Call Me Crazy

by Quinn Loftis

  “How do you like Broken Arrow?” Tally asks.

  “It’s not home, but I think it is where we are supposed to be.” She pauses, as if contemplating her next words. “How do you feel about Broken Arrow? Do you feel you are where you are supposed to be?”

  Tally lets out a slow breath, and then looks up at me. Her eyes seem to be looking into me and I wonder what she sees.

  “Yes, I’m where I’m supposed to be, although that doesn’t mean I always feel safe there. Does that make sense?” She asks my grandmother.

  Bly nods, “Faith is believing in things unseen, and that is the hardest kind of belief to have.” She stands then and glances out of the window, “I better get to bed; I need all the beauty sleep I can get these days.” She leans over and kisses Tally gently on the head, “You are going to be just fine child. The path you walk will not always be an easy one, but you will be able to help so many along the way.”

  “Good night grandma,” I tell her, as I stand and hug her. She pats my back and whispers, “She’s strong, she just doesn’t know it yet, and it will get worse before it gets better.”

  I want to ask her what she means, but now is not the time, not with Tally sitting right here.

  “I had better get you home before your dad calls the police,” I tell Tally, as I grab her hand and pull her to her feet.

  “Your grandmother is amazing.”

  “I think so. She always has little bits of wisdom to spew whether you want it or not.” I think back to the many things my grandmother has whispered to me, and then to tonight’s comment about Tally. So many times my grandmother is right about things, and I really want her to be wrong about this one. I don’t want Tally to hurt any more. But, after seeing how her father reacted to her tonight, I can only agree that a storm is brewing, and we just happen to be in the calm of it right now. Pretty soon, the lightning will strike, the thunder will roll, and the downpour of Tally’s disease will come flooding in.

  ~

  “Tally, before you go I need to tell you something. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I was trying to find the right time.” I look over at her, as we sit in my truck in her driveway. I had been dreading telling her about Candy, because I know just how much she means to Tally.

  “When I went to visit my mother the other day I saw Candy. She didn’t look very good and while I was talking to her, she collapsed. I had to carry her to her room, and then the nurses came in and they called the doctor, but I don’t know what is going on with her. She asked me not to tell you, but I feel like you need to know.”

  “I knew something was wrong with her, but she refuses to tell me what it is,” Tally admits. “Thank you for telling me Trey, I’m glad you did.”

  “Are you going to be alright?” I ask her, as I brush her bangs from her face.

  She smiles at me, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I tell her, as I lean over and kiss her gently on the lips.

  She nods, and then climbs out of my truck. I'd offered to walk her to the door, but she declined, saying that she didn’t want to give her dad an opportunity to yell at me.

  I wait until she is safely in her house, before finally leaving. Something inside me feels heavy as I drive home, and the more I try to pinpoint exactly what is bothering me, the more elusive it becomes. Something is coming, I don’t know how else to describe it, I just know that something is coming, and it isn’t going to be good.

  Chapter 22

  “Today I’m up, I’m dressed and I’m leaving my house, that means today is a good day. I’m breathing, in and out, and with every breath I remind myself that even though I feel as though the world is gradually crumbling around me, it is not reality― or is it?” ~Tally

  Days seem to be flying by now that school has started. Trey picks me up every day; he walks me to my classes, sits with me at lunch, and takes me home. The little touches that are as consistent as the beating of my heart are becoming something I crave, though I still don’t want to be touched by anyone else. Every night he calls me and we talk about anything and everything. He tells me about his mom and how she is doing and I ask about the horses. His answers always seem to bring a smile to my face.

  I know that my meds aren’t working as well as they had been, and I feel myself beginning to slip a little lower every day. I fight the agitation that wants to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune times. I fight tears, even when I’m simply brushing my teeth. I mean seriously, who cries when they’re brushing their teeth? Trey keeps asking me if I’m alright and I don’t know how much longer before I scream no I’m not alright, I can’t stand to be in my own skin, and I just want to feel good. I find myself longing for a manic phase, for the rush and the feeling of complete confidence, but the swings don’t happen on command. And I know that the manic phase is really no healthier than the depression, but damn, anything sounds better than this feeling of utter helplessness.

  My mother keeps trying to talk to me and I appreciate her willingness to move forward, but I just don’t have the energy to put forth much effort. My dad hardly speaks to me, and it’s probably better that way. I have a very bad feeling that if he gives me one of his snide comments, I just might stab him with the first object I can get my hands on. This is my life right now; this is where I’m at. Is it a good place to be, no, but I don’t know what to do about it at this point. Candy is getting worse, and she refuses to tell me what is going on. The last two times I have visited her she nearly fell apart in tears and begged me to stop asking her. I’m at a loss of what to do with her, of how to help her. Candy was my rock, she’s crazy no doubt, but she made me feel like no matter how bad it got I would be okay. Now, I don’t know if she’s going to be okay.

  “How has this week been?” Dr. Stacey asks me as I take my usual spot on her couch.

  “I don’t know doc,” I tell her honestly. “I just don’t know how I feel, one minute I’m somewhat okay, and then the next I want to scream.”

  “I had a feeling that as you began to get back into the daily things of life, school, and your parents that you might begin to slip. Your medicine can only keep up with so much and the stress you are under is causing the chemicals to be used up more quickly. The quick mood swings are a result of the mood stabilizer not being enough, sometimes in the depressive episode, the emotions are just all over the place right before a major crash.”

  I feel a surge of anger at her words. My head snaps up from where it had been laying on the back of the couch. “You knew that this would happen? You didn’t think that maybe you should tell me?”

  “I did tell you Tally. I told you to be paying close attention to how you were feeling, that circumstances can cause episodes. People with mental illness do not handle stress well, they don’t handle exhaustion well, and often times will become physically ill because their bodies just can’t deal with the mental exhaustion. We’ve discussed all of this, now it’s a matter of remembering and applying.”

  I stand up and begin to pace her office, not able to sit still any longer. I feel as though there are ants dancing the jig on my nerves, and every part of me is buzzing. I clench my fists open and closed, and have to rub my sweaty palms on my pants. I’m so frustrated and I don’t want to be. I don’t want to feel this way.

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m just,” I stop and turn to look at her and I know what she sees. I’m empty. I was like a glass, beginning to be filled up, and then suddenly, as if a hole in the side of the cup magically appeared, the liquid began to drain slowly, until barely a drop remained. “I’m only two months into school, our first dance is this weekend, and I’d rather be buried alive than go, but I don’t want to feel that way. I can’t do this again.”

  “I’m going to increase the Lamictal, which is the mood stabilizer and it may take a week before you start to feel better, sometimes it can take two, be patient.” She stands, and then walks over to me. She wraps her arms around me and hu
gs me. I don’t know what to do. I feel like it’s been forever since someone, an adult hugged me like they cared. I’m stiff and I know I should hug her back, but I can’t, my arms stay frozen at my side and I bite my lip to keep the flood gates from opening.

  When she finally releases me, she steps back and I see that her eyes are shiny as if she were tearing up. She straightens her suit jacket and clears her throat.

  “You are going to be fine Tally, I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you are going to be fine.”

  ~

  “Don’t start,” Candy warns me as I step outside to where she is sitting on a bench. “I know I look like crap I don’t need someone pointing it out. I never understood why people feel the need to tell someone they don’t look good, like them not feeling well has somehow made them blind and unable to see their shitty appearance in a freaking mirror.”

  I sit down next to her and she looks at me. “You look like crap,” she tells me.

  “I thought you just said you didn’t understand why people feel the need to tell someone when they look like crap?” I raise a brow at her.

  “Correct, I don’t understand why other people do it, but I know why I do it. It gives me the opportunity to tell someone they look like crap, why would I pass that up?” Candy shakes her head at me as if I had just asked the most ludicrous question.

  “Why indeed,” I grumble.

  “So what’s going on, why do you look so crappy? Did Running Bull break up with you? Do I need to kill him?”

  I pat her arm, “Calm down, and put away your weapons, Trey didn’t break up with me. I’m just not feeling well.”

  “No shit Sherlock, I sort of gathered that by the dark circles and pale skin.” She points out so helpfully—not.

  “You’re one to talk, you look like you’ve been run through the washer twenty times too many and then left soaking wet to dry so you are all wrinkly and sour.” I purse my lips at her as I narrow my eyes in challenge.

  She grins wickedly, “Really? Well you look like the favorite chew toy of a St. Bernard that he happens to like to hump it all the time as well.”

  I can’t help the small huff of laughter that has my shoulders shaking. Only Candy could come up with something so crude, yet so hilarious.

  “Fine, you win. A worn out, over–humped chew toy is probably as bad as it gets.”

  “You know better than to get into a putdown war with me, I will shut you down every time.” Candy glances back over the field that leads to the pond. The sparkle in her eyes that was there moments ago is now gone and I wonder if she will ever tell me what is going on.

  “It’s getting late Pinky; you should probably be heading home.”

  I don’t say anything until she finally turns and looks at me. “Tell me you’re going to be alright.”

  She smiles, but it’s not her normal smile. “Do you believe in God, Tally?”

  I’m thrown off by her question. We’ve never discussed religion and she’s never even hinted at being religious.

  “I guess so,” I answer.

  “I do. I believe that something greater than all of us had to have created us. I was raised in church you know.” I watch as she pulls a battered old Bible from behind her where it had been sitting on the bench. She holds it reverently in her hands and stares down at it. “This was the Bible my daddy gave me. At one time, I read it every day.”

  “What happened?” I ask, drawn in by the vulnerable look in her eyes.

  “Crazy happened,” instead of the anger I expect to come with the words, I hear sadness. “I was angry with God, have been angry with God for a very long time. Who wants to be crazy? Who wants to lose everything in their life because they aren’t in their right mind? So, I put my Bible on the shelf and stepped away from the very thing that could have brought me comfort.” She pauses and I watch as she flips through the worn pages. I see red writing scrawled on many of the pages along with pieces of paper stuck intermittently throughout.

  “I was lying in bed last night and I just felt so lonely. And, so, for the first time in forty years, I talked to God, to my creator. I told him all the things that I have held inside for so long, I yelled at him, cussed at him, and then held my breath waiting to be struck down by lightning, but instead I felt a peace flow over me like I have never felt before. I’ve had this Bible stuck under my mattress since I arrived here at Mercy and I pulled it out last night and flipped it open to a random page.” Her voice catches and she stops to take a ragged breath.

  I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen this side of Candy. She seems so fragile, so small. I wish I could say that I understand, but the truth is I’ve never even opened a Bible. My parents aren’t religious and I’ve never thought about it. I guess I figured that someone had to have created the world, but my thoughts never went beyond that.

  “I closed my eyes and pointed randomly to the page I had opened, and then opened them to see what scripture my finger'd landed on, the book of Luke, Chapter 15, the parable of the prodigal son. My finger was sitting on verse twenty, “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.” When she looks back up at me, her eyes are filled with tears. “I remember the sermon my pastor did on this very passage when I was in high school. He said the prodigal son is us, God’s children, and the father is God, and when we come back to God, when we repent and turn to him, He runs to us, before we are anywhere close to Him, he runs to us and wraps us in His arms.”

  I’m quiet as I stare at her, tears streak down her worn face, and her lips pinch together.

  “Candy, I don’t know what to say to that, I don’t really know what I believe.” I admit.

  She shakes her head. “That’s okay child. I’m not telling you this because I’m trying to convince you of God’s love for you. I’m just sharing this with you, because I need to tell someone. Last night God ran to me, even in my anger, fear, and pain, He ran to me, crazy Candy, and wrapped me in His arms and I knew in that moment that everything was going to be okay. It’s not the outcome I want, it’s not the life I thought I would have, but it’s okay.”

  I feel tears gather in my eyes and I don’t really know why I’m crying other than I’m happy that Candy found her peace. I’m happy that this God she obviously loves has bestowed His love on her.

  She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “Now that a crazy old lady has poured her heart out, you need to get on home.”

  “Candy,” I hold on to her hand before she can pull it away. “I’m glad you are crazy, otherwise I don’t know that I would have ever met you and that would have been a tragedy.”

  She smiles at me and for a moment, it reaches her eyes. “I love ya kid,” she tells me quickly. I stand to go as I see how uncomfortable she is, Candy's never been one for sentiment.

  “I’ll see you in a week when I come for my next session,” I tell her, as I head for the side of the building to walk around to the parking lot.

  “Okay, yeah, see you then,” she tells me with a final wave.

  As I round the corner, I look back over my shoulder and see Candy looking off into the distance, the old Bible still in her hands. Her face is peaceful, but she looks so very tired. I watch as she bows her head and closes her eyes. In the stillness of the night, I hear her words clearly.

  “I’m ready.”

  ~

  “You have to do something different with your hair Tal,” Nat whines to me, as she slips into her dress.

  The night of the dance has snuck up on me and no amount of me complaining to Natalie that I didn’t want to go has drawn any sympathy. She had argued that I had to go for Trey’s sake, because he might never have been to a school dance. I countered with, 'he’s from a different state not a third world country.' She argued that it was our senior year and we had to make the best of it. I told her that others might want to make the best of their senior year as well, and that could quite possibly include me not b
eing at their school dances.

  “My hair is short Natalie, what exactly do you want it to do?” I growl at her as I tease the strands to give it a fuller look. I’ve sprayed enough hair spray on it that even a hurricane probably won’t damage it.

  “Here, spray some of this glitter stuff in it.” She hands me a bottle of liquid glitter.

  I raise a brow at her, “Yes, this glitter will make all the difference.”

  “Quit being a negative Nancy,” she snaps at me.

  I let out an exasperated breath. I know I need to pull it together, for Natalie if for nothing else. I know she is beyond excited to be going to this dance with Bobby and I don’t want to ruin it for her.

  “Okay fine, I’ll play nice, but I will not be held responsible for my actions if one of those jerks throws a comment at me,” I inform her.

  “Trey is going to be attached to your hip; they would have to be eighteen bricks shy of a load to even look at you wrong.”

  I shrug, “I’m just throwing that out there. I reserve the right to go kung fu on anyone dumb enough to mess with the crazy chick.”

  “Duly noted,” she smiles at me and hands me my dress, “Now, go get all beautymified."

  I roll my eyes as I snatch the dress from her and stomp to the bathroom.

  “Put on your happy face Tally,” she calls after me.

  “Bite me Nat.”

  “You look amazing,” I feel Trey’s breath against my neck, as he helps me out of his truck.

  “You clean up pretty good yourself,” I tell him. He winks at me and in spite of feeling so gloomy, my stomach still does a little flip.

  “Ready for this?” He asks as he slips my hand around his arm.

  “Do you really want me to answer that?” I ask, dryly.

  “We don’t have to stay long, just give me a couple of dances so I can discretely grope you. It’s like a rite of passage in high school to grope your girl at a school dance.”

  I laugh, mostly because Trey is too much of a gentleman to do something like that, but also because I imagine there will be lots of couples crossing through that particular rite of passage tonight.