Crazy
Page 13
Isabel, I want to talk to my mom about this. I want her to talk to your parents. Will you let me do this for you? It seems so wrong to be asking your permission to save you. But I know how you are, and I know you would never forgive me if I contacted your parents behind your back. Fuck, Isabel. Look at the kind of choices you’re forcing me to make.
All of my love,
Connor
From: yikes!izzy
To: condorboy
Date: Thursday, February 23—7:09 PM
Subject: Re:
My head is on fire. The flames lick me from the inside. You may think this hurts, but it does not. Just the opposite. Trust me.
Now that you’re back, I don’t know what I want to say to you.
Iz
From: condorboy
To: yikes!izzy
Date: Thursday, February 23—10:44PM
Subject: Re:
Answer my fucking question for once. Please. Let’s ask for help.
From: yikes!izzy
To: condorboy
Date: Friday, February 24—2:13 AM
Subject: lies
Do you want to fuck me, Connor? Is that it? Is that what this has always been about? Our so-called friendship, your little sensitive-boy routine, all your understanding and kind supportive words, ALL OF IT just an act to get in my cheap insides. And now you think if you get my parents on your side, I’ll have no choice. It’ll be like some kind of arranged marriage. You’ll be the nice guy who simultaneously betrays and saves me. You will prove yourself worthy to all the assholes who think they know what’s best for me. I thought you were better than that I thought you were on my side. But you want to use me like everyone else does and that makes you even worse than Trevor because at least he doesn’t pretend to be anything besides an asshole at least he doesn’t pretend to want anything more than my body. Yours is the worst kind of dishonesty you made me trust you and you made me start thinking that maybe there’s a place in my life for a nice guy maybe there’s a nice place in his nice world for me maybe we can just run off and be nice together. These were the things I was thinking Connor. I didn’t tell you but I was going to I was going to tell you with the slugs I was going to tell you in the forest I was going to kiss you I had it all planned out I was going to tell you I was starting to wonder if maybe I could let you love me I was going to tell you I painted an island for us. But that’s gone now. There is no island and there is no love. You are not the boy I met in the forest you are not the words that soothed me to sleep you are not the heart I thought lived in this machine. I will tear up the canvas until the island is trash like everything else I will burn it on the roof until the cops come again. I will hold out my wrists and ask them to take me. Because what’s the use in trying to be free if you can’t tell a lie from the truth? What kind of freedom is that? What are you supposed to do when you find out the only people you ever loved aren’t the people you thought they were? Yes, I loved you, Connor. I always did. But that is irrelevant now because there is no you left, not the you I loved. He never existed. There is only this imposter, this fake, yet another who wants nothing more than to conquer me.
Iz
From: condorboy
To: yikes!izzy
Date: Friday, February 24—4:12 PM
Subject: Re: lies
Isabel,
I loved you the moment I met you and I know you’ve always known that. But this isn’t the you I fell in love with. This isn’t the brilliant, funny girl who could make kids believe in magic. I want her back. I want you, the real you, not this evil twin. I want to meet you in the forest and I want to go slug hunting and I want to hold you and make you believe you are safe. I will build us a boat with my bare hands and we will sail to this island in your painting. I will feed you coconuts and all the sweet things I can find. But I can’t do this unless you let me help you. Please, Isabel. We can’t fix this by ourselves.
Love,
Connor
From: yikes!izzy
To: condorboy
Date: Friday, February 24—5:09 PM
Subject: Re: lies
Connor, can you hear me screaming? Can you hear anything I’m saying to you? I scream and scream and nobody hears me all they hear is their own voices in their own heads telling them what they want to hear and you can’t hear me even though you think you do. No one can hear me don’t you see? I’m on a different frequency you’re down there with everyone else and their polite society their please and thank-you their going to work and paying taxes but that’s a different world than the one I live in I live up here where things don’t add up the same way where one plus one does not equal two and blue and yellow do not make green and space and time have spikes and gravity shifts around one moment you’re flying and the next you’re a pancake on the highway and the cars are running over you one after another after another and it doesn’t hurt that’s the best thing none of this hurts not even precious you and your good intentions not everyone’s broken love bouncing around aimlessly it’s all broken Connor all of it you are broken even when you seem so solid there are tiny little cracks microscopic I cannot count on you because the cracks will just get bigger maybe not today but soon and you will break apart you will dissolve you will turn into sand if I try to hold you don’t you see? I live up here and you live down there and if the worlds try to combine everything will break and there will be nothing left I will break you Connor I will break you until you’re nothing. Stop trying to trick me stop saying all these nice things trying to convince me you are made of something sturdy there is nothing sturdy the air is unstable our worlds collide and explode in midair but it doesn’t hurt me nothing hurts me Trevor doesn’t hurt me because he is air because he knows I’m air and he doesn’t need me to be anything else but you love an imaginary girl she is solid she is not me I will never be as perfect as her I will never be as perfect as you and you will love her because you will think she is solid but she will break apart until you hate her I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry
From: condorboy
To: yikes!izzy
Date: Friday, February 24—5:27 PM
Subject: Re: lies
Isabel,
I’m going to talk to my mom tonight when she gets home from work. Maybe you’ll hate me forever. Maybe you’ll never trust me again. But I’m willing to risk that. You being mad at me is a better alternative than you not existing at all. I’m going to tell my mom what’s going on and we’re going to find a way to get ahold of your parents. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but it’s better than this. Maybe someday you’ll forgive me. Maybe someday you’ll realize that we are both solid despite the cracks.
I love you,
Connor
From: yikes!izzy
To: condorboy
Date: Friday, February 24—5:44 PM
Subject: Re: lies
You are dead to me and I am gone now I am leaving I am going somewhere you can’t find me I am going somewhere I won’t break
From: condorboy
To: yikes!izzy
Date: Friday, February 24—6:51 PM
Subject:
Isabel,
Can you please try to calm down for a minute? Can you just try to see things from my perspective? Try to understand how scary this must be for me. Read your emails and then try to tell me you’re fine.
I talked to my mom. She wants to help, Isabel. I promise, you can trust her. She told me that a lot of mental illnesses start in the teen years. There’s nothing to be ashamed about. There are a lot of medications to help and she can give you some recommendations of therapists and psychiatrists in Seattle. She also thought it’d be good for you to find out if anyone in your family has a history of mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder, because a lot of times it’s genetic.
Give me your phone number. Please, Isabel. Maybe you just need to talk to someone. Maybe you just need to get out of your head.
Love,
Connor
From: condorboy
/>
To: yikes!izzy
Date: Friday, February 24—7:36 PM
Subject:
Isabel, if you want I can come over right now. I can get on the next ferry and be at your house in two hours.
Love,
Connor
From: condorboy
To: yikes!izzy
Date: Friday, February 24—8:11PM
Subject:
I’ve called everyone in the Seattle phone book with your last name. I left a voice mail for one that I’m sure was yours. Are your parents’ names Dean and Linda? I told them to call me. I’m sorry, Isabel. Please don’t hate me.
Love,
Connor
From: condorboy
To: yikes!izzy
Date: Saturday, February 25—3:03 PM
Subject:
Dear Isabel,
I just talked to your mom. She said you ran away. She’s really scared, Isabel. She was crying. Are you happy now? You’ve made your point. You’ve forced everyone to admit how much you mean to them. Now we’re all regretting all the bad things we’ve ever done to you. You have all the power now. Is that what you wanted?
The police said they won’t look for you because you’re eighteen. So I guess you’re free now. How does it feel? Is it everything you ever dreamed about? Is it liberating to drive around in a car that will eventually run out of gas, with no job and nowhere to go? Your parents put a freeze on your bank card, so you can’t get too far. I’m sorry if I sound a little harsh, but I guess there’s some anger mixed up in all this sadness and fear. I’m angry that you’re gone. I’m angry that you never let me help you. I’m angry that you waited to tell me you loved me at the same time you promised I’d never see you again.
Come back, Isabel. You’re not going to get in trouble. What’s going on is not your fault. You’re sick and you need help. My mom knows a really great place you can go where they can help you so you don’t have to feel like this anymore. Isn’t that what you want? Don’t you want to feel normal again?
Fuck, I don’t even know if this is helping. Maybe everything I write is just pissing you off even more and pushing you further and further away. I don’t know what to do. My mom keeps saying it’s not my fault you ran away, but a part of me can’t believe her. Maybe if I had checked my email during my trip, maybe if I had written you back sooner, maybe this wouldn’t have gone so far. She says I have no control over whatever’s happening inside you, whatever chemicals are misfiring in your brain, and logically I know that’s true. But somehow I feel like I should have been able to reach inside you and massage you back to normal. Somehow, by sheer willpower and love, I should have been able to bring you back to reality. Mom says I need to let go and accept what’s happening, but I can’t give up thinking that maybe I could have helped you by just loving you enough.
It sounds ridiculous, I know. But there’s always been a piece of you you’ve never let me see, a dark place you’ve never let me in, and I can’t help but think there’s a solution there, an answer to this riddle, some sort of truth in that unknown place where I’ve never had access. Maybe you were trying to protect me by never letting me see it. Maybe you were trying to keep me away from things that would convince me you weren’t the perfect girl you thought I wanted you to be. But you never asked me what I wanted, Isabel. You never heard me tell you that I want everything, not just the perfect pieces, not just the sparkling, charming snapshots of you. You never let me tell you that I want every piece of you, even the broken ones, even the dark places where scary things hide.
Love,
Connor
From: condorboy
To: yikes!izzy
Date: Sunday, February 26—5:39 PM
Subject: appendages
Dear Isabel,
I’m going to pretend you’re still there, just on the other side of Puget Sound, in your bedroom surrounded by art-covered walls, looking at the computer screen and thinking of me. I’ll pretend that your world is now big enough to include me, that there is room for a story besides your own, that you are no longer empty and needing to suck in everything around you. I’m trying to remember the last time you asked me anything about my life, even a simple, How are you? It’s been a long time since I’ve been anything more than an appendage or a mirror. I’m starting to understand why. My mom has been telling me a lot about bipolar disorder, which is what she thinks you probably have. So I understand that certain things are symptoms and that you have no control over them, and I’m okay with that, and I don’t blame you. But it feels weird for things to have gotten so one-sided, like there’s this huge tilt in one direction, but now the heavy thing weighing everything down is gone and all of a sudden the balance is off and everything’s bouncing around not knowing where to go. And I guess I got kind of comfortable with the focus being on you, and now that you’re gone I don’t know where to focus, and I feel like a huge part of me is missing. According to my mom, this is codependent behavior. I guess I got comfortable living in your shadow because it seemed like the only way to stay close to you.
Shrinks have an obsession with naming things. Bipolar, codependent, depressed, alcoholic, whatever. To her credit, Mom kept emphasizing that she can’t diagnose you without meeting you, and I guess I’m kind of guilty for pushing her into giving me an explanation. So don’t blame her for labeling you and putting you in a box, because I know that’s what you’re doing. I admit I kind of tricked her into it. All she cares about, all any of us care about, is that you come home safe and get help. It doesn’t matter what anyone calls you as long as you find a way to start feeling healthy again. So please don’t obsess about some stupid, arbitrary name some doctor gave to a few symptoms you seem to have. Okay, Isabel? Don’t freak out on me.
Love,
Connor
From: condorboy
To: yikes!izzy
Date: Monday, February 27—8:14 PM
Subject: rain and robots
Dear Isabel,
I’m imagining that you’re off in some tropical paradise right now, listening to waves lap against the sand. Maybe you’ve outrun the rocks and barnacles here. Maybe you’ve made it safely to a softer, kinder place.
It’s been raining for a week. Is it raining where you are? Señor is depressed and refuses to go outside. Mom even bought her a little doggy raincoat, but as soon as it was on, her tail went between her legs and she looked as embarrassed as a dog could possibly look. We’re all suffering from the winter malaise, I guess. Everything’s moving a little slower than usual, as if I’m running through mud.
There was a period of time when I was little when I was convinced I was the only real human on Earth. Everyone else were robots posing as humans, even my parents. I was the only one who really felt feelings and thought thoughts, the only one who had a soul. Of course, I never stopped to ask myself why I thought this, what proof there was to support this theory. I remember it as something I just felt deep down inside, that it was just impossible that all these people around me could have their own internal worlds that were as real and important as mine.
But why would a robot need to drink a bottle of wine and stare into a fire all night? There are things going on inside my mom that have nothing to do with her being my mom. I guess part of growing up is realizing more and more that the world doesn’t revolve around you.
Now I must try to convince Señor Cuddlebones to brave the drizzle for her nightly walk. She’s looking at me right now with an eyebrow raised, as if saying, “I know what you’re thinking, and it stinks.”
Love,
Connor
From: condorboy
To: yikes!izzy
Date: Wednesday, February 29—7:55 PM
Subject: college
Dear Isabel,
Guess what! Jeremy has finally decided he wants to go to Reed! Of course he hasn’t officially been accepted because it’s not April yet, but it would pretty much be impossible for him to not get in. And in case you were wondering, I’ve known for a long ti
me that I wanted to go to Evergreen State, but I tried not to say too much because I didn’t want you to think I was following you, but now that doesn’t seem like such a big deal. They accept pretty much anyone, so it looks like we’ll all be neighbors next year! I’m excited for you to meet Jeremy. I know you’ll really like him. In fact, you’ll probably like him more than you like me. The two of you will become best friends and become Big and Important in the cool Portland scene, and you’ll forget about little old me up in the forest by Olympia. It’s okay. I’ll have the squirrels to keep me company. And the slugs. Always the slugs.
Jeremy’s already started doing all this research on the biology professors at Reed and planning what classes he’s going to take for the next four years. He wants to be the world’s most renowned ichthyologist. Do you know what that is? I didn’t either. It’s a person who studies sharks and other cartilaginous fish. What’s a “cartilaginous fish?” you may ask. It’s fish like sharks and rays that have cartilage instead of bone. “What’s cartilage?” you may ask. It’s that hard, fleshy stuff inside your ears and nose. Now don’t you feel smarter? Jeremy has already informed me that during Shark Week on the Discovery Channel this summer, I am not allowed to bother him because he’ll be glued to the television the whole time. Maybe something about growing up on an island has skewed his brain toward this interest in sea life. But then again, I’ve grown up here too and the only thing I find interesting about fish is how delicious they are when they’re battered and deep-fried and slathered in Ivar’s tartar sauce.
Jeremy found a dead four-feet-long six-gill shark on the beach when he was ten. Apparently this is a big deal because most sharks have five gills and not much is known about this particular species because they usually live in really deep water. So there was little ten-year-old Jeremy hauling this big-ass shark home with him, up the hill to his house and into the garage, and it weighed as much as he did, and it was all slimy and fishy from the early stages of decomposition. Then he got a big knife from the kitchen so he could dissect it, and for the next three hours, until his mom found him and freaked out and hosed him off with the garden hose, Jeremy studiously dissected that shark, carefully peeled back its skin, removed its organs, and lovingly laid them out on newspaper.