The Anesthesia Game

by Rea Nolan Martin

  “You’re not exactly haute couture at the moment, are you?” says the charlatan. “I’m getting rather a sloppy image of you in dirty jeans and a rumpled sweater. Not even clean. Green. I’m getting green with a slight odor. An unfortunate olivey green sweater. Rumpled. I’m seeing rumpled.”

  Hannah looks down, aghast. Who told this to the fraud? She couldn’t know that!

  “Good guess,” she says, “but I’m wearing an orange cashmere sweater with black silk pants. Furstenberg.”

  Long pause.

  “Hello?” says Hannah.

  “I doubt that,” says the freak. “But you’re welcome to snap a picture and send it on over. Will you do that?”

  “I will not.”

  “Considering the outrageous amount of bills you ring up on clothing, you ought to be winning fashion awards in your sleep,” says the fraud. “You’re an addict, Hannah. A shopping addict.”

  Hannah’s eyes practically pop out, glutinous emerald cat’s eyes rolling around on the tile floor in front of her.

  “If only she hadn’t taken that phone call, her eye sockets wouldn’t be vacant…”

  “Shopping addict, my ass!” she says. “Is that what my sister told you?” The gall. “After all I’ve done for her!”

  “Your sister didn’t tell me anything, Hannah. She just told me what a big help you’ve been. Look…”

  “If my sister didn’t tell you anything, how do you know my name? Eh? Gotcha! And to be clear, all you’re doing is enabling Mitsy to self-destruct instead of taking care of her child.”

  “I could help you,” says the fraud in a maddeningly calm voice. So this is where Mitsy gets it. “If you would allow me to do so.”

  There’s a rap on the bathroom door, and as impressed as Hannah is that the invalid actually got out of bed during the day, she’s damned if she’s going to give her the phone back now. No. She’s taking this roller coaster right through the haunted house and out the other side. She stands up, turns on the exhaust fan, sink faucets, and shower to block out the knocking.

  “Help me do what exactly?” she says to Pandora. “As if I need your help.”

  “Not that I want to, you understand,” says the phony baloney. “I’m taking a break from my entire clientele with the exception of your sister who desperately needs me.”

  “What she desperately needs is to get rid of you.”

  Mitsy’s phone vibrates to announce another caller and Hannah holds it in front of her to see who it is. Maybe it’s Aaron. Maybe she can give him a good piece of her rotting mind. But no. What? Not only is it not Aaron. It’s Jonah!

  “But I can’t abandon her now,” Pandora continues. Blah blah blah. “And since you’re there, well. I could help you with your addictive nature.” She pauses. “As well as your ex-husband.”

  What?! Hannah’s heart stops. “Hold on,” she says, and clicks on Jonah’s call, but it’s too late. She’ll have to call him back on her own phone, or maybe he’s leaving a message. She won’t return Mitsy’s phone until she’s got his message. Why is he calling Mitsy! “I have to go,” she says to Pandora. “And just to be clear, I don’t need your help with my so-called ex-husband. In fact he’s on the other line. We’re tight.”

  “You’re going to have a newborn,” says the whack job. “Very soon. I’m seeing something new.”

  Ha! This takes the upside down cake and every other crumb in the psycho bakery. “What the hell?” says Hannah. “I’m not even pregnant. I’m suing you for reckless absurdity, not to mention every dime my sister ever paid you!” She presses END with a flourish.

  Even though the knocking starts up again, Hannah doesn’t want to leave the bathroom without talking to Jonah. He’s only called her once the entire time she’s been up here; every other call was initiated by her. She clicks call-back.

  “Hello?” he says. “Mitsy?”

  “Not Mitsy,” says Hannah, though she did think for a second of pretending. What would he say to Mitsy that he wouldn’t say to her?

  “Oh, Hannah, hi,” he says. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? I’ve been calling and calling.”

  “You have?” She grins girlishly and sits back down sipping coffee. “What’s up, stranger?”

  “One of the mares—Jolie, is in a bit of a fix. Seems she’s ready to foal early. I’ve called the vet.”

  Hannah isn’t that worried about the broodmare. Jolie is tough. Plus she’s delivered early before. But Hannah knows an exit opportunity when she sees one. “I’ll get the next flight out,” she says.

  “No,” he says, “really. Don’t. I’ll take care of it. It’s in the vet’s hands now, anyway. Just keeping you informed is all. Doc just arrived—I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.” End of call; not even goodbye. What the hell ever happened to courtesy?

  Hannah secures her mug with her left hand, and shuts off the shower, sink faucets and fan switch with her right. Time to get out of this mental hospital and back to the other one.

  “Aunt Hannah, are you in there?” calls Syd from the hall.

  Oh no! Syd. It was Syd knocking! “Sorry, sweet pea,” Hannah calls, fiddling with the door lock with her free hand. “I didn’t hear you, hon.”

  She opens the door and Syd’s slightly yellow pallor is now the palest white. “What’s wrong, Syd?” she says. “What’s up?”

  “It’s Godiva,” says Syd. “I can’t find her. She’s gone.”

  Hannah’s eyes slowly widen. “Oh! Oh no!” She slips past Syd, charging down the back stairs, skidding halfway and landing on her rump with the remains of her coffee sprinkled on her sweater and jeans. “I’m so sorry,” she keeps saying. “So damn sorry. I forgot about the pup! I left her outside!”

  She opens the back door and runs into the frozen tundra behind the house, slipping and sliding in her Uggs on the icy crust, calling, “Godiva! Come here, girl! Godiva!”

  Syd follows, shuffling back and forth to keep her balance. “Godiva!” she screams, crying now. “Godiva! Oh no, where are you?”

  Hannah’s hands cover her mouth. She’s paralyzed. Shit. Shit. Shit! “I’ll get in the car and look,” she says. “Be right back.” Her ass is killing her from all the acrobatics.

  “I’m coming with you!” says Syd.

  Hannah has to crawl, hands and knees, to reach the back stairs then up and inside, hanging onto the railing for dear life. She grabs the first two parkas she can find and tosses one to Syd, who’s right behind her, breathless. Hannah’s parka is huge—obviously Aaron’s, but it covers her coffee spill nicely. Not that she cares, and she still hasn’t combed her hair. She yanks her purse off the bench and grabs the keys. In less than a minute they’ve driven out of the circle and onto the road, screaming, “Godiva! Godiva!” into the frigid air. Hannah’s heart literally pounds in her throat and Syd’s face leaks tears like a soaker hose.

  Twenty minutes later after covering the entire neighborhood twice, they see the fugitive perched all la-de-da in someone’s yard just looking around wide-eyed and duh. Hannah screeches the car to a halt, jumps out and runs to her on the shoveled driveway, but the dog leaps around gleefully in circles and takes off into the wooded glen. Slipping and sliding all over again, but this time using trees for ballast, Hannah closes in on her in a clearing. She falls to her knees, begging, “Puh-leaaaaase, come to me. Good girl! Come on!” She crawls slowly toward the pup who alternately crouches and leaps, daring Hannah to come closer so she can run away again.

  Just then Syd appears behind Godiva, tiptoeing between the trees. Very slowly and quietly she leans in, reaches, and finally, snatches the collar.

  “Oh my God,” says Hannah breathlessly. “Oh my God, oh my God!”

  “We have her,” says Syd, grinning. “So it doesn’t matter.”

  Hannah pulls herself up on a tree limb, the knees of her jeans ripped to shreds from the ice and sticks and pointy whatnot. Her knees are bloody gizzards. “If only she hadn’t crawled through the nuclear waste after the ungrateful bitc
h…” “We’re getting a frigging fence around your back yard as soon as I can get a hold of your dad,” she says.

  In the car, Hannah’s heart is still beating a mile a minute, and she knows she can’t take anymore. She bides her time; lets Syd cuddle Godiva for a few minutes before breaking the news. “Listen, cookie, I gotta fly down to Virginia today. Jonah called and Jolie’s in trouble.”

  Syd, whose torso is curled protectively around Godiva, straightens up fast. “What? No! You can’t leave me here with her!”

  “Just use a leash, like I should have. She’ll be fine.”

  “Not Godiva,” Syd whines. “Mom!”

  “Ah. Ohhhh.” Hannah scratches her head. “Well. That.”

  “You can’t go now, Aunt Hannah, you just can’t!”

  “I have to, cookie. But I’ll be back as soon as I can, don’t worry. A few days maybe. A week at most.”

  “A week! No! Plus I have my procedure in a few days.”

  “Your mom can take you, no worries. She’ll be fine.” They arrive at a red light and Hannah turns to Syd. “I absolutely have to leave, darlin’. Until I sell my book, those foals are my only income.”

  Syd stares blankly out the window. A minute later she says, “Take me with you. Please? Me and Godiva? You’ll barely notice us, I promise.”

  “But what about your procedure?”

  “Fuck it. Fuck the procedure. I’ve already had twenty and it’s not like they’re doing me any good. What I really need is a break.”

  Hannah scowls. “The procedures most certainly are doing you some good,” she says, though she doesn’t really believe it. “You’re here, right? And you’re getting better.”

  Syd shakes her head. “There’s nothing for me here, Aunt Hannah. Nothing at all. Pleeeease take me! You have to! Pretty please!”

  “Nothing for you here? Well, that’s not true. What about Zelda? What about…” and she winks.

  A lopsided grin slips reluctantly onto Syd’s pale face, followed by a brief blush. “Well, but.” She shrugs. “And anyway, he’s…”

  Hannah slows the car before making the turn onto their street. “Yes? What? What? He’s…what?”

  “He’s pretty great,” says Syd.

  “Aha! So you’ve been talking to him!”

  Syd nods shyly, dipping her chin. “Yeah, and texting a bunch. But anyway, he’s leaving for Pennsylvania tonight. For the entire winter break. His cousins are there.” She bats her lashes. “You have to take me with you, Aunt Hannah. You have to!”

  Hannah’s head is a tornado of swirling debris, so she has no idea what makes her say, “Fine.” When you’ve been living in an asylum this long, everything is part of the same hallucination. Impossible to discriminate.

  “Why not?” she says. “We’ll take your dad’s car.”

  Syd jumps up in her seat. “Really?” She claps Godiva’s paws twice. “Hooray!” she yells, and then, “Let’s not tell Mom, okay? She probably won’t even notice we’re gone. She can just sleep for a week.”

  Hannah shakes her head; this much is true. And frankly, just seeing Syd exhibit this much enthusiasm is inducement enough to risk everything. Still, there’s no way she can just leave with Syd. Right? “We have to tell her, Syd. She’ll freak out.”

  “She’ll only freak out if we tell her,” says Syd. “She won’t let me go. She’ll forbid it! Saying you’ll tell Mom is as good as saying I can’t go.”

  They pull to a stop at the garage and Hannah lays her head in her arms over the steering wheel, defeated. “Just go upstairs and get packed,” she says wearily. “Three days—that’s all I can promise. I’ll call the clinic to reschedule, and if they say yes, we’ll check-in with your mom.” She lifts her head. “We’ll just have to be persuasive. I can’t kidnap you as much as I’d like to.”

  Syd nods reluctantly and hurries inside with Godiva.

  In her suite, Hannah phones the clinic, done! No argument there, just a list of do’s and don’ts. She’s right on chemo schedule, so. But won’t this little junket throw her off? What is their plan, anyway? Best to just go along with everything. Best not to know.

  Hannah showers the frosty grime from her filthy body and patches up her mangled knees with iodine and band aids. Everything is sore. She blows out her hair for all it’s worth because today she’s seeing a man. Jonah! She can’t believe how much she’s looking forward to ditching this estrogen palace for the farm. Well, not the palace so much, but the gothic energy inside it. Mitsy’s energy! She extends her hair with the round-brush, applies the heat of the dryer, and curls it ever so slightly. She’s good at this. She’s good at looking good when she wants to. This is what she’s meant for—this and composing brilliant stories. She just hasn’t wanted to look good in a while, is all. The insanity factor.

  “If only they hadn’t all gone insane…”

  Gorgeous silky auburn hair, smoky make-up and clean clothes later—dark wash straight legs tucked into brand new leather knee-high boots topped with a designer tunic in oatmeal knit and a chunky belt—Hannah’s ready for anything. She switches to her butter-soft gazillion dollar Ferragamo purse, throws whatever she can fit into her weekender, and rolls it across the hall to Syd’s room. “You ready?” she says.

  Syd’s coloring still isn’t the greatest, but she’s all dressed, including the spiky blonde wig, which is the first time in over a week Hannah’s seen her in it. So this little trip is already putting some oomph back into her niece, oomph that’s been missing for a while. How can she say no to that? She strokes Syd’s cheek. “You look awesome,” she says.

  Another blush races across Syd’s cheek only to disappear into her pale flesh. The lack of color is disconcerting, but Hannah’s the only one who seems bothered, so. “Here goes nothing,” she says, pointing to Mitsy’s suite. “Wish me luck.”

  “So the clinic is rescheduled?” says Syd.

  “Next Friday at 9 AM.”

  Syd raises her fist, “Yesssss!” she hisses, and then, “I’m going in with you. Mom can’t say no to both of us.”

  Hannah abandons her suitcase in the hall and treads carefully into the dungeon in search of the dragon. Not that Mitsy breathes fire often; she doesn’t. Hannah can count the number of times she’s seen her sister explode, which, if you ask Hannah, is a big part of the problem. Explode! You might get somewhere.

  She walks to the window, pulls the drapes open, and slowly turns the blinds. She approaches her sister’s bed and sits at the foot, sinking into the expensive memory foam. After a minute, she jiggles Mitsy’s foot. “Hey sleepyhead,” she says like the hypocrite she is. “Gotta talk, sis.”

  Sydney hovers anxiously in the shadows. Hannah can feel Syd’s nerves ten feet away.

  “Huh? What?” mutters Mitsy, rolling over.

  Hannah gently shakes Mitsy’s right leg back and forth, but if she doesn’t wake up soon she might throw a glass of ice water on her. Or light her hair on fire. She’s running out of what little patience she cobbled together in the first place. “Come on Mitsy, wake up! I have to tell you something.”

  Mitsy opens her eyes. “What?” she says. “What time is it?”

  “Eleven-thirty.”

  “Oh.” Ever so slowly, she lifts herself up on her elbows. “Ouch,” she mutters. “My joints are killing me.”

  “Well, just stay in bed and rest,” says Hannah. “No worries. Syd and I are just taking Godiva to Virginia for a few days, so no rush at all waking up.”

  “Okay,” says Mitsy, sinking back down, and then, “Wait. What?” Somehow she manages to jolt up, aching joints and all. The covers roll down, and she’s wearing the same gray sweatshirt and pants she’s had on for three days. Or is it three weeks?

  “Jonah called,” says Hannah evenly. She explains the situation matter-of-factly, why she has to go and why Syd is better off accompanying her. “We’ll be back before you know it. Meantime, you can catch up on your sleep.”

  “No,” says Mitsy, rubbing her eyes. “She can’t go
with you.”

  Syd steps out of the shadows. “But I am going, Mom. I have to get the fuck out of this fucking house.”

  “Syd,” warns Hannah. “Be nice.”

  “I want to be nice,” says Syd. “I do. But the thing is—I can’t. I want a real mother who has real emotions and doesn’t sleep in a fucking cave all day.”

  “I haven’t been feeling well,” says Mitsy. “I wish you’d be fair.”

  “Wow, so sorry you haven’t been feeling well, Mom,” says Syd. “’Cause I’ve been feeling fucking AWESOME, as you know.”

  “You’re not going to Virginia, Sydney,” she says.

  “Yes, I am.”

  Mitsy shakes her head. “Give me a minute, please, both of you. I need to make a phone call.”

  Hannah jumps to her feet. “You are not asking that psycho-gypsy whether or not your own daughter should or should not go to Virginia with me for a few days. You. Are. Not. Doing. That!!!” She stomps her foot. “She’s a fraud, Mitsy Michaels. Do you hear me? Do you know what she said to me this morning when I lambasted her earlier on the phone? She said she could help me, too. Can you believe that? She said she could help me with my ex-husband, and by the way—I was going to have a baby soon! A baby! I’m not even pregnant.”

  “Syd has a spinal coming up,” says Mitsy.

  How Mitsy even remembers these things is a mystery to Hannah. There’s not even a calendar in her room.

  “I changed the appointment,” Hannah says.

  “You can’t change it; only I can change it. She needs my permission for all medical issues until she’s 18. She won’t be 18 for three years.”

  “I’ll be 16 in two months,” says Syd. “Or maybe you forgot.”

  “Maybe you also forgot that you put me on the authority list,” says Hannah. “Since I’m the one with her at the clinic twice a week, sometimes more.”

  “Yes, well that’s just for emergencies,” says Mitsy.

  “It must be an emergency then,” says Hannah, “because I changed the appointment. It’s done.”

  Syd says, “Get mad, Mom. Go ahead and get angry. Let’s see what happens when you actually show how you really feel instead of roaming around all night and sleeping all day.” She gets up in Mitsy’s face and screams. “You’re the worst fucking mother in the whole fucking world!”