Out of My Mind

by Pat White

  “I didn’t. It was a misunderstanding.”

  “Hasn’t she suffered enough? Haven’t we suffered?”

  “Adam, keep your voice down.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” he shouts.

  I grip the wooden spindles of our banister with white-knuckled fingers. I don’t remember Dad ever sounding like this, so angry, so desperate.

  “Sweetheart, it’s not my fault. It’s not your fault,” Mom soothes.

  “Stop saying that. It’s his fault. That kid should be locked up. It’s bad enough he lives across the street, but now he’s her note taker?”

  “I’ll call the school first thing tomorrow,” Mom offers.

  A door creaks open, then slams shut.

  “Please put that away,” Mom says, her voice trembling.

  A snapping sound makes my shoulders jerk. I’ve heard that sound before. Prickly shivers crawl down my spine.

  “I’m going to put an end to this,” Dad says in a deep, threatening voice.

  Footsteps pound down the hall and I can see Dad as he approaches the door…

  Gripping a shotgun in his left hand.

  “Adam, stop acting crazy,” Mom says. “Shooting that boy isn’t going to change anything.”

  Dad spins around and glares at her. “I’m not going to shoot him. I’m going to scare him the crap out of him. I’m going to tell him to stay the hell away from my girl.”

  Mom shoulders her way to the door, blocking him from leaving. “You’ll be arrested and thrown in jail.”

  “Get out of my way.”

  “Honey, think about this.”

  “I have. I’m protecting my family for once. Now, move!”

  This is my fault. They’re fighting because of me. Dad will threaten J.D., the cops will arrest him, and he’ll go to jail.

  Because of me.

  “Daddy?” I stand, my fingernails digging into the wood railing.

  Dad freezes, his hand on the doorknob. It’s scary quiet and I think he might ignore me. Instead, he slowly turns.

  An angry, feral sheen sparks in his eyes. They look like J.D.’s dad’s eyes in the HULU. But my dad is not abusive or mean. He’s the guy who taught me to ride a bike and made me feel better when Boomer my guinea pig died when I was ten. He’s a gentle, caring man. I remember this, deep down.

  Yet he stands at our front door ready to shoot J.D. Pratt. I have to stop him.

  “Can you help me with History?” I ask.

  No one moves. Ticking from the hallway clock echoes off the wood floor. I hold my breath and swallow back my panic, hoping the voice of his fragile daughter will cut through the rage blinding my father.

  I shift my gaze to the wall beside his face, fearing a dad HULU. I can’t handle that right now.

  “I…” he whispers. “I was pretty good at History.”

  “That makes one of us.” I smile.

  Mom slips the gun from his fingers. “Dinner’s ready.”

  I come down the stairs and with each step Dad edges toward me. He’s been distant since the accident. I used to think he was uncomfortable being around his brain-damaged daughter.

  Now I think it might be something else: guilt.

  “What’s for dinner?” I ask.

  “Tater Tot casserole,” Mom says, locking dad’s gun in the hall closet.

  Dad motions me to follow Mom into the kitchen. He doesn’t make eye contact. I sense he’s ashamed, embarrassed.

  He shouldn’t be. None of this is his fault.

  We politely take our seats at the kitchen table, pretending Dad didn’t just storm through the house wielding a loaded shotgun.

  “It’s so nice to have everyone home for dinner.” Mom’s voice is still tight as she puts the casserole on the table. “Usually you’re studying with friends and Dad has meetings.”

  Dad glances at me and forces a strained smile. Understandable. I just witnessed his meltdown. Maybe I should have one of my own so he doesn’t feel so alone.

  “Well, what did I forget?” Hands on her hips, Mom eyes the table.

  “Looks good to me,” I offer.

  Tipping her head slightly, Mom snatches the beanie off my head. I’d forgotten I had it on. I self-consciously finger my blond butch hair.

  “No hats at the table.” She places it on the counter.

  I fight the urge to get up and grab it.

  My silly beanie. My security blanket.

  Mom joins us and interlaces her fingers. She never used to pray before meals, and only went to church on Christmas and Easter. Now she goes every Sunday.

  Dad bows his head. Mom whispers a few prayers and says, “Thank you for the blessing of our lovely daughter, healthy and happy. Amen.”

  As she scoops Tater Tot casserole onto our plates, she makes small talk about her craft group making sweaters for orphans, and the new pet store going into our local shopping center.

  I glance at Dad, who listens intently. It’s good to have him home for dinner but I wish he’d talk more and not look so depressed all the time.

  He misses the old me. I can tell. Suddenly I feel like I’ve failed him somehow. I struggle against self-recrimination and make myself a promise: I’ll make him proud again.

  I reach for the water pitcher and notice that my glass is full. I forgot I’d refilled it. Mom smiles, that sad, my poor baby smile.

  I wish I didn’t feel like a jigsaw puzzle with a few missing pieces. I wish I could remember doing things five minutes after I did them.

  “Let me get your meds.” Mom goes to the counter and grabs my pill dispenser.

  I’m down to three types of medication twice a day. Not bad. Someday I hope to be drug-free. Ironic considering what many of my peers are into these days.

  We briefly discuss my note-taker issue. Mom claims it was a miscommunication and promises to fix it. I can tell Dad is getting worked up just thinking about J.D. being anywhere near me, so I change the subject.

  My cell vibrates with a Taylor text. She and Andrea are doing the mall again. I text her that I can’t go tonight because I’ve got a family thing.

  In reality I need to stay home. I need quiet time.

  “Who’s that?” Mom asks, nodding at my phone.

  I shove it into my pocket. “Taylor, asking if I want to go to the mall.”

  “What mall?” Dad freezes, a forkful of tot casserole halfway to his mouth.

  I shrug. “Probably Bell Square, I don’t know.”

  He drops his fork to his plate. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “But—”

  “I said you’re not going!”

  I break eye contact and stare at my food.

  “Did you hear me?” he says.

  I don’t answer. I don’t remember him yelling at me before. I’m not sure what he wants me to say.

  “Catherine!” he shouts.

  I snap my attention to him. “It’s not my ears that are broken, Dad.”

  “Catherine,” Mom hushes. “Don’t talk to your father that way.”

  “Why is he yelling at me? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You’re not going to the mall. End of conversation.” Dad makes a slashing motion with his hand.

  Something explodes in my chest. “What’s the big deal? I’m seventeen and my friends want to hang out. Stop smothering me!” I push back from the table and race out of the kitchen.

  Here we go again. Run, run, run, girl. I need to get away from the frustration that’s burying me like a truck dumping dirt onto a grave. I can’t breathe. Need air.

  “Catherine!” Mom calls, her shoes tapping against the hardwood floor behind me.

  “I need to walk.” I whip open the front door.

  “Wait a second, okay?”

  I step onto our porch and she’s right behind me. I hesitate, tears stinging my eyes. I hate crying. It makes me feel weak and utterly broken.

  Mom shuts the door and joins me on the porch.

  “He loves you and he’s worried,” she says.
<
br />   I fist my hand to control my temper. “It’s just the mall.”

  Mom glances across the street, her eyes pausing on J.D.’s house. She sighs and refocuses on a cedar tree in our front yard.

  “Remember when you planted that tree with Daddy?”

  “Yeah.” I was a little girl and we called it my magic tree. We measured it every month for a while.

  “He’ll always think of you as his little girl.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Honey, he’s upset because another girl was assaulted at the mall last night,” Mom interrupts. “They haven’t caught the mugger and your dad feels helpless in so many ways. Just, humor him, okay? Stay away from Bell Square at night until they find the guy?”

  I nod, the meaning of her words tearing at my conscience. It’s not what I think, right?

  “Who was the girl?” I ask with a trembling voice.

  “A clerk at one of the stores.”

  “Is she my age?”

  “No, I think a few years older. She works at that store with the funny name.”

  “Zumiez?”

  “Yes, that’s it. ”

  The Tater Tot casserole churns in my stomach. “I need to walk.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I’m full.”

  “Okay, but don’t be long.” She kisses the top of my head and goes into the house, shutting the door with a click.

  I practically sprint off the porch. As I motor down the sidewalk I wrap my arms around my stomach to ease the burn.

  Was it Goth girl? Was she mugged just like in my HULU? If it was her, that means…

  No, my brain was replaying things I’d heard, or read about, or seen on the news. It was just a coincidence.

  Keep telling yourself that, Catherine.

  I’m more determined than ever to stop the spells. I don’t want to “see” things, like J.D. Pratt being beaten by his father or my mom committing me.

  I walk faster, pushing back the anxiety coiling in my chest. Yesterday I had a HULU of Mom completely losing it because she and Dad had to sign something at the hospital. Was I imagining the past, the day I was rushed to the hospital after the accident?

  Or was I seeing the future? Were they admitting me to a psych ward?

  Suddenly I feel ashamed. I’m so worried about myself I forget about Goth girl. I had a vision of her being stalked in the garage and last night it sounds like she was attacked.

  Maybe if I’d said something…

  No, it’s an illusion, my wacky brain making stuff up. There’s a movie like that, about a guy with a brain tumor being able to do remarkable things.

  But I’m not remarkable. I’m broken and confused and want to be better, back to normal. Instead, I’m mindlessly wandering my neighborhood. Tears blur my vision. Here I am again.

  So damned scared.

  I cross the street and glance up.

  Into the glare of blinding headlights.

  Suddenly I’m the doe, frozen in the middle of the street.

  I can’t move.

  My brain goes blank. No thought, no fear or even regret. Just…

  Nothing.

  “Catherine!”

  Something slams into me and I’m launched into the air. Falling…falling…

  This time I’m not sure I’ll ever wake up.

  Chapter Eight

  Catherine.

  The deep voice whispers my name, but I can’t make out his face. All I see is white. I’m suspended in a dimension that’s neither painful nor pleasurable.

  I feel nothing.

  Am I dead?

  Catherine, open your eyes.

  The warmth of his breath against my cheek sends a shiver down my arm.

  If I’m dead, is this heaven? And if it is heaven, whose voice am I hearing? God’s?

  Catherine, please.

  There’s such pain in his words. But why? If I’m meant to be in heaven the voice should sound welcoming, comforting.

  Instead, this voice croaks with despair. I don’t understand.

  I reach out, hoping to touch something, but my hand cuts through thick, empty air. My eyes catch on my Celtic ring. I clutch my hand to my chest. Something familiar, something real.

  You’re okay, the voice says.

  If I’m okay, why am I suspended in a mass of white nothingness?

  I worked so hard to recover from the accident yet here I am, fighting my way back. Does that mean…

  Am I in a coma? My stomach twists into knots.

  No. I can’t do it again. I simply don’t have the strength.

  The will.

  Shh, open your eyes.

  A hand strokes my back. Up and down. Up and down. It soothes me. Quiets the fear.

  Please, God, make her wake up.

  Okay, so the voice isn’t God. I’m not in heaven.

  I’ve fallen into the deep sleep again. Living death.

  I hate it here. Hate it as much as I hate HULU’s.

  An arm squeezes me tight. I gain strength from the pressure against my back.

  Come on, open your eyes.

  I’m scared. No, terrified. If I open my eyes and I see white then I’ll know I’ve been sucked into coma hell.

  Forever.

  Please, he begs. Please try to open your eyes.

  I’ll do it for him. I’ll do it because for some inexplicable reason I trust this voice even though I’ve learned not to trust anyone since the accident. My parents lied about my condition and recovery. My doctors aren’t completely straight with me.

  Everyone’s trying to protect the brain-damaged Catherine from the truth: I will never be myself again.

  I blink my eyes open and choke back a sob.

  Still white. Nothing’s changed.

  Then I see a crack in the mass of white. A slice of color peeks through, green, I think.

  You can do it.

  I believe the voice. I trust him.

  I focus on the brilliant color and float across the shapeless world. Aim for the green streak…

  A hand reaches out and I take it.

  * * *

  Adrenaline pulsing through his body, J.D. cradled Catherine against his chest and whispered encouraging words into her ear. He couldn’t believe how the Princess just stood there in the middle of the street as if the world revolved around her, as if the car would instantly stop before hitting her.

  Then he caught the look in her eyes, a mix of fear and disassociation. Then, surrender.

  He pumped faster on his skateboard, jumped the curb and grabbed her before the Jetta made contact. If she whacked her head again, she might not be so lucky a second time.

  Thanks to hours at the skate park, J.D. knew how to twist just right, landing flat on his back and cushioning Catherine’s fall. She might be a space cadet, walking straight into oncoming traffic, but that didn’t mean she had to die.

  “Open your eyes,” he pleaded. “You can do it.”

  “Oh my God. Oh my God!” Taylor cried, jumping out of her car and rushing up to J.D. “Call an ambulance!”

  Catherine didn’t move or moan, or show any signs of consciousness.

  “Catherine?” he whispered against her hair.

  “Let go of her,” Taylor said towering over him. “He ran into her, I saw it,” she said to the gathering crowd.

  Right. It’s not like she would take responsibility for nearly killing her friend.

  “I said, let go.” The bimbo grabbed his arm, digging her fingernails into his skin.

  He wouldn’t let go. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “You don’t want to move her until the paramedics get here.”

  She released his arm. “Catherine?”

  “She’s unconscious. Go get her parents,” he said.

  Taylor’s eyes rounded with fear.

  “Now!” J.D. shouted.

  Taylor took off but her sidekick stayed back and kneeled beside him. “We didn’t see, I mean, we were…” her voice trailed off. Her skin paled as she stared at Catherine
’s motionless body.

  “I’m a nurse, move aside.” A mom type with red hair crouched beside J.D. “How are you, young man?”

  “Fantastic.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Forget about me. Check her.”

  “Is she unconscious?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And she’s got a previous brain injury.”

  The nurse took Catherine’s pulse.

  “Catherine!” her mom cried.

  “What the hell is he doing to my daughter!” Catherine’s father roared. “Let go of her—”

  “Sir, I’m a nurse. She’s unconscious and shouldn’t be moved.”

  “I don’t want him touching her, that…that bastard!”

  “Please, sir, an ambulance is on the way.” The nurse put out her hand to keep Catherine’s dad from doing something stupid.

  “It’s his fault.” Taylor pointed at J.D. “He ran her down on his skateboard.”

  “Young lady, this is not the time,” the nurse warned.

  “So help me God…” her father threatened.

  Sirens wailed in the distance. A small group of nosy neighbors crowded the street.

  “I’m a police officer. Everyone, please step back,” Detective Ryan ordered.

  J.D. didn’t think he’d ever be happy to hear that guy’s voice, but Catherine’s old man was ready to rip his daughter off of J.D. regardless of the damage it could do to her, just to get a piece of him.

  J.D. hoped someone saw what really happened. He guessed Ditzes #1 and #2 were too busy texting or screwing around with their iPods to notice Catherine crossing the street.

  Her mom kneeled beside Catherine and stroked her back, her hand brushing against J.D.’s arm by mistake. He closed his eyes, remembering what it felt like to be comforted and loved. An ache started low in his gut.

  Then Catherine stirred.

  Relieved, he opened his eyes.

  “What…what happened?” she whispered against his neck.

  “You were crossing the street—”

  “This jerk ran you down,” Taylor interrupted J.D.

  Her mother stroked her back. “Catherine, relax honey, the paramedics will be here any second.”

  Catherine raised her head and looked at J.D. “You knocked me down?”

  “Yes.” He slipped his arm off her back. She didn’t move for a second then shifted slightly.

  Her mother gripped her shoulders. “Try not to move.”