Missing Parts

by Lucinda Berry

  I parked in the driveway and walked into my house, but it felt like I was walking into someone else’s life. I was no longer connected to the pictures, the memories, or the details. They belonged to someone else. Someone who wasn’t me.

  I moved robotically into the master bathroom and stripped myself of my dirty, blood-stained clothes. I left them in a pile on the floor and stepped into the shower, blasting the faucet as hot as it would go. The searing heat scalded my body, but I didn’t care. I let it burn me. I scrubbed my skin until it was raw. I shaved my legs with my pink Gillette razor. There was something calming about performing a ritual I’d been doing since I was eleven-years-old. When I stepped out, I didn’t feel any cleaner than before I got in. I was covered in filth I’d never get off. No amount of washing was ever going to cleanse me of my sins.

  I fumbled with my dresser drawers as I pulled on fresh clothes, making sure I avoided looking at David’s side of the bed. He was never going to forgive me for what I’d done and how I’d destroyed our family. Ever. The man I loved more than any other person hated me. I swallowed the cry in my throat and forced myself to keep moving.

  I pulled my travel bag from the closet, throwing a few sets of clothes into it not caring what they were. I punched in the code on the safe-deposit box we kept stored in my closet. The door swung open, revealing the envelopes of cash we saved for trips and buying our cars since we never bought anything on credit. My mom had used an envelope system for purchases since I was a little girl and I’d made it a habit in my own life. I grabbed the envelopes of cash and stuffed them into my bag. I left David and Rori our emergency cash fund.

  I’d take nothing with me. I made my way downstairs as if I was a ghost. I hoped they’d forget me quickly. I was a monster and they deserved so much better than what I could give them. I thought about leaving a note but then quickly decided against it. There was nothing left to be said and besides, my words meant nothing. I stepped outside, locking the door behind me and walked away.

  PART TWO

  Chapter Thirteen

  It’d been nine months since I’d learned how to be lost. I’d spent the first week driving north in the 96’ Honda Civic I paid two thousand dollars for at a used car dealership in South Central LA. I’d taken the bus to a dangerous part of the city I usually avoided, but I discovered I’d do all sorts of things I wouldn’t normally do when I didn’t care if I lived or died. I stepped off the 42 bus line and looked around, hoping to get shot and was disappointed at how peaceful it was despite the bars on every store and rival gangs lining the sides of the street. The owner of the dealership didn’t flinch when I paid him cash and gave him a fake name.

  I drove through California only stopping to retch on the side of the road. My stomach emptied itself again and again but even with nothing in it, the dry heaves still kept coming, splattering the roadside with yellow foam. I couldn’t eat. Sleep was impossible. I was controlled by the propulsion to keep moving. I didn’t like stopping for gas and only did it out of necessity. I drove as fast as I could and passed the Oregon state line just as the sun rose. It was hard to understand how the world had gone on moving while my life had stopped.

  In the beginning, there was only muted grey all around me. The world had lost all its color. I watched myself like a distant observer as I traveled through one state and into the next.

  There I go through Washington.

  Look how good I’m driving through the mountains.

  I’m doing such a nice job not speeding.

  I drove aimlessly through the northern states before heading south. The days melted into the night with nothing separating where one day ended and the other began. I didn’t know where I was going. Only that I had to move. I didn’t know how many days I went without sleeping. It could’ve been four. It might’ve been seven.

  Somewhere in Texas, I started hearing an old man calling my name and kept looking in my rearview mirror afraid someone might’ve jumped in my backseat when I wasn’t looking, but nobody was there. At times, I heard the whistling sound of wind entering in one ear and swishing through to the other ear as if my brain was no longer protected by my skull and the sounds from the outside world entered like real entities whispering to me. Images blurred in front of my eyes and I’d nod off only to be jolted awake by the rumble strips violently shaking my car. I could no longer stay focused enough to drive and was forced to stop even though every part of me wanted to keep going.

  I pulled my car into a rest area along Interstate 10. The parking lot was littered with truckers and RV’s. A red brick bathroom stood in the center and was covered in graffiti. Human feces were spread on the walls inside. I picked a spot in the furthest corner of the lot away from any of the overhead lights. The darkness enveloped my car. At any other time, I would’ve been terrified to sleep in such a remote place surrounded by truckers and other predators searching for their next unsuspecting victim, but I wasn’t. I sat in the driver’s seat staring into the night, hoping someone would attack me. I wanted someone to kill me because I didn’t deserve to live. Imagining myself being tortured comforted me and my body began to twitch involuntarily from sleep. I passed out with my head on the steering wheel.

  Time had no meaning so it didn’t matter when I started losing parts of it. I’d be aware of driving in one state and wake to find myself in another. I didn’t know where or who I was. I started telling gas station attendants my name was Sarah. My body no longer felt like mine. Sometimes I couldn’t feel my hands but I’d look down and see they were holding the steering wheel, properly guiding it down the interstate.

  My mind raced. Never still. The voices in my head grew louder, fighting with each other for dominance and control. They developed three distinct personalities—the old man, the young girl, and the boss—each with their own voice. The old man spoke in a quiet, hushed tone, the young girl in childlike hysterics, and the boss in calculated coldness commenting on my every move. Their banter tormented me and sounded like multiple radios playing different stations in my brain.

  I didn’t remember when I decided to stop sleeping in my car at rest stops and began taking breaks from the road by crashing in sleazy motels that only took cash—the type of places where no one cared who you were or where you were going. I shaved my head during one of my hotel stays in New Mexico. I had no recollection of buying a shaver, but woke to find my long brown hair curled in a pile next to the edge of the bed. I reached up to feel my head and the jagged stubble of my scalp was evidence of what I’d done. I refused to look in the mirror.

  In the red dust and rocks of Utah, the voices in my head started talking about me in third person, having conversations with each other.

  Can you believe she shaved her head?

  She looks ridiculous with a shaved head.

  She’s really losing it.

  She’s a murderer, what do you expect?

  She should just kill herself.

  Everything they said about me was true. Wave after wave of despair washed over me. I felt the windy road underneath me but only saw Phil’s dark blood and David’s hate-filled eyes around me. I imagined driving my car over a bridge or veering off the road to smash into a tree. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, but not because I lacked the courage. I was capable of doing anything, but death would be taking the easy way out and I deserved to be punished. What I’d done was attached to me like a malignant tumor.

  It was tortuous to want to die yet still be alive. Each week, I felt myself slipping further and further into the abyss of insanity. I had enough awareness to know I was teetering on the edge of madness and was one step away from being gone forever. I was afraid of what I’d do or waking up in a psychiatric hospital with no recollection of who I was. I kept losing more and more chunks of time. The voices in my head were getting louder, often drowning me out completely. The rational part of my brain knew it was time to stop moving.

  I had no memory of deciding to go to Minnesota, but found myself driving through the snow with my
backseat loaded up with gears and supplies. I got as close to the Canadian border as I could without touching it and passed through a small town called Triton, boasting a population of 942. A wooden sign for a resort advertised vacancy and I made a left following a gravel road to a rustic cabin.

  I stepped into the cold, pulling my thick coat around me. The wind bit me as I walked, so cold it made my teeth hurt. I pushed open the door and entered a small room with only a desk and a door behind it. I rang the bell tapping my feet back and forth against each other and shivering. It was a few minutes before a woman opened the door. I glanced at her—skinny with a purple bandanna tied around her head and snapping gum. I looked away before she could make eye contact.

  “One room, please,” I said.

  “We don’t rent single rooms. Only cabins.”

  “Okay. Um…. one cabin, then.” I didn’t have to look up to know she was examining me.

  “How many of you?”

  “Me. Just me.” I looked up to feel the heat of her gaze moving up and down my body. Next, she looked out the small window behind me at my car parked in the driveway like she didn’t trust I was alone.

  “How long are you staying?” she asked.

  “A month?”

  I hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding like a question.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. I stared at the Christmas tree on her red sweater rather than look her in the eyes. Was it Christmas again? Had I been gone that long?

  “It’s 150 per week…600 a month…not many people are here…mostly tourists…”I struggled to keep up with the conversation. I still shivered despite the heat in the room. The conversation made me uncomfortable and I wanted her to hurry up. “Are you paying cash or credit?”

  I dug into my pocket, pulling out one of my envelopes and forced myself to focus. I counted out six bills onto the desk. She recounted them and then tucked them into the back pocket of her jeans. She grabbed a key hanging from the rack behind her and handed it to me. “I’ll put you in cabin four. It’s close to the lake. Follow the driveway around to the left and you’ll see it. We don’t have a cleaning crew during the winter so you’ll be responsible for keeping your space clean. There are laundry facilities behind the office. Feel free to use them.”

  I gripped the key in my hand.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nodded. I had to get out of there before she had a chance to ask me any more questions. I opened the door and breathed in the air hungrily. The gravel crunched underneath the car as I followed the path toward the frozen lake. I pulled up in front of cabin four.

  Exhaustion pummeled me as I stepped across the cabin floor into a living space painted mustard yellow. I disintegrated into the queen-sized bed, pulled the worn quilt over me, curled into the fetal position and allowed the fatigue to take me hostage. I had no idea how many days and nights I lay like a limp, lifeless doll surrounded in a sea of yellow. Yellow walls. Yellow urine. Perspiration soaked yellow sheets. Nothing solid or secure grounded me to my existence. My soul was trying to leave its skin. I only survived because my body refused to quit breathing.

  I drifted between sleep and wake—sometimes not being able to tell the difference. Flashes of scenes and images from my life danced in front of me. As I shifted in and out of consciousness, my mind slowly became untangled, the clutter decayed and the noises got softer. In the middle of a blizzard, I woke to discover the voices were silent. The radio stations were turned off. I’d been free falling through space and suddenly landed.

  I didn’t know how to deal with the quiet. The stillness of my mind forced me to get out of bed and start moving around in the strange new world I’d entered. I took the first shower I’d had since leaving California. I turned the water on as cold as it would go, hoping it would shock me into my body enough to stay there. It didn’t work. Despite the cold, I couldn’t feel it on my skin.

  I stepped out of the shower and caught a glimpse of myself in the cabinet mirror above the sink. I no longer recognized who I was. My muscles had eaten away at themselves and left me emaciated. I looked like a chemotherapy patient whose hair had just started to grow back in uneven tufts. My head was too big for my body. My eyes were shoved back two inches and looked haunted. My skin was an ugly gray. I took the towel from around my body and hung it over the mirror so I wouldn’t have to look at myself again.

  The cabin wasn’t as horrid as it seemed during my fevered sleep. The yellow seemed almost pretty as the sunlight from the windows bounced off it. The artwork I’d imagined staring at me from the walls while I slept hadn’t been real. Instead of the ghoulish women giving birth and burning trees I’d seen, there were framed pictures of cross-stitched flowers. The designs were intricate and must’ve taken someone hours to complete.

  The cabin was arranged with great care. The living space was the size of a studio. Even though the kitchen was tiny, it held clean dishes in the cupboards neatly stacked and arranged. An old-fashioned round table stood in the middle of the kitchen separating it from the living room. The living room held only a single brown couch with a wooden stand next to it. A handmade quilt was thrown over the back. The fireplace was filled with wood and I wished I knew how to start a fire.

  I found an old notebook and pen in one of the nightstand drawers. I took them into the kitchen and sat down at the table to write. Writing was a supreme effort in concentration, but I forced myself to do it.

  I think I had a psychotic break. My name is Celeste but I call myself Sarah now. I killed Phil. Rori might be dead. David hates me.

  I started writing, trying to organize my chaos. I wrote things down to structure my days and settle my brain. Without it, I just floated disconnected from myself and everything around me. My thoughts jumped quickly from one to another before I could catch up, but writing them out slowed them down. I couldn’t date my journal entries because I didn’t know what day it was. I had no idea how much time had passed since I’d left California.

  I’d traveled to the darkest side of humanity and was trying to find my way back to reality, scared it no longer existed for me. I sat at the kitchen table for hours staring at the light reflecting off the snow. Sometimes I wondered if I’d imagined everything like I was living in a dream and any minute I’d wake up to find David sleeping next to me in bed. I’d shake him awake and tell him what a crazy dream I’d just had. But then a fisherman would come walking down the path toward the lake and remind me where I was and that everything was real.

  I plotted my days out step-by-step, listing things to do like take a shower and eat crackers. I still hadn’t been outside the cabin and the supplies I’d brought me with that I had no memory of buying were dwindling down to nothing. I didn’t want to eat. The feeling of perpetual nausea followed me. All food tasted like sawdust in my mouth and gave me foul-smelling diarrhea, but I had to eat if I was going to stay alive.

  I was too afraid to get in my car as if it was responsible for my breakdown so I was left with no choice except to walk into town to get more supplies. It wasn’t easy to walk because my body moved like an elderly person. My legs were stiff and landed awkwardly with each step. Ice crunched underneath my feet.

  I followed the winding driveway to the main road. I couldn’t remember if the town was to the left or right. The thought of going into the front lodge and talking to the woman who rented me the cabin filled me with anxiety. I wasn’t ready for that yet. I decided to try going right and if it wasn’t the correct way to get to town then I’d try the other direction the next day. I got lucky because it wasn’t long before the small town came into sight. I walked on the side of the road until I came to the first business marking the beginnings of Main Street. It was a gas station called Kwik Trip and I decided to buy food there because I didn’t have the energy to keep walking without any kind of direction searching for a grocery store.

  Much to my surprise, the gas station had a tiny grocery area in the back lined with shelves of food. I kept my head down and grabb
ed things as quickly as I could. I loaded my basket with soup, cereal, coffee, peanut butter, bread, and milk. I shuffled through the next aisle tossing in toilet paper, a new notebook and pack of pens. My heart sped up as I laid the items out for the cashier. I refused to make eye contact, staring down at the lottery tickets underneath the glass.

  “It’s nice out there today, huh?” Her voice was pleasant. I peeked at her—short hair, acne scars, and pink glasses. Her face was round and easily slid into a smile as I stood there unable to respond. I knew the words I should say, but couldn’t get them out. Instead, I nodded compulsively. “That’s 27.45.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. I was painfully aware of my awkwardness. I tried to count the money, but my brain wouldn’t focus. I kept getting to twenty and having to start over.

  “Just hand me that fifty,” she said.

  A fifty? There it was. I grabbed it and handed it to her. I crumpled up the rest of the bills and shoved them back down in my pocket. I didn’t dare look behind me to see if there was anyone else in the store watching my inability to complete one of the most common social interactions.

  She bagged my things, handing them to me along with my change. “You need to put something on those ears of yours even if it’s nice out there today.”

  I nodded again and was still nodding as I made my way out the door. I breathed a sigh of relief to be back outside. I’d never been anxious or shy in any social situation, but couldn’t even muster a response about the weather. I held back the tears as I trekked my way back to the cabin. My trip exhausted me and I fell back into bed, admonishing myself for not having figured out what day it was.