Stronger than You Know

by Jolene Perry

  Richard’s face—the stench of him and the horrid feel of his weight on me. It’s too hard to fight against right now.

  “I’ll be right back.” Uncle Rob says and I hear him running. He and Aunt Nicole whisper frantically in the hallway.

  I let the rest of my body fall onto the floor. It’s comforting—lying there with my knees to my chest. Maybe if I can make myself small enough, the poison, the stuff that’s splitting me apart, will let me go.

  Uncle Rob’s on his knees on my floor. “I’m going to pick you up and set you on your bed—is that okay?”

  I don’t speak. Anything’s okay right now. Everything’s okay, because nothing is okay. I’m relinquishing the control I never had in the first place. His arms carefully scoop me up and he carries me to my bed. He was right to do this. The familiar smell of my sheets and the soft bed underneath me helps me stop shaking. The quivering is just in my hands now, but it still feels like I’m choking on air.

  Uncle Rob pulls a chair next to the bed and gently takes my hands. “You’re okay, Joy.”

  “I’m not okay. I don’t think there will ever be an end to what she took from me.” My body is still doing these weird hiccups as I try to catch my breath.

  “I got a special panic-pill for each of us. Because tonight, I need it as much as you.” He stuffs a white pill in his mouth and takes a long swallow of water.

  “Yeah, like this is totally normal, right?” I take a pill from him and slide it into my mouth, washing it down with the same water.

  “Everyone has a different normal, Joy.”

  I tighten my arms around my legs, and for the first time I’m so grateful for what the pills do for me, taking some of the poison away. Just long enough until I can push it away on my own.

  I’m already swimming and my body’s relaxed, but my chest hurts from Justin. From how I ran away from him. There are still tears on my face. “How do I make this better?”

  “How do I?” Uncle Rob asks.

  “You’re sharing in my crazy, that’s enough.” I close my eyes and will myself to go to sleep.

  Uncle Rob’s hands squeeze mine.

  This is what a parent should be. This comfort and sense of strength.

  I deserved better.

  My mom will never get another piece of me.

  Ever.

  TWENTY

  Weight

  There are quiet voices downstairs, which I choose to ignore.

  I step into my bathroom and run the cold water in the sink. I’m still breathing, still functioning. But the memory of my night is fresh.

  There’s a soft knock, and I pause.

  “It’s Nicole,” she whispers, and I open the door.

  “Rob had to run into work this morning.” Nicole fingers the tattered edge of another one of Rob’s T-shirts. “I had to practically shove him out the door.”

  “Oh.” He wanted to stay with me, which is sort of awesome.

  “Justin’s fine. He said to tell you he’s sorry, and that he’ll see you on Monday.”

  I’m such a loser. Why couldn’t I just have explained instead of running? Or just … Just backed up and said good night? I probably don’t want to know what he thinks of me right now.

  “You talked with him?” I ask.

  “Just briefly. I happened to be downstairs when you came in.”

  “Oh.” A wave of embarrassment hits me as I think about last night.

  “Rob mentioned that you don’t like taking your meds. That they make you feel like there’s something wrong with you.” Her light brown eyes rest on my face. “He took one with you last night to show you that we all need a little help sometimes. Though, with the look on his face, he probably needed it.” She chuckles.

  “I think I used the word crazy.”

  “Is that how they make you feel?” she asks.

  “How are they supposed to make me feel?” How can she not see that taking a pill every day sucks? That having extra super-powerful pills for panic attacks also sucks?

  She sits on my bed. “I wish I was better at making you feel better. That I knew what the right thing to say was. I don’t. These medicines are tools to keep you healthy, Joy. You wouldn’t give it a second thought if you had to take thyroid medicine every day like I do. It keeps my body running normally.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “You and Uncle Rob wouldn’t feel the need to carry a little white pill around with you if I wasn’t crazy. And if they actually worked, I wouldn’t run away from people I really, really like.”

  Tears rest heavy in my eyes.

  “I still stand by what I said about how your pills are tools to keep you healthy.”

  “Thanks” I say, mostly so she feels like I’m better and will leave. I’m just … I’m not ready to talk and process this all yet. “I need a shower.”

  She stands up. “See you in a few.”

  What else am I supposed to say right now?

  My shower doesn’t make everything go away. The world doesn’t feel like a bigger, brighter place because my hair smells like coconuts.

  I contemplate going downstairs, but I’m too heavy. It’s too far. Instead I curl up in bed again, my wet hair making my pillow damp.

  Why did my mom have to be so different from her sister? Was living with me so horrible? Could she not stop drinking for me? Could she not see that I was being hurt? Could she not stop it? Or did she simply not care enough?

  There’s soft knocking on my door and then it just opens.

  “I have McDonald’s.” Aunt Nicole’s voice is soft. “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah.” But I’m heavy still.

  “Do you want to eat?”

  “Not really.” I can’t focus on her. I can’t really focus on anything.

  “I’m just going to leave this here, and I’m going to check in on you again in a little while.”

  Right. She’ll have to, because I’m the crazy girl. I may be sixteen, but I need to be watched like a toddler. And when I thought I couldn’t be heavier, I am.

  There are noises downstairs and upstairs. The light from behind my curtain disappears. Good, it’s nighttime again, and it’ll be less weird that I’m still in bed. A whole day went by. One totally pointless day.

  My door cracks open for the … Well, I don’t know how many times today someone has opened my door to make sure I’m still here, still breathing.

  Uncle Rob sits in the chair from last night.

  “I’m just heavy today,” I say. “I’m okay.” Even the words don’t want to come out. When did speaking get so hard?

  “Lydia wants to see you. I told her to give you a day or two.”

  How am I supposed to respond to that? We called your therapist over the weekend. She wants to see you. It’s like confirmation of all my fears. I am crazy.

  “I can’t let you disappear like this, Joy. I can’t do it. I’ll do anything.” His voice sounds like he’s crying, but I don’t see tears.

  Now I feel worse. Uncle Rob is upset because of me.

  “How about this. I’ll sit here with you tonight on the condition that tomorrow morning you’ll get out of bed and get dressed and do something. Anything.”

  I process his words for a moment. “So the deal is that I’m stuck with you in my room, and my reward is that I have to get out of bed tomorrow?” I ask.

  “Is that Joy making a joke?” His face is filled with relief.

  Something like another wave of despair crashes into me. “I’m so heavy.” I blink and a tear slides down my cheek.

  “Then you lean on us for a while. Let us carry you, Joy, until you’re not heavy anymore. That’s what family is.”

  I sit silent, trying to process the reality that he cares about me. “I’ll try.”

  He smiles, and I swear it makes him look a thousand times lighter
. “That’s all I ask.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Tomorrow

  There are a million sayings out there that talk about tomorrow—how you’ll see things in a new light, everything will be different, the sun will come out …

  The thing is, nothing is different today. I’m still mad at Mom for making me so broken. I still feel like a coward for how I reacted to Justin’s kiss. And I still feel like the crazy girl because I couldn’t find the strength to get out of bed yesterday.

  Today, I think I might be just strong enough to handle one thing. I found someone I really like in Justin, and whatever happened between us is the first thing I want to fix.

  Also, my family will feel better because I’m out of bed. So I’m kind of taking care of two things.

  How mad is Justin? How insane does he think I am? I picture him again on the small stage behind his guitar, his sister singing next to him.

  He sang and played like he felt every note.

  I close my eyes and hear the music like I’m there, just like the other night. Justin’s fingers dancing on his guitar, and his sister’s strong voice.

  I need to draw.

  Suddenly I’m frantic. I dig through my backpack until I find a pencil and paper.

  I start with his hair. Then his shoulders and his arms around his guitar. I’m out of practice. Drawing takes longer than it would have a year ago, but I relax into the feeling of it. I continue to sketch, now with more angles, sharper angles than reality. I like to see the things I draw as fine, smooth, and structured. I sketch out the stage behind him. Then I start his sister with her dark wavy hair and round baby belly.

  By the time I’m done, I’m desperate to see him. Talk to him. Apologize to him. Something.

  I’m on Justin’s doorstep and not really sure what I’m doing or what I think I might accomplish here. All I know right now is that I miss him. My hand reaches up and knocks. Crazy how your body can just do things you’re not sure you want it to do.

  He answers the door. His smile is wide. That’s gotta be a good sign. “Joy.”

  “Would you come walk with me?” I ask.

  “Uh … sure.” He’s blinking and rubs his hand over his hair a few times.

  “I want to talk.”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  I stare at the porch. “I’m sorry. I really miss you and I’d like to explain if you want to be around me at all. Maybe you don’t anymore, and I wouldn’t blame you, I just …”

  “It’s okay, Joy. What happened the other night, I mean. It’s okay.”

  “What?” How can that be? I ran away from him.

  He tucks his hands into his pockets and straightens his arms, making his shoulders look rigid. “I get it.”

  “But …” I start. I really thought he’d be mad. I mean, I’d be totally baffled at the very least.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I’m frozen. My feet, my legs, my body. “Tell you what?” But he doesn’t have to answer. Someone told him something. Tara or Aunt Nicole …

  “Something about you. Something to make me understand what you need from me. I didn’t know …” He has that horrible sympathetic look on his face—the one I got tired of seeing from everyone who came into my hospital room when I was in California. The one it took my aunt weeks to get rid of. I don’t want it from him.

  My jaw clenches so tight, I’m not sure I’ll get the words out. “Didn’t know what? Who did you talk to?” I demand.

  “Your … Aunt Nicole stepped outside Friday night. She said that you’d lived with your mom your whole life, but she hit you and you didn’t get outside, and that …”

  “She did what?” Every cell in my body is on edge.

  “Joy. If you’d told me, I wouldn’t have tried to kiss you so soon. I promise I don’t care. That’s history.” But he’s not his easy self around me anymore. He’s not standing as close as he normally does. I can’t catch his eyes, and I feel like he’s afraid to look at me. That’s not like Justin at all. How could she …

  “Well, it’s my history to share when I want to share it.” My fists clench up. “I need to talk to my aunt.” I spin around and run toward the house.

  “Joy! I’m glad I know! I …”

  But I don’t wait to hear any more.

  I jerk open the front door of my aunt and uncle’s house. My body’s tense with anger from the run home and the thoughts that came with me. I follow Tara’s and Aunt Nicole’s voices to the dining room and don’t get past the doorway before I start yelling.

  “You had no right to say anything! None! Talking to Justin was completely unfair, completely intrusive, and there’s no excuse for it!” I’m breathing hard, but I feel strong like I do in kung fu. Like I’m in control of this pain, and I can keep it up. I can do it. “I hate that you did that! Next time you want to share personal things about me, don’t!”

  I turn out of the room and run upstairs before I feel guilty about the look of shock on Aunt Nicole’s face.

  I step into my bathroom and stare at my blotchy face in the mirror. I don’t care what the family has planned. I don’t care that I have homework. Right now I want to hide until this whole mess disappears.

  My palms press against my eyes in a lame attempt to keep the tears in as I sit on the toilet, but I cry anyway. This sucks. Things will never be the same with Justin. I’ll no longer be the girl who likes silence. I’ll be different, tainted. I can’t erase what he knows.

  Aunt Nicole can’t take her words back, and I’m left with another piece of my new life stained by my old one. The one that I’m beginning to think I’ll never escape.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Better than therapy

  When I lift my head out of my hands, I’m still on the toilet. Hours I guess, and no one has bothered me. All I want is that strong feeling again.

  That’s what I’ll do. Aunt Nicole won’t stop me. Not right now. I change for kung fu and jog out the door. I bring my new phone but don’t talk to anyone in the house, don’t tell them where I’m going. This is freedom.

  I run all the way there. Away from the house, and away from the frustration.

  “Whatcha doin’ here today?” Daisy’s smile is wide when I walk in.

  “Needed to get out.” That’s simple enough.

  “Problems with the parents?” She looks at me sideways with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. Today her bleached hair is braided into two long braids.

  Right. Problems with parents or the people you live with is normal. “Yes.”

  “Well, the main room is being used for a karate workshop today, but I was about to lift some weights. Come with me. I can spot for you, and you can spot for me.”

  “Spot?” I’m clueless.

  She laughs at my lack of knowledge as I follow her into the weight room, and she gestures to a bench. “Let’s get started.”

  Lifting weights is so different than forcing my body to hold a certain position like in kung fu class. No matter how much I hurt or how determined I am, I just don’t have the muscles I need. But each push of my legs on the press gives me some relief, and each strain of my arms on the bench makes me stronger. Daisy changes the weights between me and her. She’s been doing this her whole life and lifts a lot more. Occasionally, my phone beeps with new messages, but I’m not ready to deal with them—the messages or the people they might be from.

  I’m a sweaty mess, and my arms and legs feel like rubber again, but the workout was all me, and that feels fantastic.

  My phone dings again, but I don’t answer.

  “You know what?” Daisy stops and sets down her weights.

  “What?”

  “If you keep ignoring the calls, things will just get worse.” She gestures to my phone. “Trust me.”

  “It’s different when they’re the ones who screwed up.” But
they cared enough to try and reach me. That’s something.

  She laughs. “Nope. Parents never think they screw up, just us. I don’t care if you don’t answer. I’m just saying it’ll be less pretty by the hour.”

  I sigh, climb off the bench, and pick up the phone, checking my texts first.

  One from Justin. I want to see you. What’s going on?

  Three from Uncle Rob. Joy, please call.

  I’m starting to get scared. Please call.

  If you don’t want to talk send a message so I know you’re okay.

  Now I feel guilty. I can imagine how torn up he’d be. He didn’t want to leave me alone. He sat with me all night and took one of my crazy pills and … I’m almost in tears as I reply.

  I’m okay. Sorry. Just mad. Not ready to come back, and hit Send.

  “Do you need to get back?” Daisy asks.

  “Not right now.” I’m not ready to face them. I’m still too angry at Aunt Nicole, and I feel guilty about Uncle Rob.

  My phone beeps immediately.

  Thank you, Joy. Please call when you’re ready to talk or ready for a ride. I promise I’m not mad. Just scared.

  It’s kind of amazing he admitted that.

  I reply: Need a little more time. I feel better.

  “So, you wanna come back to my house?” Daisy asks.

  “I …”

  “Come, on Joy. You’re looking for a place to be for a while. What do you want to do?” She wags her brows.

  “Can I do your hair?” I ask. After spending the day with her, I know exactly what her hair should be like.

  “What?” Her eyes get wide. “Isn’t that a little girly girl?”

  “I think the top of your hair should be black, like near your part.” I point. “And the blond should be underneath. If you want pink, I’m pretty sure I can figure it out.” And I know how I’ll cut it if she’ll let me.

  “So, you, uh, know what you’re doing, huh?” She walks toward me.

  I shrug.

  “Awesome. Hair it is. Let’s ditch this place.”

  “Daisy! Someone named Tara’s here for you!” her mom calls up to Daisy’s room.