by Yessi Smith
“You’ve given me more than I ever hoped for.” I look at him, confused. Aside from grief and worry, I’m not sure what I’ve given him. “You gave me purpose. You gave me Josie. You didn’t have to, but you did.”
“I think we’re the ones benefiting the most from that exchange,” I laugh, but he shakes his head.
“My life meant nothing before. I had music, you and Josh. What else did I have?”
“That wasn’t enough?”
“Was it enough for you?” he asks, and I nod. “It wasn’t for me. I wanted more.”
I stare at my daughter and am grateful for the characteristics her dad passed down to her. So long as I have her, he isn’t completely lost to me.
“I’ll come by later,” Adam promises before he leaves.
“With Josie?”
“Yeah.” He smiles, and it warms my heart.
“I held my daughter today,” I tell Hayley later that night during our free time. Dr. Rios thinks I should open up to other patients and make some friends. Hayley seems like the least threatening of the group, so I decide to try to speak to her.
“Yeah?” She looks up from the piano and stops playing. “What was it like?”
“Weird,” I shrug. “She’s like this tiny little creature and I’m supposed to be the one taking care of her, but I can barely look at her. But once I do, I don’t want to look away.”
“Did she cry when you carried her?” she asks, and I shake my head. “Guess that’s a good sign. What’s her name?”
“Josie.”
“Like the Pussycats?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I laugh, remembering the movie about an all-female rock band. I guess it’s fitting. “I have a picture of her in my room.”
Hayley follows me to my room and plops herself on my bed. She picks up the picture on my nightstand and studies it as I ease myself onto the bed.
“You need to learn how to chill, chick,” she says from behind the frame.
“And you’ve got the secret to chilling?” I ask. “Is that why you’re stuck in a psych ward with me?”
Hayley grabs my pillow and throws it at my face before I have the chance to block it. Laughing, I grab the pillow and shove it in her face while we laugh. That’s at least three times today I’ve laughed. Maybe there is something to those magic happy pills.
“You wanna know my story?” Hayley sobers and I nod. “It’s a tale of tragedy and despair,” she makes fun of herself as she places the back of her hand dramatically to her forehead.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Truth is, Dee, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t have a sad story, just a screwed up brain. My parents love me, I have friends, I get good grades. I’ve got it made.”
“But your brain doesn’t agree?”
“Not one damn bit.”
“Must suck to be certifiably insane without a real reason,” I tease, and she throws her pillow in my face once again.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a girlfriend, and while I’m not sure Hayley and I are actually friends, whatever this is, it’s nice. For however long it lasts.
Adam
I did this to her. I pushed too hard, too fast, so she pretended to be fine and I wanted it to be true badly, so I believed her. I only meant to help her, but all I did was hurt her further. I gave her that final little shove over the edge and crippled her soul.
I lie down in my bed with Josie’s bassinet beside me and I wonder how we got here. I’d give anything to go back to that fateful day and drag Josh off the stage with me. Or I’d look for him in the rubble faster. I wouldn’t let him die.
I can’t do this. He was always the better man. I knew it the minute I met him, which is why Dee deserved him while I deserved to live in his shadows.
Six years old
Dad taught me how to make spaghetti and ham and cheese sandwiches before he went to heaven, so I’m cooking Mom the best spaghetti I can make. I put butter on her toast the way she used to do it for me so she can have a spaghetti sandwich if she wants, and then I slowly carry her plate to her room.
The room is dark with the lights off and the windows closed, but I know where her bed is even if I had my eyes closed. I put the plate on the side of the bed and climb in bed with her so I can wake her up.
She doesn’t eat a lot since Dad and Tommy left us, but I’m trying to take care of her the way Dad would want me to. That’s why I let her sleep when I get home from school. She must be really tired, because she sleeps so much.
“Mommy,” I whisper, knowing how much she loves being called Mommy instead of Mom. “I made you some spaghetti,” I tell her when she opens her eyes.
“My sweet boy.” She sits up and kisses the top of my head before taking the plate of spaghetti. “It’s delicious¸” she tells me after she takes a bite, and I’m so proud to have made her happy.
“There’s toast too.” I smile at her. “You can make a spaghetti sandwich.”
She puts the spaghetti in the middle of the toast and folds the bread into a sandwich. I watch her when she lifts it to her mouth, but my stomach growls and she laughs.
“Here, you have it.” Mom hands me the sandwich and I take a big bite.
The spaghetti is a little bit hard, but I’m too hungry to care. Mom watches me eat, hardly touching her own food anymore.
“Mommy has a headache, sweetie,” she says. I hear the sadness in her voice and I wonder if she’ll ever stop being sad. I’ve tried to make her happy. I’ve tried to take care of her. But what if everything I try isn’t enough? What if I’m not enough?
“Do you mind if I lie down a little longer?” Mom gives me her plate back and lies back down before I can reply.
I was making progress. I could feel it. My weaknesses were becoming strengths and my instabilities a bit more predictable. My despair was dissipating. I was laughing, joking around, making friends. Adam was visiting me three times daily, twice with Josie and the third time it’d be just him for the family therapy sessions. I was getting to know my daughter, learning how to be a mom. I was changing diapers, getting puked and crapped on. You know, all the things that make you feel like you’re part of the secret cult called parenthood. I relished in the private moments I spent with Adam, reliving stories I had long forgotten and listening to him tell me about our daughter.
During the past three weeks, Josie quit being my daughter or Josh’s daughter, but Adam’s and my daughter. She knew him and his voice better than mine, and while at first I resented that fact, Dr. Rios had helped me come to terms with it. I was in here getting better for her and for myself, and I was grateful, am grateful, for everything Adam is doing for us.
At least until he left me. I knew this day was coming. He had tried to prepare me for it, but nothing could have prepared me for the feelings of turmoil and angst I felt at not seeing my daughter or Adam. But he had to go back on tour. The band was already talking about finding a replacement for Adam. He had told me he didn’t mind, but I know he did. This was his band. His and Josh’s. I’ll be damned if some nobody asshole takes it away from him while he tends to me.
I woke up this morning panicked, with a sickening feeling that I’d never go home. Now that I’ve been granted access to my laptop, I took those feelings to the internet and shared it with cyberspace. I have a decent amount of readers on my blog, some of which can empathize with what I’m going through, others who can only offer support via the World Wide Web. It’s strange to find comfort in people that live in my computer, but I figure it’s better than relying on the people who live in my head. Those crazy sons of bitches have only brought me unneeded drama.
I swear now, something I’ve rarely ever done. I have Hayley to thank for opening me up to this world filled with all sorts of fucks. She’s become a good friend, and we have been requesting to swap roommates so we can room together. So far, our requests have gone unanswered. They’re probably worried we’d burn the place down, which, knowing Hayley, could very well happen.
I look for her at our usual breakfast spot, but don’t see her. Lazy hooker is probably sleeping in late after last night’s secret meeting via Skype. We binged on chocolate Adam had snuck us in before he had to leave. I rub my aching heart as I sit down at our usual spot. I feel naked without Hayley and realize I’ve grown dependent on yet another person. I doubt I’ll ever stop depending on others, which doesn’t make sense since I’ve never depended on anyone until Josh.
Josh – it’s been two hundred and twenty-three days and the thought of him still breaks me into pieces, but at least I’m no longer experiencing the daily panic attacks that once loomed over me. Nope, now I have days without any signs of an attack, which is worse, because I’m always waiting for them so they don’t blindside me. Although they always do.
After breakfast and my daily dosage of antipsychotics, I go to Hayley’s room, but I find it empty. I bypass the nurse’s station and go straight to my favorite nurse’s desk by the front window. I walk in without knocking and she smiles at me. I really wish I had asked her name weeks ago, because it’d be pretty awkward to ask now.
“Dee.” She smiles at me. “How you doin’ today?”
“Like the rainbow that brightens up a crappy day,” I tell her, and she laughs like I knew she would. “Where’s Hayley?”
“Your nurse didn’t tell you?” she asks, and I shake my head. “She wasn’t feeling well last night so they took her down to the Emergency Room.”
“Her stomach?”
“How’d you know?”
“We may or may not have a stash of chocolate that we gorged on last night.”
“How much chocolate did you eat?” She shakes her head in mock disapproval. “Poor thing was in a lot of pain.”
“She said she was on the rag and needed chocolate therapy.” I shrug my shoulders. “Her goal was a chocolate induced coma. Not diarrhea.”
“I don’t think she reached her goal.”
“Will you let me know when they let her go?” I ask before leaving and she agrees.
Group therapy is rough without Hayley, and it’s only made worse at the thought that I won’t see Josie or Adam. This separation sucks and is only made tolerable by the random videos Adam sends via text and our daily Skype sessions.
Dr. Rios is leading our group today, so it is only appropriate for her to call on me during the session because she already knows how I feel and thinks the next step to improving my mental health is sharing those feelings. It’s not that I care about sharing, it’s more that I hate speaking in front of an audience. All those eyes looking at me. And what if they’re actually listening to me? I shudder at the thought.
So how do I feel? Dr. Rios expects an answer. “I’m sad,” I tell the group and chuckle at myself. “I miss Adam and Josie and hate that they’re on tour without me.”
“So do you want to go on tour with them when you leave?” Dr. Rios asks.
When I leave. I want to leave so badly, but I am terrified of leaving the confines and safety of the hospital.
“No,” I answer honestly, but expand upon that because I know one word answers aren’t sufficient for Dr. Rios. “I can’t stand the idea of being on tour with them. I don’t wanna meet the new drummer. I don’t want to see them perform or listen to their songs, songs Josh and Adam wrote together.” I wave my hands in the air, but set them still on my lap so I can compose myself. “But I’m scared. Every day I worry something will happen to Adam while he’s on stage. Or to Josie. And I’m so far away I won’t be able to help them.” My body trembles at the thought of them being in an accident, but I force myself still so the others won’t see this momentary lapse of weakness. It’s not like I’m capable of doing much if I were there anyway. Josh is proof of my inability to help anyone.
“Poor little rich girl’s got it so bad,” I hear someone say and stare at my hands on my lap.
“Do you have something you’d like to say, Samantha?” Dr. Rios asks, and I hope Samantha declines her offer. My breath quickens in anticipation for the oncoming battle.
“Yeah,” she says, and I clench my hands into fists as I continue to stare at them. This isn’t happening. I don’t do confrontations. “She gripes on an’ on about her dead boyfriend, while she cries about missin’ her alive boyfriend who’s the daddy to her baby. How much did she miss her dead boyfriend while she was screwin’ her baby daddy? I don’t got time for stupid rich girl problems.”
I feel the tears well up in my eyes, but I refuse to let them loose. I will not be weak. I will not let her know she can hurt me with her words. I will not cry. I ignore Dr. Rios as she addresses Samantha and only focus on my breathing until I am sure that I will not cry.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I hear, and am surprised when I realize the voice came from me. I look over at Samantha who is attempting first degree murder with her eyes. “I’ve listened to you whine about your alcoholic daddy and your absent momma. You’ve been in foster care? Big deal. I don’t care about your life any more than you care about mine.” I lose control of my limbs and can’t force them to stop when I suddenly stand up and walk until I am standing directly in front of Samantha. “I don’t give a damn about your life, but I’ve politely listened and pretended to give a damn about your recovery. So now it’s your turn to give me the same respect.”
“Respect? I don’t respect—”
“I’m not done,” I interrupt her. “So shut up and listen. You wanna hear about poor rich girl problems? About absent parents? I got postcards for my birthdays while my parents traveled the world, because they were afraid they’d miss seeing something important before they died. I was raised by so many nannies, I speak three different languages. I took singing listens, but never had anyone to sing for. I got good grades, but never had anyone to care. My parents' attorney bought me a car for my sixteenth birthday, only I had actually turned fourteen. My parents don’t do drugs or sell themselves on the street, but they were as absent as yours were. But that’s not what I’m griping about. I miss my dead boyfriend. Every damn day, I miss him. It doesn’t get better. I miss his voice, his touch, the look on his face when he found something funny, the smile he reserved only for me. I miss my baby’s real daddy.” My voice begins to rise as my hands shake uncontrollably. “I miss the way he told me he loved me. And yeah, I miss my daughter! Do you know how long it took me to want to see my daughter?” I ask, crouching down so I can be at eye level with Samantha. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to want my daughter? You don’t!” I shout, and spit flies out of my mouth and onto her face.
Samantha stands up quickly, her weight pushing me backwards. I collide with Dr. Rios, who has been standing behind me, but I ignore her hand on my shoulders as I push my way forward and punch Samantha square in the jaw. I recoil at the abrupt pain in my hand, grasping it tightly to my chest. I barely have time to register the full depth of the pain when Samantha crashes into me, sending my body onto the ground. I’ve never fought before and have no idea what I’m doing as I thrash below her large frame, landing lucky punches and kicks. I don’t know how long we roll around on the floor until I feel a sharp stab on my neck and everything goes black.
I wake up in my room to find Hayley lying in bed next to me. I shift beside her, not really caring if I wake her as I stumble into the bathroom. I turn the light on and hiss. I didn’t realize it when I first woke up, but I have a full-fledged migraine. After I finish in the bathroom, I crawl back into bed and shove Hayley not so gently.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her when she opens her eyes.
“I thought I’d let Adam know you were okay when he Skyped you.” She rubs her eyes and yawns. “You know he’d worry if you didn’t answer.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“Yeah, I told him you went all Rocky on the butch bitch and he couldn’t believe it. He’s demanding your medical records to see if they’re slipping you steroids.”
“You’re so stupid,” I laugh. “They looked good
?”
“Not nearly as pretty as you.” She points to my face and I grimace. I can feel the damage Samantha did to me.
“Did you see her? Does she look nearly as bad as me?”
“Nah, babe. She’s barely got a scratch on her.”
“You’re shitting me, right?” I ask, and she shakes her head at me.
“Adam’s mom came by too.”
I look back at her curiously. I know she sees Adam often and she takes care of Josie when Adam comes to see me by himself, but I haven’t seen her since I made a spectacle of myself at my surprise baby shower. Shame fills me, knowing his mom knows my weaknesses as well as everyone else. How little she must think of me.
“Can we get some sleep now?”
“No.” I decide and Hayley leans on her elbow to look at me. “You know everything about me, but I still don’t know anything about you. Talk.”
“Feelin’ brave after your first brawl?” she snorts.
“Yeah, so talk, slut.”
She sighs, probably deciding whether it’d just be easier to go back to her room and I’m almost sorry I said anything. It felt good to wake up to someone watching over me. Even if her watching over me comprises of her drooling on my pillow. Disgusting.
“I had a twin sister,” she says to my surprise. “We were identical in everything but our personalities. Where I was outgoing, she was an introvert. I had friends, lots of them, and she was the loner with her nose stuck in a book. She was insecure and lonely, and I was so busy making people like me I didn’t see it.” Hayley stays quiet for a while and so do I. I’m not sure if she’s done with her story, but I don’t want to interrupt in case she’s not. “Hannah was the depressed one. She went to therapists and took medication. I thought she was a whack job and was embarrassed to be related to her. She was also the nice one, the forgiving one, the one who never let me down no matter how many times I let her down. I guarantee you she’d never leave me in here alone. She’d visit me. Hell, she’d probably admit herself just to be with me.”