Unlovable

by Sherry Gammon

  “And,” he ignored my jab, “since there’s not enough time for you to get to the hospital, and then over to the school, I’m thinking I was correct about your skipping school today?”

  “Hmm, sounds like circumstantial to me, officer.”

  “You could be arrested for truancy, are you aware of that, little Miss Sarcastic?” I shrugged. “May I ask why you’re skipping? Half the police force will be there today for an assembly on… ah, never mind.”

  “Yeah, never mind” I said quietly.

  “Sometimes life gives us a raw deal, you know? We have to make the best of it.” Okay, what was he up to? This was more than simple compassion.

  “Agreed,” I said cautiously.

  “Take Seth, for instance.” That’s what he’s up to! “He isn’t perfect and he makes mistakes. Everybody does.”

  “I thought the rule was no lectures about Seth if I let you give me a ride.”

  “No, that was our deal the last time. Those conditions no longer apply. This is a different day and time.” I thought to protest, but decided against it. His lawyer-brain would just come up with some convoluted way to justify his actions.

  “As I was saying, Seth makes mistakes. He should have told you about us sooner, without a doubt, and those of us who love him should overlook those mistakes and try to understand why he did what he did.” He glanced over. “You have something smeared on your cheeks, by the way.”

  “Wait, this whole ’Seth made a mistake’ theory is pointless really.” I softly brushed at the tender bruises, pretending to wipe my face off.

  “Not if you’ll forgive him.”

  “Yes, even if I do forgive him. He has a new girlfriend, Hillary Jeffers, they were kissing after the pep rally last night.” My eyes welled up with tears, and I turned my head to the window to keep him from seeing. Booker pulled up in front of the hospital and took my face in his hand. I winced as his fingers brushed up against the bruises. He promptly let go.

  “How did you get these bruises on your face?” He took my face gently in both of his hands, not allowing me to pull away, and turning it from side to side, he inspected the marks.

  “I don’t remember.” I was too embarrassed to explain what had happened, which was nothing really. Zack became a little over anxious, that’s all. Besides, I’d already decided to talk to Mrs. Volkel about what had happened, the whole world didn’t need to know.

  “Maggie, these bruises didn’t just appear.”

  “Thanks for the ride.” I pulled my head away and reached for the door when he caught my hand.

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit high and mighty of you to be blabbering on about trust and keeping secrets, yet you won’t explain something as simple as these bruises? And I might remind you that Seth wasn’t allowed to tell you, not at first, anyway.”

  Insert knife and twist. Yup, he was going to make a mad wicked lawyer.

  “Maggie, I don’t know why he was kissing Hillary.” He shook his head in disgust. “I can assure you it wasn’t his idea, he’s hopelessly in love with you. In fact, I’ve never seen him as miserable as he has been these past two weeks without you. If you dyed your hair orange and stuck a bone through your nose he’d still be in with love you.”

  “What if I’ve hurt him so deeply he won’t forgive me?”

  “Not a chance,” he said, leaning over and kissing the top of my head. “Talk to him. I know you can work this out. Look how comfortable you are around me now, Jailbait. A breathtakingly handsome MET agent just kissed you on the head and you didn’t even flinch!”

  “I wish you’d stop call me that, old man,” I murmured getting out of the car.

  I went directly to my mom’s room and ran into Cole. I decided there was no time like the present to start repairing some of the damage I’d done.

  “Hi. I, um, owe you an apology. I’ve been a real idiot, for lack of a better word, since finding out about…everything.” I looked around to see if any of the staff was listening. “You’ve done a lot for us, Dr. Colter, and I’m grateful for everything.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, and please, call me Cole,” he said kindly. “I’d like to talk to you about your mom, if I may.” I sat down in the chair, worried about what was coming next. “She’s stabilizing, although she’s not quite strong enough for a liver transplant yet.”

  “Cole, do you think my mother will ever be strong enough for the transplant?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t want to lie and say I’m not gravely concerned. What's worrying me at the moment is her pancreas, it’s starting to show signs of failure. Nevertheless, I have seen people in worse condition than her recover. I’m not ready to give up yet. I put in a call to a colleague of mine in Washington DC who’s a phenomenal doctor. If anyone can come up with a way to help your mother, it’ll be her.” I slumped back down in my chair. “Have you eaten anything today?”

  “I’m not hungry, but don’t worry. Yesterday on my way to school, I happened to find $100. Imagine my surprise.”

  “He’s not very subtle,” Cole laughed, “but he does love you.” His eyes settled on my cheek. “How did you get those bruises?”

  “Ah, it’s dirt.” I raised my hand, pretending to wipe off my cheeks. An overhead page for him boomed through the speakers, and he left before he could examine my face further.

  I left the hospital later than usual and somehow was able to avoid Booker. Cole’s words had left me with a heavy heart, and I didn’t have it in me to banter with him tonight. My senses were at full alert as I rushed home in the dark. Every bark of an angry dog, every swish of an owl’s wings overhead caught my attention.

  Once home, I hurried inside, immediately locking the door behind me. I made a sandwich and pulled out the last letter from my mom. I’d tried so hard to forget about it, it was all I thought about anymore.

  The envelope was dated January of this year, and for some reason this letter was the most difficult for me to open. I stared at it for a long time trying to talk myself out of it until I could wait no longer. Carefully removing it from the envelope, I discovered several small smudges on the letter. They looked to be watermarks from teardrops maybe; or maybe she’d accidently splashed her vodka on it. I crawled up onto her bed, took a deep breath and began.

  Maggie,

  If you are reading this letter, it means I’ve died. Don’t grieve, it’s better this way. I don’t want you to feel any sorrow for me, just relief because I can no longer hurt you.

  After you were first born, all my anger was directed inward. I was angry with myself for my poor choices, and the mess I’d made of things. What kind of mother gives her child to her parents to raise? It seemed easier to deal with the guilt if I was drunk. So drink I did. Lots and lots. Only it didn’t help. I’d sober up, and the self-hate would still be there.

  Over time, I turned my anger toward you. I’d see you cleaning the house when it should have been me, and the anger grew. You’d cook the meals and it would enrage me. You’d take care of me when I was too drunk to stand, and I became infuriated. I told myself you were judging me, even though you weren’t. The anger grew until I couldn’t drink it away, and I let it out. Cold, bitter, hateful words, all aimed at the most innocent one of all. You.

  Even that you took in stride, never back talking, or rebelling. You just tried harder to please the truly unlovable one. ME. Anyone who’s seen a small fatu fraction of your loving heart must know how truly despicable I am.

  We had a terib terrible fight last night, and I called you some horrible names again. After you left, I tried to drink myself into a stupor so I wouldn’t have to pain think about the pain I saw in your eyes as you walked out the door. It didn’t work. Instead, I sat worying worried, praying you’d be kept safe.

  I’ll bet you didn’t know I crawled into bed with you Christmas Eve and held you. It felt good to have my arms around you again, it also felt hori hrib horrible. I knew you were thin, still, I had no idea how thin you’ve become. I have no one to blame
but myself for that. I drink all our money away, and yet I still won’t give it up.

  I’m writing me you this now because I’m afraid I won’t make it to your seven eighteenth birthday. I’ve been having a lot of stomach pain over the past month, and I’ve been throwing up blood, every day in fact. I’ve been able to keep it from you. I’m good at keeping the truth from you. I should be since I’ve done it your whole life. I have dist destroyed every chance with you, and I’m a failure on all levels. I reread the letter from your 11th birthday last night. I never made it to Rehab. I got completely drunk the night before and didn’t wake up for two days. What a pathetic mess I am.

  Lately, there are times when I am totally confused, sometimes it’s a struggle to find the bathroom. Yesterday I went outside to mail the electric bill and somehow ended up at Gertie’s house. Thankfully, she helped me get back home, and so you know, she lectured me the entire time about how lucky I was to have such a wonderful young lady for a daughter.

  Okay, now I’m going to give you a little advice. I know, how arrogant of me to offer advice, nevertheless, here it is; no matter what life throws at you, never give up. Life is tough, and there’ll be times when things seem insurmountable. I can’t tell you how many times I quit drinking. For the first few hours it was easy, then I’d cave in. I can’t remember having endured anything. I gave up on love. I gave up on life. I gave up on me.

  My parents weren’t quitters. They tried hard to help me, never giving up hope that I’d overcome my trials. They were truly great parents, and I wished I could have told them that before they died.

  I hope you take after them, Maggie, and I pray you can find the kind of love they had. I watched as my parents worked through treh their problems, never giving up on each other. I hope you won’t settle for less.

  My mother used to tell me, ’When you find that special someone, Barbara, love him as though your life depends on it.’ I was so caught up in my dringin drinking, I could never see anyone except me and my instant greta gratification. It wouldn’t be far off the mark to say I love booze as though my life depended on it. I lose. I’m going to die alone with no one to hold except my cold bottle of vodka.

  You make me proud, very proud. I’m lucky to be have been your mother, your weak, reprehensible mother.

  I have to go, I’m starting to feel sick again. I’ll write more tomorrow, I promise.

  I held the letter to my chest and cried deep mournful tears. It was as if every painful moment, every sorrowful thing that ever happened to me was purging itself from my soul. I wept and couldn’t stop.

  I also felt robbed. If she doesn’t receive a liver transplant soon, we may never have any kind of relationship. I cried for a very long time, having no idea when the tears stopped. On waking in the morning, the letter lay crumpled in my hand, my pillow was still damp with tears, and my head was pounding mercilessly. I dragged my weary body into the bathroom for some aspirin, forced down some breakfast, and went out to sit on the porch.

  It was a beautiful morning. The sun shone brightly, the trees were budding all around me, and the squirrels were meandering precariously along the neighbor’s fence. I sat and watched the wildlife, letting the sun bathe my face with its warmth until my head stopped throbbing.

  I returned to the letter several more times, each time trying not to cry, and each time failing. I also spent time thinking about Seth. I quit on him. The first time a challenge came along for us, I tossed him aside. Now I was regretting it; with all my heart.

  It was time I got over what had happened. Though it still hurt, I understood why he kept what he did from me. Whether or not I agreed with him, the police thought my mom and I were involved, and Seth had a job to do.

  I realized I’d set him up to fail me, mostly because everyone in my life had. From my grandparents who were killed, though certainly not through any fault of their own, to a mother who neglected me in every way. I set the bar for perfection so high, no one could have reached. In so doing, I forced him into the arms of Hillary.

  But not anymore. Hillary was in for the fight of her life.

  I decided it was time to share my feelings more freely and stop holding back. Okay, that was probably a little overly optimistic, it was going to take time to change that part of me. I certainly wasn’t going to go hog wild and start crying on everyone’s shoulders either, but I needed to start taking down the walls.

  And there was no time like the present. I was about to phone Seth, then decided this was best done in person. I pulled on my Lunch Swap jeans and Seth’s favorite blue tee shirt of mine. I also put on the jacket he'd had given me. Though not really cold enough for it, I wanted to feel him around me for added courage.

  I arrived at his house in record time, but he wasn’t there. I debated whether to wait for him, and decided if I left I might lose my nerve. I sat down on the porch swing and waited for two hours. He never showed up. Walking slowly back to my house, sorrow gripped my heart. He and Hillary were probably together.

  I came back again on Saturday and once more on Sunday; still no Seth. By Monday, my new resolve had melted away. I pulled back into my self-made cocoon and threw up my walls, just like my mother.

  Monday the walk to school felt more like a death march. Not only did I have to speak to Mrs. Volkel about Zack, but Seth and Hillary would be together, laughing, snuggling, and kissing in the halls. This was not going to be a good day.

  I’d barely stuffed my extra books in my locker when Dwayne caught my arm and practically dragged me outside. He turned back and looked me square in the eyes.

  “Dwayne, what’s wrong? Did something happen with Karen?”

  “You get up on your high horse about Seth and his secrets, what about your secrets?” He was furious. He looked funny, his face was usually so sweet and innocent.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come off it, Maggie.” He threw his arms up in frustration. “Fine. How did you get those bruises on your cheeks?”

  I was sure my face was now green. My voice stayed mute as I pulled deeper into my safety zone. “It’s all over the school what happened between you and Zack.”

  “Nothing happened between us,” I said defensively.

  “He and Hillary set you and Seth up. You were supposed to bump into Hillary accidentally as she jumped into Seth’s arms to kiss him. She was positive once she planted her slimy lips on his, he’d forget all about you. Then you were supposed to fall into Zack’s arms for comfort, and you can imagine what he planned on doing to comfort you.”

  “It didn’t happen that way, not the last part anyway.” Seth didn’t kiss her, she kissed him! My heavy heart suddenly felt as if it could fly. Maybe I haven’t lost him after all.

  “I know it didn’t happen that way, everyone knows that.”

  “How does everyone know what didn’t happen? Surely Zack isn’t bragging about failing to pull off his little plan.”

  “Melody, how else?”

  “Who told her?”

  “Zack did. Melody had a party Friday night and someone smuggled in some booze.” So much for the substance abuse assembly. “Zack got completely plastered and could hardly stand. He threw up all over Melody’s car.” We both laughed.

  “He told Melody about grabbing your face so hard he was sure he bruised it.” He glared once more at the marks on my face. “He said you knocked him in the head with your book bag and he went flying. Did you really?” A smile tugged at his lips. I smiled back.

  “He kept bragging about how hard he threw you down on the ground, and that there was blood on your jeans. He said he wouldn’t be surprised if your knees were covered in bruises.” I stayed silent. My knees were very bruised up, as were my wrists. I slowly slid my hands into my jacket pockets to hide the evidence. “Don’t bother, Maggie, I’ve already seen those bruises. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because nothing happened, Dwayne. After he got angry with me in the parking lot, he left. What’s there to tell, he knocked me around a lit
tle?”

  “Yes! He told Melody he debated about whether to …” He didn’t finish his sentence, he didn’t need to, I’d seen it in Zack’s eyes. “You should have told me just like Seth should have told you sooner about himself. Zack’s lucky Seth’s been out of town this whole weekend. When he hears what’s happened, he’s going to flip out. And I almost feel sorry for Zack when Booker gets a hold of him.”

  “Don’t tell them, please.”

  “I sort of told Booker already, at least part of it. I called him yesterday and left a message on his answering machine. I didn’t mention Zack’s plan to… well, you know. I thought it would be better to tell him that part in person. You know how Booker can fly off the handle. He’s with Seth, so he won’t hear the message until they get back sometime this morning.” Since no one escorted me to school this morning, my assumption was neither of them knew yet.

  “Did you leave a message for Seth?”

  “No, only Booker. He called me Friday and wanted to know why your face was bruised. I told him I’d try to find out, and you can be sure he’ll tell Seth.”

  “The whole school knows?” A groan escaped my lips.

  “Yes, Zack did tell Melody after all, and since when has she ever kept her big mouth shut?”

  “How am I supposed to face everyone?” There had to be a rock somewhere to crawl under.

  “Are you serious? Everyone’s ostracized Hillary and Zack. The rumor is she is being dismissed from the cheerleading squad, and Zack is getting kicked off the baseball team.”

  That wasn’t a good thing. I was sure they would take their revenge out on me.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you, Maggie.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and gave me a side hug.

  “Thanks.” I hope it will be enough.

  A loud crack of thunder cut through the air, along with a flash of lightening. “Come on, we’d better get inside before it starts raining. If anyone says anything rude to you, I’ll pop’em in the mouth.” Before I could ask if he was kidding, a shiny patrol car pulled up to the school.

  Booker. I certainly knew his car by now.