The Insomniacs

by Marit Weisenberg

  “It’s not your fault. I’m almost an adult.”

  “No, you’re not an adult. Not yet. It’s my job to protect you. Mike created a relationship with you that, in hindsight, was not okay. I thought it was—he was Mike. But you shouldn’t have been at his house, socializing without other teammates. He shouldn’t have been at family occasions. He was your teacher. I’ll take the blame for not creating a better boundary. But now I’m here.” My mom stared quietly at the carpet for a long moment, thinking.

  “What happens to the team?” I sounded hoarse.

  “The diving program needs to tell us how they’re going to handle this.”

  “I mean, competition-wise. Is the team going to fall apart?”

  “No, we’re going to fight to keep it together. We don’t want to let Mike hurt you kids. Coach Ericka is going to step up and coach your age division and an assistant is going to cover the younger kids until someone new is hired. It sounds like practice will resume in two days. And that’s perfect, Ingrid. When you kick this virus, you can go back. You’ll be done with your month of rest.”

  She collected her phone, grabbed the blanket at the foot of her bed, and spread it over me. I was shivering hard, the fever spiking again. My mom was about to walk out the bedroom door, on to what she was best at: tasks.

  “Mom?”

  She turned. “I’m going to grab your sheets for the wash. Then I’m going to call a garage-door repair place. We’ll deal with your car next.”

  “I’m sorry. Let me deal with it.”

  “Um, no, you won’t. You need to rest.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “I mean, I’m not happy, but I’m more worried about you.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  My mom came back over and sat down at the bedside again. “This is going to be a thing you’re going to have to carry and I hate that, but this is not about you. This was never about you.” Then, in a softer voice, “I want to make sure you know it is not a big deal that you were close to Mike. I know he was like a father to you and I understand your need for that close relationship given that your father is…”

  To make her feel better, I said, “No, I have a father.”

  She touched my hair. “No, honey. Not really.”

  I was so taken aback, I turned my face to the wall so she wouldn’t see the immediate effect her words had.

  “He went away and he missed so much. Even if you win twenty Olympic gold medals, he can never come back and raise you.”

  My chest was tight and I couldn’t breathe except for small, short inhales through my noise. Finally, I managed, “What’s wrong with me?”

  “What?” My mom sounded like she hadn’t heard my question.

  “What’s wrong with me?” The question came out between hyperventilating breaths. “Why doesn’t he want to see me?” I was exploding and I was trying to stuff it back down as hard and as fast as I could but I was losing control.

  “Oh, honey. Oh, honey.” My mom’s entire face changed to pure sadness and she put her head down next to mine on the pillow. “Nothing is wrong with you in the least.”

  “I remember holding on to him, trying to get him to stay, and he looked at me with disgust.” I couldn’t stop gasping.

  My mom’s expression was appalled, like she’d had no idea this was what I’d been thinking. We were face-to-face, just inches between us. Her eyes had lightened with unshed tears to an electric light blue. “It wasn’t you.”

  “Why does it feel like it?”

  “That’s the fucked-up thing about shame. He made you feel ashamed when, at that moment, he just didn’t want to feel how much he loved you and what he was giving up. It was all about him. But his actions affected you.” My mom pushed her hand into my back, as if to let me know she had me and to steady herself, to remind us both that we were fine. She was gathering herself and I expected her to return to what she needed to get done. It was more of a conversation than we’d ever had about what had happened.

  Then she paused. “I know it’s confusing when someone you love behaves in a way you can’t fathom, but they are not you. The only person you can ever understand is yourself. You’re your own constant.”

  I wanted to be strong like my mom. “I’m going to put my head down, be quiet, plow through. I never want to think about Mike again.”

  “No. No,” she said, surprising me.

  “You seemed like you never thought about him again—Dad.” It was like when I’d thrown up the other day; I’d had no idea it was coming and I kept spewing.

  “Honey, I’m human. For years, I’ve wondered what he was thinking and how he could have abandoned you.”

  No one had ever said it out loud. I was an abandoned child.

  “Ingrid?”

  “What?” I refocused my eyes on hers.

  “Raising you has been the best part of my life. I’m glad I got to be the one to do it.”

  I’d tried to make it easy. I’d tried to have perfect grades, be a perfect athlete, get college paid for so she didn’t have to go back to my dad to ask for money. I had to tell her now. Keeping the secret had finally become the greater evil. It would be a relief.

  “Mom, I haven’t slept—not really—since the accident. I stay up all night and it never leaves the back of my mind that I’m scared to dive now. I don’t know if it’s Mike, or that I’ve realized how dangerous it is. It’s like I woke up and realized how badly I can get hurt. And now I’ve been gone so long, I’m not sure I can force myself to go back. I could stand on that diving board and freeze.”

  My mom sat up against the headboard.

  “What happens if I never dive again?” I wiped at the sweat that broke down the sides of my face. I stared at the pale blank wall, a shaft of sunlight making a picture frame behind her. That was the thing about my mom; she turned all the blank whiteness of this house into a mellow gold.

  I knew she would talk me down, form a plan, tell me why I was feeling this way. Part of me wanted her to give me direction and part of me knew I would die inside when she did because, this time, I didn’t think I could deliver.

  “Ingrid, I am fine if you never, ever dive again. You need to follow what you love.”

  I paused, reluctant to point out reality. “What about the full scholarship? I don’t want to ask Dad for money.”

  “We’ll figure it out. Your happiness is what’s most important.”

  I felt such incredible relief.

  She reached out and smoothed my damp hair. “I had no idea any of this was going on.”

  “I thought I would figure it out on my own.” Well, not quite on my own. I’d had Van.

  “I need to apologize to you. I messed up. I always told myself I was there for you. That I could make it all work. I think a lot of the time, I just don’t have much left over.”

  “You’ve been a really good mom.” Looking at her now, I knew I’d been chasing the dream of my father, the one who left, but she was the one who’d been here all along.

  Now I could see my mom’s profound relief. “We’ve been on a journey together, haven’t we?” she said. I knew what she meant. I could also see that we were almost near the end of it. But not yet.

  Outside, birds sang, interrupted by the sound of a garbage truck heaving over a nearby speed bump. I had a taste of what my mom’s mornings in the house by herself felt like. She still loomed above me, as if she hadn’t decided whether to say what was on her mind.

  “What? Did you want to say something?”

  “My goal has always been to make you independent so when bad things happen—like your dad, now Mike, god forbid anything happening to me while you’re still young—you’d be resilient. That’s not totally realistic. Bad stuff has happened to us, to you. It’s not weakness that it hurts. I want you to be excited about life and know that, even after what you’ve seen firsthand, being open is worth it. For instance, look, I have you,” she said gently. She cleared her throat and I realized she was choking up.


  “Sometimes it feels powerful to shut off. But I’ve realized that isn’t life. It’s sort of half of one. And I don’t want that for you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  SUNDAY, APRIL 24

  Harp music marked the end of my first full night of sleep. I heard cursing and then a phone drop to the floor. Finally, the chords stopped and my mother rose from her side of the bed. I dropped back into the sleep of the dead.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  FRIDAY, APRIL 29

  Are you okay? I haven’t seen you around.

  Hi. I got really sick. I’m finally better though. How are you?

  With what? I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole.

  No, I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole. This past month was really weird. I’m a mess. That’s why I don’t tell you things.

  Who isn’t? And you know I will always love you anyway. Can you come over?

  Why Izzie would always love me, and why she was so loyal to me, I had no idea. But for once, I decided to trust it.

  I was about to agree to her invitation, already looking forward to one of my favorite escapes in the world after days in bed. That was how our lopsided relationship worked: Izzie shared everything and I shared as little as possible.

  I typed, Want to come here?

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  SATURDAY, APRIL 30

  I tried to keep my first day of diving practice as undramatic as possible. I told my mom I didn’t want her to come.

  The labyrinthine corridor took me through hallway after hallway while blood pounded in my ears. I felt like a little kid dragging my feet. I didn’t want to be here. I noticed the paint job, the picture frames on walls, the stripe that ran the entire length of the tunnel like a version of the yellow brick road. All with the awareness that this could be the last time.

  And then the claustrophobic tunnel opened onto the vast, bright swim deck and I thought I would die of a heart attack. It was so big and so frightening and there was still time to turn around, all of the swimmers obscuring me from the divers who were stick figures clear across three pools.

  If I didn’t face it now, it would only get worse. In my heart, I knew if I didn’t walk over to my team today, I would never do it again. Wearing my favorite bathing suit, pulled from the back of the drawer where, ashamed, I’d stashed it more than a month ago, I walked toward my team, wondering what kind of team even still remained.

  “Ingrid!”

  I was quickly surrounded, pulled into hugs by divers in their team suits.

  “Why did you call the other club? You wanted to leave us?”

  I was startled that they’d seemed to miss me and thought of me as part of their community. “No. I just didn’t know that we’d be taken care of. As a group, I mean.”

  “We were trying to find a coach for all of us.”

  “Ingrid, we’re so happy to see you.” Our new coach gave me the last hug, her black bob grazing my cheek. “I know the team has a lot of healing to do and I know I’m not Mike. But I am here to help however you think is best. I don’t want to mess with what you have going on. We’ll just start. Okay? Let’s get going.” She was nervous and I was about to pass out. Just like that, it was time to dive. I’d expected a one-on-one off to the side with the coach to give her my litany of excuses and the setting of low to zero expectations. But there wasn’t time and no one was listening. It seemed to be my turn.

  Outside of myself, I realized in one moment, I would be up on that board. In front of everyone. I had no idea what was going to happen.

  The glance-around for Mike would be a habit for a long time. He was gone now and never coming back. And no matter what I achieved in this sport, I understood that my dad was gone and never coming back. Most likely, I wouldn’t know if he was proud of me or if he even thought about me. There was no fighting it or outrunning it; it was just sad.

  I wasn’t sure what any of it meant—to have people you trusted devastate you—and what to do with my memories of the good times. The past month, sensing what was coming, that question had completely displaced me and, in the end, I couldn’t mount a new effort to shut it out.

  When I walked to the end of the springboard, instead of possessing my machinelike mentality from a month before, I was scared. That bold little girl was long gone. I was diving from a different part of myself.

  The smattering of voices and echoes, the glassy, undulating water below. Closing my eyes, I heard my own breathing and stretched out that last second. I knew if I dove, I could possibly get hurt, I could disappoint myself, my life could change course from where it had been headed.

  But it would be much worse to turn around and be eaten alive in that particular way that happens when you stayed on the sidelines. I knew, because that was where I had been living the rest of my life when I wasn’t up here. Van showing up at diving with Caroline that day had pushed me and I couldn’t keep lying that I didn’t want things.

  In a terror-filled moment, many, many eyes on me, some probably craving my failure, I went for it, self-preservation screaming in my ears. Immediately, my angle was off, I was leaning back too far, so I saved myself by hipping out. The dive was a mess.

  I crashed into the water below, hitting it hard. I plunged fast beneath the surface, then gradually slowed and began to rise. I looked above to the light, awash with relief at facing my gigantic red wall of fear. I was back in my favorite moment, by myself, the stream of bubbles shooting up around me. Now I could feel every bit of how terrified I was. About everything. I didn’t know anything anymore. But I also felt like my real self. I’d been gone for a while.

  For a long time, it had seemed like I was winning. But the fearless me had been on eggshells, the most scared person I knew.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  SATURDAY, APRIL 30

  I listened to Caroline’s message, her voice still beautiful and lilting from wherever she was—San Diego? It didn’t seem fair.

  “Hey, Ingrid. It’s me. I wanted to say I’m sorry. Believe me, I didn’t mean for you to lose your coach. I didn’t mean for Mike to lose his job. To have to move in with his parents. I’m sure you hate me. It was just—I was ready, you know? I was so ready. To get out of there, to not be in high school, to be an adult. I wasn’t ready for other people to get hurt, though.”

  Caroline’s voice lowered, confessional. “My mom keeps saying I didn’t have a choice. I want you to know that’s not true. It didn’t even start at dive practice. I ran into Mike at the convenience store a couple of months ago when I was out on a run. Maybe it’s messed up that he bought me alcohol.” Caroline laughed darkly. “Ha, don’t tell my mom that! But you know me. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

  She coughed a little bit and then came back to the phone. “About a month ago, when we were partying at that house, you came up in conversation. Van said he’s always been in love with you. I was so pissed I wouldn’t talk to him for days and I didn’t tell him why. Granted, he was wasted but … Whether you know this already or not, he wants to be with you. I’m sorry if I got in the way of that, too.

  “I’m sorry. I know we won’t talk again most likely but I really, really liked you and I looked up to you. I still do. Bye.”

  I placed my phone down on my desk and held one last thought of Caroline. She would always be another person I wouldn’t be able to place. I’d never know quite how I felt about her. If I closed my eyes, I could still feel what it was like to be close to her, that extra pop of excitement to be near her confidence as she walked with her head held high, owning the world. Then I remembered that night when we’d caught her with Coach Mike and seeing her as a scared little girl.

  Caroline said it had started at the convenience store. I could almost picture how the whole thing happened, the bell chiming as Caroline flings open the door, oblivious, or conscientiously oblivious, to the stares as the sweaty beauty with the damp ponytail walks into the small Minute Mart, smelling of cocoa butter and sunscreen. Mike is at the register, buying h
imself a six-pack. He sees Caroline first and watches as her face lights with recognition just before she lets out a singsong, “Hey, Coach Mikey!”

  For some reason, she looks different to him, out of context, dressed in a sports bra instead of the swimsuit he sees her in every day.

  They chitchat. For far longer than usual. Maybe they stand out in front of the store for a while, lingering, both growing excited as it morphs into an interaction with a new flavor. During that conversation, Mike begins entertaining the thought. It’s the way Caroline looks at him, making him feel alive and so important.

  When Coach Mike, six-pack dangling from two fingers, asks Caroline if she wants a ride, testing her, calling her bluff, does her smile falter? Just for one second.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, my mom strolled into my bedroom. “Hi! Are you going over?”

  She walked directly to the window overlooking the house next door so she could take a peek. I joined her. The house was bright and clean, having been power-washed that morning. Yesterday, a fleet of landscapers came and trimmed, then hauled away debris. One day was all it had taken for a makeover. Apparently, for the past week, agents had been preparing the house for today’s estate sale. How had that dingy house next door ever seemed so scary, like it was a person, watching me?

  “I don’t think so. You?”

  “No. It’s probably all junk.” My mom glanced over at me. “You look one hundred percent better. You’re so beautiful.”

  “Ha!” I shook off the compliment.

  “You’re always beautiful, but now you look healthy.”

  “Honestly, I never thought I would sleep again.” It was strange to have no ailments: no weighed-down eyelids, sore throat, sore neck, fast and electric brain I couldn’t trust. I hadn’t felt better immediately after sleeping. At first, it had just made me slow and more exhausted, like I was walking in sand. But immediately, nothing was as scary and close to the surface. I wasn’t as emotional; I had an attention span again. “That was torture,” I said.