’re like, breaking up with me?” Jess asks, tears in her eyes.
She stands in disbelief
trying to piece
together what is happening.
“I guess so.” I say.
I look her in the eyes
blank stare on my face
not wanting to trace
the reasons why it needs to end.
“Whatever, Louisa. I don’t get it. Get you. You’ve been better than any boyfriend I’ve ever had because you are my best friend. But I guess it wasn’t the same for you.”
She turns away
because what more is there to say
when someone pushes you to go?
I walk into the bathroom and shut the door
I fall to the floor
and crumble
just like Benji’s suicide note.
I wonder who will
ever smooth me out
and fold me up
and put me in the
palm of their
hand.
98.
Christmas Eve starts quietly
and it is exactly what I need.
Lying in my bed I keep the
blanket wrapped around my body
I have been a
t 6-Spot
everyday for the last five days
and I’m spent.
Ms. Francine has been constantly worried,
trying to talk to
me.
I wish she’d let me be.
Suddenly everything she does makes me mad.
The caring and sharing
suddenly feels overbearing.
I don’t need her sympathy.
God it has been such a week.
I haven’t given a second look to the note
Benji wanted to leave for me
because when I think about it
my soul bleeds.
I don’t need that.
Not when I need to be strong.
Strong so Mom will work
to get me back
even though Benji is making me pick
up his slack.
I can be everything my
mother needs
and I am going to prove that
when we celebrate Christmas
together.
99.
I do my best to remain hopeful
over the fact that Christmas Eve happiness
is dependent
on a woman I shouldn’t count on
yet still long
for.
I’m in Ms. Francine’s car.
I feel like half my life is spent
sitting in this vehicle
as she takes me from one place to the next
meetingstherapyschool.
Now
on the eve of Christmas
I’m sitting here like a fool
waiting for Mom to show.
“Louisa, it’s been fifteen minutes since you were supposed to meet, would you like to use my phone to call her?” Ms. F asks.