Edgy People

by Barb Nobel

  I pull up his pajama top and tickle his tummy, and he giggles some more. Then I pretend to bite his tummy, and he squeals and rolls around and laughs.

  “For God’s sake,” James grumps, and I tell him it’s after seven anyway, and he should probably be getting up. He’s been sleeping more and more, not because he’s doing anything. I still do all the cooking, and other housework, and take care of Mikey, but the doctors say all that sleeping is part of James being ill. For a minute I wish I had time to be sick too, but then I feel guilty about thinking that way. After all, he is my husband. Because I feel guilty, I tell him I’ll make him a nice breakfast, and I do. I get up and cook pancakes and bacon for all of us. I don’t have any maple syrup, so we make do with corn syrup. Mikey loves it, anyway.

  James goes out around eight and leaves me the car so I can take Mikey swimming later.

  Mikey and I get dressed. We are sitting on the couch talking about heading for the park, when the phone rings. It’s James.

  “Ruthie, help me,” he says.

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what this is about. He’s supposed to be at the hospital.

  “Help me, help me,” he says.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “I took all these pills.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the hospital.”

  “Tell someone, James. You’re right there. There’s doctors and nurses all around.”

  “I can’t. I’m scared. I’m so scared. Help me, Ruthie, help me.”

  For another minute I try to get him to tell someone there, but he starts to cry and begs me again and again to help him.

  I give up. I bundle Mikey into his coat and into the car. My hands are shaking, my insides are shaking. When I drop Mikey off at the day care, he looks at me in bewilderment. This isn’t the park. Eileen takes one look at me and tells me to go on, that she’ll get Mikey out of his coat. I look at Mikey’s face and tears shoot into my eyes.

  I drive to the hospital, my vision blurred by tears, the shakes taking over for a minute. Then I get hold of myself. I know I won’t be of much use if I don’t get control. Of course, I can’t find a parking spot, and by the time I rush in the door I’m afraid it will be too late, but as I hurry down the hall someone from the day care stops me and tells me they got him. James is on a gurney in the hallway, looking disheveled and smelling of vomit. I’m told to ask him his name, my name, other questions, every 15 minutes to make sure he is alert. After a while, he tells me he had his stomach pumped. “Whew, I’ll never do that again. I never want to get my stomach pumped again.” He groans.

  He feels sorry for himself.

  In that second, a flash of rage hits me. I’m not sure why, and I don’t stop to think about it.

  For the next hour or so I ask him his name and other things he should be familiar with. After a while, he gets impatient. He tells me to stop asking. Then we have a consultation with the doctor. The bottom line is that they can’t help him there anymore. He has to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital. Then the doctor asks me if I have any contacts in that hospital. I don’t. Why would I? The doctor makes a lot of phone calls, makes arrangements. He is pretty sympathetic and gentle towards James, and tells me I have to support my husband.

  A couple hours later, we are on our way. I am starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

  As I drive, I take a look at James. He looks shabby, sways a little, and hangs his head down. I know I should feel sorry for him, but somehow I can’t anymore.

  When we get to the psychiatric hospital, there is another hour and a half of answering questions and admitting procedures. At first it looks like they don’t want to admit him. Filled to overflowing already, I think. Eventually, we get James signed in, and I say words of comfort, and goodbye.

  When I go to pick up Mikey, it’s five o’clock already, and I am tired and even more starved. Eileen tells me Mikey’s been acting out all day. He bit another kid, burst into tears because he couldn’t have a toy he wanted, and generally was full of misery. I’d like to take him to McDonald’s as a treat, but when I look in my wallet I just don’t have the funds. At home I make us an omelet and toast. I don’t have the energy for anything else. After I get Mikey to bed, I throw in a load of laundry and clean up a bit, but all the time there is something gnawing at me. I know I have to think about what happened today, but I stay busy instead.

  I wake up about two in the morning. I know I have to get up in three hours, get Mikey to day care, and go to work. But, desperate as I am, I can’t sleep. Anger is eating at me.

  I get up and sit at the kitchen table, and all these thoughts swirl around in my mind. Why did this happen on my only day off? Did James do it deliberately? When will I have time for Mikey? Don’t I count for anything? I know I have to support James, but who is going to support me? Do I want my son to grow up in this circus? Will James always be like this, with me always taking care of him? Don’t I deserve some happiness in my life?

  But the biggest question is this: If I think this through will it be an ending to my marriage?

  I get up from the table and grab a pen and paper. I need to make a list, write down the good and the bad in this relationship. But even before I make the list, I know this is it. This is the beginning of the end.

  Dream Wedding

  I LOST MY HEAD AT the wedding.

  I couldn’t help it. First I lost my virginity to him, then I lost my leisure time doing his laundry and cleaning up after him, then I lost a good part of my bank account. My head was about all I had left.

  It happened when they played that song “How could you give your love to someone else, and share your dreams with me”. So I started thinking about the dreams he had shared with me. Erotic, he called them. I called them porn. To me, anything that involves groups or animals is porn.

  His beloved, his bride, was my best friend Tiffany, and I, of course, was the maid of honour.

  How Tiffany and I became such great friends, I’ll never know. She was a little blonde, perky thing; I was a normal size. She was always laughing or crying; I was the calm one. He said she was ditzy. Turned out, he liked ditz. And little by little, he started to spend time with her. Pretty soon, I was history. A year later, when he came to tell me in person of their engagement, he had the nerve to suggest we be “friends with benefits”. Hoping to fulfil one of his dreams, I guess.

  Now, I was supposed to be laughing and clapping at his wedding. Certainly everyone else was laughing and clapping.

  I did my congratulations speech. I started with platitudes about “dreams of a lifetime”, and how “dreams really do come true”. Before anyone figured it out, I slid in a few details of the groom’s dreams. The silence was astounding. Thanks to my Toastmasters’ training, I was able to take full advantage of that short silence and enlarged on a few more of his dreams.

  There followed a short tussle with the best man, as he tried to wrench the microphone away. Then someone got smart and turned off the sound system. That’s when I really lost my head and tried to make myself heard over the hubbub while being dragged out of the hall.

  I lost a few friends when I lost my head, but still there was great satisfaction in knowing that the marriage was annulled by Tiffany’s request, on the basis of non-consummation. Ha, I know for a fact that it was consummated before the wedding.

  But tonight, I am going to dinner with the best man. He’s not a dream man, he’s a little chubby and starting to go bald, but in my real life, I’ve found my best man.

  Conversations from the Rubble

  FUCK! WHAT JUST HAPPENED HERE? One minute I’m scarfing back a cheeseburger, the next minute there’s all this noise and screaming, now nothing. Ow! My fucking leg hurts. Hope it’s not broken. I won’t be winning the hurdles this year if that leg is broken. Shit, I won’t even be competing. Something must have exploded here. How can something explode? It’s a fucking mall, for fuck sake. This must be what it feels
like to go into war. I never wanted that. Wow, it’s dark in here. And quiet. Jesus, the place must have collapsed and I must be under it! Get me out of here!

  ***

  My old bones are screaming. I’m pinned to the ground, and the ground isn’t very comfortable. Something is sticking into my back, poking me, and I can’t reach it. It feels like my arm is stuck to my side. It’s black in here, no light at all. Oh Lord, I think the mall collapsed and I’m underneath. Is there anyone else in here with me? God, I don’t want to die. I know I’m old, but I want to see my granddaughter one more time before I die. I’m going to pray to my God. God, please, just a few more years. I want to see Brianna grow up. I want to tell her of my hopes for her, how much I love her.

  ***

  Oh my god, I think the building just collapsed. I don’t believe it. Where’s my cell phone? I’m going to call 911. I’ve got to get out of here and get back to that meeting. I haven’t even had a chance to present the company’s proposal to repair the mall. I know my cell is clipped to my belt, but I can’t find it. It’s like my hand can’t feel anything. Shit, this isn’t good at all. If I can just get my cell, and it’s not broken, I can get help.

  ***

  Fuck, my leg is killing me. It’s so dark. I hate the dark. I don’t care if I am eighteen; I still use a night light, although if anyone found out about that I would die of embarrassment. Christ, maybe I’m going to die anyway, and not of embarrassment. I got to keep this panic down. It’s just dark, there aren’t any bogey men. Is there anyone else in here with me? “Help,” I scream. Well, I thought it was a scream, but I hardly made a sound. I scream again, and this time I hear someone else call out.

  I call again, and a voice says, “Neil, Neil McIntosh, is that you?”

  I’m so happy to hear a voice, I sob, but then I cover it up with a pretend cough. “Yeah,” I say, “it’s me.”

  “It’s Isobel Weller,” I hear. Shit, wouldn’t you know it? Just yesterday I made fun of her wrinkles and her old lady’s fat stomach. I told Jessica that if she ever gets fat like that, she’s history, and I don’t care if we’re married or just hanging out together. Maybe Mrs. Weller didn’t hear me make fun of her. Well, I guess she could probably figure out I was making fun of her. Now I’m trapped in here with her, and she probably hates me. She calls out to me asking if I’m hurt.

  “Yeah, my leg is trapped, it may be broken,” I say. Mrs. Weller tells me to just lie still, that when they find us they’ll put the leg in a cast, that I’m young and the leg will heal. Yeah, well, what else can I do except lie still?

  ***

  I had just started talking to God when I heard young Neil calling. Well, I guess God will understand. The boy is scared, and he’s hurt, and it’s more important that I offer him some comfort. So I ask him how he’s doing, and try to reassure him. I want to get back to thinking about my granddaughter.

  “Neil,” I say, “Just give me a minute. I’m going to say a prayer to God.”

  I close my eyes and concentrate. I picture her, Brianna, smiling at me. Brianna, I think, this is your old grandma. Honey, I love you so much. Please, please finish school. Get the best grades you can. Education will help you with a good job. But, don’t spend all your time on school, have some fun in your life. Choose your friends well and be a good friend. I know if I don’t get out of here you’re going to miss me, but I don’t want you to sorrow too much. You’re a young girl, be young, have fun. I know there’s no such thing as telepathy, but I do this all the same. Sometimes Brianna tells me that she hears my voice in her head. I ask her what I say in her head, and she says that I tell her I love her, and she should do her math homework. Then I tell her that the first part of the message is more important than the second part, and we both laugh.

  ***

  Crap, this has got to be the worst business trip of my career. First, a seven hour drive from Toronto, then my reservations mixed up, now I’m buried, and not just under work, either, ha, ha. And I found my cell phone, but it’s smashed to pieces. How ironic that I’m answering the Request for Proposal to fix the roof, and the roof actually collapses. Okay, well, if I had my calculator with me, I could give them a new proposal around rebuilding. I wonder how much of the mall collapsed, if it was just a small section or the whole thing. If it’s the whole thing, we’ll need to do some hiring. That’s good. That’s a selling point. Jobs for the local’s is always a good pitch. We’ll bring in the experts, but that has a selling point as well; they’ll need living quarters, and the local restaurants will do a good business. Yeah, I can make this an attractive offer. Let’s see. I can do some of the work up without my calculator—I always did have a head for math. Okay, I might as well get started. At least, doing the calculations will keep my mind busy until I get rescued. I wonder if there is anyone else under here with me. There was an older lady at the next table, but I can’t remember anyone else.

  ***

  “Mrs. Weller,” I say, and I hate the sound of my voice. I sound all weak and weepy like a little girl. I clear my throat and make it deeper.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Frog in my throat.” Mrs. Weller says that she understands, there’s a lot of dust in here.

  “Shouldn’t we be doing something to let people know we’re down here, like yell or something? I mean, we just can’t lie here and wait for people to figure it out.” Mrs. Weller agrees with me, but she thinks yelling might be hard after a while and asks for any more suggestions. I bet ya she was a teacher when she was younger, asking for suggestions. I say maybe we could tap, and she agrees. I search around for something to tap with and find a rock or chunk of cement, and start a rhythmic tapping on the junk that’s just above me. That loosens up dirt which falls in my face. Spitting and coughing, I move the tapping to a location more over my shoulder. I have plenty of room to move around, but I can’t with my leg trapped like this.

  ***

  I’m awful tired, God. I pray it is Your will that I get out of here alive. I don’t want to be bedridden, or paralyzed, or anything like that either, but if that’s the trade off, then I can make that trade-off, God. Or even if I die after they get me out of here. I just want to see Brianna again. I know if I die I’ll be with Robert, and that will be a blessing, but please Lord, let me see my granddaughter again. I need to tell her how much I love her. My right arm is bent back, and I can’t move it at all, but I lift my left arm and wipe the tears from my eyes. I can hear Neil tapping away, and after some listening I can tell he’s tapping out a rhythm.

  “That’s really smart, tapping out a rhythm,” I say. “The searchers will know it’s not just something banging around and they’ll know where to look for us.”

  It’s the least I can offer the boy who’s got to be scared out of his mind and is never going to admit it. I’ve heard other people say that Neil is a rotten egg, always in trouble, but what does that matter here and now? Lord, I’m tuckered out. I’m just going to try and relax for a minute.

  ***

  Okay, I am good at math, but really, I guess I need more information. I still don’t know how much of the mall collapsed, so I’m working with unknowns. Where are the search and rescue people anyway? Am I the only person under here? Earlier, I thought I heard some voices, but not now. Wait a minute, now I’m hearing some tapping. Finally someone is doing something. Probably be a couple hours though before anyone can get through. Shit, I’m thirsty. At least I’m in one piece. I can feel my foot is trapped, and it’s kind of turned sideways, but just a sprain, I hope. Doesn’t really hurt much. I hope it’s not too much longer. First thing I’m going to ask for is a beer. And when I get back to TO I’m going to call up that brunette, what’s her name? Jeanette, I think. Jeanette the brunette. I know I put that little piece of paper with her number in my wallet. She looked good, that woman. I’ll see if she wants to get together for a drink. Maybe it’s time to get serious with someone.

  ***

  Mrs. Weller thinks I’m smart using a rhythm to
the tapping. She’d freak if she knew I was doing that ‘Shaggy’ song “It Wasn’t Me”. She probably hasn’t had sex in like 30 years. Speaking of which, when I tell Jessica I almost died, maybe she’ll be more willing to put out. My arm’s getting pretty tired, though. In a few minutes, I’ll ask Mrs. Weller to tap for a while. I wonder how much time has passed? I wish my mom was here. I don’t mean here, trapped beneath the mall, but just so I could talk to her. I was pretty mean this morning. I’d like to tell her I was sorry. When I get out, I mean, when we get out, I will tell her I was sorry. Well, she will be angry with me for cutting classes, but not that angry, seeing that I’m hurt and everything.

  ***

  I don’t want to be negative, but I start thinking about my will. Now that I’ve got more to go around, I want to donate a little something to my church. I just kept thinking about making the appointment, and not doing it. This will teach me to procrastinate. I guess I’m not too old to learn something. My arm is really painful now. My shoulder feels like its’ being wrenched out of its socket, but I can’t even move to try to relieve it in any way. I’m just so tired; I think I’ll close my eyes for a bit.

  ***

  God, I must have been in here for hours now. I’ve heard some tapping, so I yelled, but I didn’t get any reply. I’m beginning to think the tapping is in here with me. Every time I put out a hand I can feel a kind of cave around me. I guess that’s why I’m still alive, I’m in some kind of cave made by falling girders or something. When are they going to get me out? Do they even know I’m in here? They must. They would try to account for everyone and I’m sure I’ll be reported missing when I don’t get back to the meeting. Relax Jack, I tell myself, this is just going to take time.