“Shut up Vadie. Don’t even joke about that.”
I take a bite of this brownie all covered in powdered sugar and I am immediately taken back to high school. Sabrina brought me pot brownies. Holy crap. Should I eat this? Oh yes, I should. But what if I get caught? I guess they can treat me for that while I’m here. It’s kind of funny actually. They can just add it to the list.
“I seriously can’t believe you did this!” I tell her.
“That’s what friends are for. Besides, I thought you might need to relax a little bit.”
She puts the lid back on the box leaving at least five more brownies uneaten. We sit and eat our delicious and illegal brownies and talk about my kids and about her job and she doesn’t ask too many questions. I do tell her about my roommate and for some reason she finds it quite funny. Sabrina doesn’t have any kids, but she and I are friends with people whose kids go to my kids’ school. She tells me she’s talked to some of the people in our social circle. She swears she hasn’t told a soul where I am. I believe her. I would die if anyone found out. You know how fast word gets around. What will the PTA say for crying out loud! I mean, people think I have it all together. From the outside looking in, I really do. It’s just on the inside that I’m totally fucked up. Things start to get a little blurry and I stop and try to maintain my composure. The high suddenly creeps up and after chatting for a bit, we are definitely baked. I purposely bite my lip and narrow my eyebrows. I grab a hold of her hand and squeeze. I have something I want to tell her, and now is the perfect time.
“Sabrina, I have to tell you something, something serious.”
“Okay girl, I’m here for you. What is it?”
“Well, I’ve wanted to tell you something for a long time now and I don’t know how to say it.”
“Vadie, what are you talking about? You can tell me anything right? So just shut up and tell me or I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Alright, but you can’t tell anyone okay? Especially Eric.”
“Okay, now you’re scaring me. I promise it’s our secret.”
“Alright then, you know how I’ve always had these big dreams about becoming famous someday?”
“No.”
“Don’t you remember me always telling you I had talents that no one knew about?”
Sabrina almost looks ashamed. She has no idea what I’m talking about. “No, I’m sorry, Vada, maybe you need to remind me because I seriously have no clue what you mean.”
“Well, I thought I told you I wanted to be a rapper.”
“Like a candy wrapper or a gift wrapper?”
“No, like a rapper-rapper. I want to be the first stay-at-home mom rapper to make it big in the industry.”
Sabrina looks at me as if I’m losing it. She doesn’t say a word.
I stand up and start spewing out lyrics that are coming from nowhere...
“Pulling up to the curb in my grey mini-van
Dropping kids at school, ‘bout to get my errands ran
Had too many kids like the rest of the sluts
Now I’m in the looney bin ‘cause they made me go nuts
My friend came to see me and we’re getting kinda blazed
These brownies in my belly got me feeling kind of dazed
Next time she comes, she’s gonna bring me mace
‘Cause that Bath Salts Mary’s bout to eat my fucking face
What time is it? It’s time for meds!
So take some pills, get to your beds
What time is it? It’s time for meds!
‘Cause all us crazy bitches be sick in our heads”
I am dancing around like a complete fool and even do the cross my arms pose. Sabrina starts beat boxing like this is completely normal. Neither of us is cracking a smile. It’s like we do this all the time, every day. She is as terrible at beat boxing as I am at rapping. We both start hysterically laughing even though it’s not that funny. We can’t stop. Tears are rolling out of my eyes and Sabrina gets stuck on a laugh and starts coughing, which makes us laugh even harder because she literally sounds like she’s dying. I start slapping her back really hard like I’m going to help her get a chicken bone out of her throat and through her laughing and coughing she yells,
“Quit fucking hitting me!”
This only make us laugh more because it dawns on us that I’m practically trying to give her the Heimlich when she’s not choking on anything other than her own saliva. We are now both rolling on the ground. I, for some reason, think it’s funny to pretend like I am humping her from behind since we landed in such an awkward position. We are rolling in laughter. It’s immature and so high school, but so funny at the moment. When I look up, I see Nurse Katelyn staring at us with her arms crossed.
“Hello ladies!” she says. We stand up and quit laughing.
“Umm…Hi Katelyn. I have brownies,” I say. Why the hell did I say that? What an idiot. Sabrina looks at me in horror. I know my face is stuck and I can’t mutter another word. Katelyn says nothing.
“Well, I have to go!” Sabrina says. “Will you walk me out?”
“Shall I walk her to back to the visitors’ quarters on this fine spring day?” I ask Katelyn. Only I speak in an English accent. Okay, I seriously need duct tape for my stupid mouth. I just need to stop talking.
Katelyn looks at me like she herself is in shock. “I guess so…I was trying to find you. We need to talk, so come to the nurse’s station when you are finished.” She looks at Sabrina, “Hi there, by the way.”
“Greetings!” says Sabrina and she waves.
Katelyn turns and walks the trail back toward the building.
“Greetings?” I ask. “Did you really just say ‘greetings’ to someone? What are you, a fucking Christmas card?”
“Shut up, Vada. I’m so stoned. I can’t take it. I was put on the spot! Don’t make fun of me. You just had an English accent. What the hell was that all about?”
I take her by the arm and say, “Well, my little lawbreaker, let’s get you out of here before they admit you too.” I’m back to talking like an American. We are both still giggling like a couple of stoned teenage boys. We give a huge sigh of relief and let Katelyn get some steps ahead of us before we get it together enough to walk back. The afternoon sun is getting warmer and I think of my kids out playing. Guilt again stabs me in the gut. Closer to the building, there are other nut jobs out talking with visitors. There is even a yoga class going on. Hmm...I may have to try that.
We get to the back to the visitors’ room with the big double doors. I briefly think about leaving. I could leave, couldn’t I? I guess I haven’t really thought about that. Am I legally bound to this place? Could I sign myself out if I wanted to? If I just walked out, would men in white scrubs come and hold me down while I thrashed and kicked and screamed? Would they inject me with a needle full of meds and tie me to a gurney while I piss myself and spit at them and shout obscenities? The whole dramatic scene plays out in my head and I laugh out loud. So does Sabrina, although I don’t know what the hell she’s laughing at. She hugs me tight and we say our goodbyes. She promises to go by the house tomorrow and check on the kids and she promises to give Eric a blow job while she’s there. I say thank you until I realize what she said and we both laugh. I watch her leave and tell myself to screw the escape plan. I should at least try the yoga first.
The Smudge
I am starving and ready to eat a pregnant hippo, but I know I have to find Katelyn. I’m thankful that I’m starting to come down from the brownies. I really actually like Katelyn and don’t want to piss her off. I don’t plan on being here long, but I’d like to be on good terms if possible. The other nurses are so stuffy and dull. There is one named Wanda who doesn’t smile and one named Gerri who has had so much plastic surgery I can’t tell if she smiles or not. There are others but I really don’t know any of them yet. I don’t look long and I spot Katelyn before I even get to the nurse’s station. She walks quickly over to me, pulls my arm, and jerks me int
o a room. It looks like an employee break room. There is a fridge, a table with folding chairs, and a schedule drawn up on a dry erase board. Luckily, there is no one else in here.
“I got you a private room,” she says to my complete surprise.
“You mean away from Bath Salts Mary?”
“What? Who is…? Oh. Whatever. Anyways, we have an open room and I saw your request. But after what I just saw I guess it’s safer for you to be in a single room. Many of our patients don’t want to be humped.”
“Oh, uh…sorry about that. We were just being stupid…and I…”
“Look, it’s fine. But try not to get me fired, okay? I need this job and you are my responsibility.” She stares at me and takes a deep breath. “Look okay, I just found out my boyfriend has been cheating on me and I need to get a place of my own. He’s blown every dime I had in savings and ran up my credit cards buying big screens and video games, a new computer, a tablet, a new phone, and even some new golf clubs. That loser doesn’t even golf. Now I’m flat broke. Hell, I’m worse than flat broke, I’m in debt. I’m staying in a hotel until I can get a place.”
And there it is…a smudge. Her make-up is real. Tears fill her eyes and before I know it, she’s hugging me. I’m not sure what to do, but I hug her back and she starts to sob. No wonder she looked like she was faking it here, this chick is a damned mess. She pulls me away and looks at me seriously.
“I need this job, so don’t get me fired. Just be good.”
“I’m so sorry!” I say honestly.
“Now get out of here and don’t tell anyone what I told you. Your new room is 109 and you can move when you are ready.” I look at her and she wipes all traces of her tears away, looking perfect once again.
I thank her and turn to open the door to leave.
“Wait Vada,” she says. “I hope you cleaned up your mess.”
Oh shit! I forgot to get rid of the brownies!
I am so hungry I could literally eat the silicon out of my boob. Is silicon toxic? Who knows...anyway they are both filled with it. I got a boob job after I quit nursing Jordan. I nursed all my kids for six months each and it was lovely, but when it was over I decided to shut down this baby bakery. I felt so bad about myself going from a C-cup to a DD-cup to a B-cup. Not to mention how sad my boobs were. My lady lumps looked depressed and really needed some perking up. Thanks to a little surgery and a lot of money, they are happy now. Happy and full and looking up at me like we are friends that had a falling out and now that we have made up, our relationship is stronger than ever. That is the one thing I have done for myself in six years that was totally selfish, but I am glad I did it and I’d do it again. Eric seems to enjoy the investment and I consider them to be a gift to both of us, so see, I guess it wasn’t totally selfish.
It is seven o’clock, dinner time, but I know I need to find the box of brownies. I have so much to do. I need to move out of my room, find pot brownies, eat dinner for the love of all that is glorious, and I know there was something else, but I can’t remember what. I decide that finding the brownies is probably most important, so I hit the trail and find the bench where we were sitting. No box, no trace, not even a crumb. Fantastic! Either there are some really high ducks flying around here or security found this and I will be arrested and have a mug shot. Maybe I can put my mug shot on Facebook! This is really great. Maybe I can FaceTime my kids’ teachers from my prison cell for conferences. Bloody hell!
I start walking back and tell myself not to freak out. No one will know it was mine—until security finds the tape of Sabrina bringing it in. Okay, this is crazy talk. I need to chill the hell out. There is nothing I can do about it now and I’ll just have to see if anything comes of it. I am going to really be crazy if I don’t quit this paranoia shit that is burning like a wildfire through my head.
I choose to have dinner in the commissary. They give you a choice here to eat in your room or you can join the land of the living and eat in the group. It’s considered a breakthrough if you eat with the crazies. Well, give me an award, because I can’t make the trip back to my room to wait for dinner to be delivered. I go and grab a tray and find a seat at a table with the most normal looking gals I can find, four of them. They are eating quietly. Dinner looks good actually. It is some sort of lemon chicken pasta with cream sauce and asparagus. I eat like a hog. I must look like a freak show eating like this. It’s one of those dinners you need real silverware for instead of this plastic crap, but clearly we can’t be trusted with real knives. I’m not a cutter, but I guarantee you there are plenty of chicks in here who have an extensive cutlery set at home and some beautiful scars to show for it. I fiddle with my luxurious plastic ware and shove my mouth full. I know I’ve got shit dripping from my mouth, but I just don’t care. When in Rome…I am slightly embarrassed but am still high enough to continue stuffing my face.
At least here I can eat with two hands. At home I usually have to eat while standing over the stove with Jordan on my hip. Typically, he is screaming as dinner time is the witching hour. He is always fussy around five thirty, which so conveniently coincides with the fact that Eric is usually late getting off work. By the time I get a handle on dinner, the other kids have raided the pantry for fruit snacks and crackers, and I let them because I am simply trying to get the fucking dinner made and placed on the fucking plates. By the time I have food actually on the fucking table and everyone in their fucking places, no one will fucking eat! It’s at that point that I feel defeated and tell everyone they may leave the table and I start cleaning up. And I shit you not. I...shit...you...not...the second every dish is done, the second that every counter is wiped down, the floor is swept, and the mop is hung to dry...they are all hungry. No joke. And to put the cherry on top of this sweet deal, Eric will run for fast food because he doesn’t like leftovers, even if they were cooked that same night. Why do I even try? I guess because it’s the law that I must feed my kids. I am simply trying to be a law abiding citizen and no one appreciates it. So eating my dinner like a lion eats a zebra after a rigorous chase when I have the chance, is no skin off my back.
After I fill myself to a satisfactory level, I look up only to see Rita, the puke counselor staring at me from across the room. Her eyes look as if she is taking great pity on me. I can imagine she’s thinking I’m going to get a second tray and then pray to the porcelain gods. I try to avoid eye contact because I surely don’t want her to come and talk to me. I try and start a conversation with the girls at the table, but it seems they are in their own little worlds. I wonder if I am at a table full of schizophrenics and they all are hearing little voices in their heads. I try again anyway.
“I don’t know about you ladies, but I am full-ull.” I say, sounding kind of like a hillbilly.
Not a one of them says a word. Perhaps they are not schizophrenics. Perhaps I have found the table of mutes.
“Well, my name is Vada. How long have you all been here?” Why the hell do I sound like such a nerd?
The women at the table all stare blankly at each other and then they start laughing, but they won’t look at me. What the hell? What is this, like high school or something? I’m not crazy enough to be in their click? Screw them! They are still laughing. I had no idea there was like “cool” tables here in the nuthouse. I feel embarrassed and stupid and I’d like to kick all of their asses. I want to crawl into a hole. I’ve never been laughed out of a table before and these mentally ill women are laughing at me. I hurry and get up. They are still laughing. I can even hear one of them slapping the table, as I speed walk to the bathroom. I just want to get away. I go in and lock myself in a stall. Tears start falling down my face. What have I done? I miss my kids. I miss Eric. I want to go home. I decide that after I walk out of this stall, I will go and switch my stuff to the other room and get a good night’s sleep. I plan to call Eric in the morning and see what I can do to get out of here.
I regain my composure though my eyes are still red, and I open the stall door. BAM. It’s marg
a-fucking Rita, standing there, staring at me. I would almost it rather be the cops here to arrest me for possession. Could this get any worse?
“Dear, it takes time.” she says, and puts her hand on my shoulder. “We are all in this together. Don’t be too hard on yourself. I would like to know what you’re feeling.”
I look up in to her eyes through her red glasses. She is actually emotional about this. Here we stand outside the stalls with a lingering aroma of asparagus-scented urine, from what the girls have eaten all night, mixed with a hint of bathroom funk. This moment is awkward and I wish someone would walk in the door and save me. I feel like I want to break her glasses. Just take them off her stubby nose and crack them in two. That’s how I feel. However, I watch my mouth and play the game.
“Oh Rita, I just was so hungry.”
“I know sweetie, I know. So am I, shhh…shhh….so am I.”
And there it is…a hug. I just take it, whether I want it or not, like a new bride with a headache. It’s just something that must be done and we are now hugging are hearts out in the bathroom. She starts swaying me this way and that and I don’t know where to place my feet. I feel like I am at a junior high school dance. Do we circle while we sway? I am so uncomfortable!
The Unbalancing Act Page 5