by Donna Bishop
Liv demurs like the housewife she no longer is, “He won’t eat anything, but does drink the fresh-pressed apple juice I make.”
“Spiked with scotch, I’m guessing?” suggests Celeste.
“Oh yeah, for sure, he’s got a bottle stashed under the couch in the den. I don’t even go in there. Last night he summoned the kids to his bedside and apologized for being so sleepy and thanked them for being so good. He snuggled them for a few minutes and read them his favourite story, Jumping Mouse. They were absolutely beaming, they’re so starved for his attention. Leah scurried off to bring him more juice and three of his favourite oatmeal raisin cookies. At one point I would have considered it heart-warming, but this just enraged me — nothing that he does seems authentic anymore.”
Liv has moved into the kid’s bedroom downstairs — a huge room with three single beds in three separate nooks. Even though she has successfully kicked Ross out of the marriage bed, she doesn’t want it either. That room seems to give her insomnia. The kids argue over whose turn it is to have Mommy in their bed. In the mornings, they all tiptoe upstairs, being as “quiet as mice” so as not to disturb Daddy. Liv finds herself seeking any excuse to be away from the house — shopping, visiting friends, getting out to do some of the farm work. She winterizes the rose and lavender garden and harvests the last of the onions, garlic, potatoes and carrots. It gives her focus and a feeling of satisfaction — she had resigned herself to letting them rot in the field.
She’s been able to negotiate a medical leave from the college for Ross, as long as she can get a doctor to sign some papers, so that is a relief — there will be at least be a paycheque and they won’t lose the farm to foreclosure.
“He’s postponed his appointment with the psychiatrist, even though he knows it’s now both a legal and employment requirement,” she tells Celeste over tea one day.
“And you’ve told him more than once it’s a marriage requirement as well,” Celeste reminds her.
“Yes, I’ve given him two weeks to show me he’s making changes and getting medical help. He’s agreed to it, but he says the problems are with the world, not with him, and he really believes that. He knows our marriage is hanging in the balance, but he seems unable to step up. The headaches are relentless and he seems so depressed he hardly speaks. He told me last night he’d see the doctor to get some new painkillers this week and he grudgingly agreed to re-schedule his psychiatrist appointment.”
Celeste has tracked down a library book about mental health disorders. She cracks it open and finds a section she wanted to share with Liv. There’s a checklist of symptoms of bipolar disorder. She reads out loud from the first paragraph.
“The first and foremost symptom of many mental illnesses, particularly bi-polar disorder, is the patient does not believe there is anything transgressive about their behaviour.” Liv smiles, “Bingo!” Let’s do this test on Ross’ behalf, then, shall we?”
Out of twenty questions, Liv answers yes to all of them, except one: “Have you lost your relationship with your significant other or important friends because of your behaviour?”
“Not quite yet,” she says, “Put that one down as a maybe, I guess.”
“I know you don’t want to abandon him when he’s so ill. You’re doing the right thing, gathering your strength and resources, setting boundaries and making plans for you and the kids. You have to stop trying to figure out what’s going on in his head. It’s never a good idea to get inside the head of a mentally sick person. Remember how you felt when you looked at Detlef’s life? It’s the same here — you can’t possibly figure out how to fix it because you have no control over him and he has no control over his illness.”
Liv boldly brings the book home to give the test to Ross, hoping it will help him shed some light on the seriousness of his condition. He grudgingly answers some of the questions but only answers affirmatively to three of them: Do you have difficulty sleeping at times? Do you find that your thoughts race? Do you believe you are destined for a great purpose? Ross becomes agitated and snaps, “It’s all because of these God-dammed fucking headaches — you have NO IDEA. Now get the hell out of my room!”
“Oh, I’m getting out of YOUR room all right. And you might have to re-think the answer to question 14: “Has your behaviour ever caused you to lose a relationship?” It feels good to speak her mind. It’s a new habit she might want to keep.
Through the door she hears him shaking out a bunch of pills and pouring a rye from his hidden stash. He usually only drinks it with ice but apparently cannot be bothered to get up to go to the fridge.
Liv has a noon appointment at the school and she’s worried about leaving Ross alone because he seems to be amping up.
As she leaves, he’s holed up in the den, frantically making phone calls and ranting about the college. It sounds like he’s caught up in one of his conspiracy theories. She hopes he’s not getting himself fired but she knows she can’t stop him. The part of her heart that was just for him is feeling emptier and emptier. I don’t think I can keep doing this until he sees the psychiatrist in January. The kids and I might have to leave sooner.
She’s been summoned to the school. Her children’s teachers have unanimously expressed concern about their academic performance and behaviour. Molly, normally a social little girl, is isolating herself during class activities. At lunchtime, when she would usually be playing and having fun with her friends, she sits by herself, twirling a lock of her copper hair around her finger. Micah has been caught on three occasions launching spitballs at his classmates and his teacher. Leah’s teacher reports that she seems distracted and tired. She’s always been her star student, but now she hides Babysitter’s Club books inside her textbooks and reads when she thinks it won’t be noticed. She’s not completing assignments.
Liv’s heart sinks with that kind of guilt that all mothers are familiar with. How could I not have seen that my kids have been struggling? They need me to fix this mess our family is in.
She doesn’t have any solutions, and nor do the teachers. But at least she’s able to inform them (without going into great detail) about the current situation in her home and assure them she’s doing her best to resolve it one way or another. She hopes the small amount of information she shared will help the teachers feel a bit more understanding towards her children. Liv arranges for Micah to see the school counsellor for some play therapy, as the teachers and Liv herself don’t want to see his aggressive behaviour escalate. She knows he has some problems with attention and behaviour, but is opposed to putting him on medication at this point in time. She’ll be able to talk to Molly and Leah — she realizes she hasn’t really been honest with them about what’s happening in their family, and it must be as crazy-making for them as it is for her. Liv has only recently realized her own family dysfunction was not her fault, and she doesn’t want her kids to have to wait till they’re adults too.
After the meeting, she picks up a few groceries and goes to the hardware store to get plastic tubs with lids, in case she needs to pack in a hurry, and heads home.
Celeste’s car is in Liv’s driveway. She waves when Liv drives in. She’s sweeping the first snowfall from the steps.
“Hey, what’s up?” Celeste’s welcoming grin quickly melts into a serious expression. Something has happened.
“Hey, Liv,” she gives her a quick, tight hug. “Sit down and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
Liv sits in one wicker chair on the porch and Celeste takes the other. She can hear Ruby whining at the door from the inside so she hops up to open it, but the handle won’t turn. The door is locked.
“The police locked it when they left.”
“What?”
“The police were here because they got a 911 call from a terrified semi-truck driver. He said there was a man firing a gun at passing vehicles. A bullet hit the side door of the guy’s truck and nearly gave him a heart attack.”
“Oh my god, Celeste. Ross did that? How did you find out?
”
“Liv, this is Little Mountain — everyone in town will know by dinnertime. The truck driver stopped at the gas station to phone the police and Jacques was there. The trucker said the guy looked like Moses, wearing a striped bathrobe, firing off his porch. Jacques knew right away by the description that it had to be Ross. Jacques rushed home and told me and I came over right away. The RCMP were still here when I arrived. Ross was cuffed in the car and they told me there was no one in the house, so I knew you were okay.”
“He could have killed someone. Was it awful? They took Ross away?”
“He was very drunk and delusional, raving about being in a war zone and needing to protect his family from the invaders on Highway 5. He apparently didn’t resist so he wasn’t hurt.”
“I can’t believe this,” Liv says, holding her hands over her face. After a moment’s thought, she adds, “But then, I guess I can. He’s been building to this.”
“Yeah, he has. I know this sounds weird Liv, but I’m glad this happened — particularly since nobody got hurt. Now Ross will be forced to get treatment. It’s no longer up to him.”
“So, he’s in jail?”
“No. I had a talk with the corporal — I explained to him that I’m your counsellor, so he told me Ross would be involuntarily committed to the psych ward. He said you shouldn’t go into town, but he wants you to call him — he gave me his card,” she says reaching into her pocket. Liv’s heart is racing. The north wind howls through the valley and into the alcove on her porch. It blows her long hair into her face and she impatiently sweeps it off with her left hand while her right hand shakes and fumbles with the key in the lock.
Ruby tumbles out, wagging her whole body, snuffing and nudging.
Corporal Brad Minnick answers the phone with brisk formality but shifts into a more considerate tone when she introduces herself. He says the psychiatrist has signed a committal form on the basis of Ross’ previous offences, but that her input and agreement would be appreciated.
“What exactly were these other offences?” Liv asks, aware that her voice is tentative and up an octave or two. She’s been wondering about this for weeks.
Confidentiality apparently void once a person starts acting really crazy, the corporal reels off a list of previous infractions. As well as having attempted to bring a handgun on a flight to China, Ross’ violations include driving while impaired, a bar fight in Hope, soliciting the services of a prostitute and an eat-and-run on a $300 dinner for two at a posh Vancouver restaurant. At last Liv gets some details about the China affair — he had been detained at the Vancouver airport, his weapon was seized and he had agreed to undergo psychiatric testing in lieu of legal charges.
So there was someone coming after him with guns when he was on the phone with me that time. It was the police.
The corporal explains that there is a criminal file still open on him in another city, and the police have been waiting for confirmation of the psych testing so they could close the case.
He goes on to say that today’s incident does carry a legal charge of discharging a firearm illegally with intent to do harm. Ross’ hospitalization is mandatory. If he leaves the hospital there will be a warrant for his arrest. A court date will be scheduled within a few months. Liv is sweating from the stress of this news but at the same time she’s relieved that now she knows and now she isn’t alone in this mess.
He gives her the psychiatrist’s phone number and advises Liv to call him to get more information about her husband’s condition and the plan moving forward. She thanks him and rings off, then tries the psychiatrist’s number. The officious receptionist tells her the doctor cannot possibly talk to her at this time, but reluctantly agrees to take a message.
Liv sighs as she hangs up the phone. Celeste, who has been tending the dog and tidying the kitchen this whole time, assures her friend that everything will be all right.
“I know. I just feel so exhausted. This is really happening. What am I going to tell the kids? They’ll be home in a few minutes.”
“You’re going to have to tell them the truth. But not tonight. It will be better to tell them when you know more about what’s going to happen next. Tonight, you’re going to tell them we’re making Christmas decorations. Where’s your glue and glitter?”
21
~ Inspiration ~
Liv approaches the following day with a strange sense of optimism. The outside temperature has dipped way below freezing, so there’s lacy hoarfrost on the ferns and lavender in front of her house and the few remaining crabapples have freeze-dried blood red against the brilliant blue sky. A few straggling Canada Geese form a honking V just above the tree-line. She suspects these are the ones that don’t have to go too far, maybe just to Vancouver. Ross is in good hands, safely ensconced in the hospital. The burden is no longer hers alone. Finally, they’re moving forward. Even the kids seem relieved and now they’re openly talking about Daddy being in the hospital because he has an illness that made it hard for him to manage his feelings and behaviours. He needs some medicine and some help.
She bundles up for the walk to Celeste’s — still, a biting wind off the river stings her cheeks and the ground is hard frozen with a skiff of snow, making the footing icy.
“I had the strangest dream last night,” she tells Celeste in the warmth of her kitchen. “It was like a hypno-session, but also kind of a whirlwind recap of my Geography 101 class. It began with that rotten Detlef a moment before he was killed, just his face, and then the shot rang out and I watched as his shaky, cruel spirit was transformed into grey smoke. I followed it up into the atmosphere, where it was carried over the North Sea to Greenland, then over Baffin Island — I was sailing with him, looking down over the ocean, the land and the ice — over the Arctic archipelago, the Victoria Islands, over the forbidding Arctic tundra. We went over Great Bear Lake, over kilometres of forest and mountains to the coast. I could see Haida Gwaii off in the distance as we followed the coastline and then down a wide ocean inlet. As we went I could feel his damaged spirit becoming cleansed — not completely…he had a lot of karmic debt to account for. At a certain place, his smoky soul swirled and dove into the woods and I followed.
“A beautiful brown-skinned woman squatted between two strong trees near an outdoor fire. She was alone and labouring hard, but she wasn’t afraid. Her large brown eyes were wide with concentration. She took a huge breath and bore down, delivering to the mossy bed beneath her a perfect, black-haired, round-faced baby boy. She lifted him to her face and breathed in his sweet smell just as Detlef’s soul — my soul — bonded with the infant’s squirming body.”
“Ah, the next incarnation,” Celeste says with a smile.
“Yes. His mother looked to the sky and said a prayer, then lovingly folded her child inside her shawl, close to her breast. They quickly warmed one another.
“The dream was so real, Celeste. I could smell the ocean, fresh and briny, and then a gust of strong wind buffeted the woman and suddenly I was in my own bed. I could hear my kids chattering away in the kitchen, and the snap, crackle, pop, as they poured milk on their Rice Krispies.”
“That’s amazing, Liv! This incredibly lucid dream tells me you’re very much in touch with your unconscious mind right now, which is a good thing.” She teases, “But maybe you just needed to get rid of Detlef?”
“Yes, good riddance to him, for sure, but I really do want to go to the Northwest Coast. That has to be the life that came just before mine.”
“We can do that. I can see how you’d want to experience your most recent past life. You’ve endured so much and now you’re navigating your way through. You have some tough decisions ahead of you.”
“You’re right. I feel like I’m sifting and sorting and soon I need to put it all together. As upsetting as these past life stories are, they’re entrancing and bolstering me. Even though I feel pretty messed up over the situation with Ross, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.”
“Ambe — I just learne
d that. It means ‘let’s go’ in Ojibway,” Celeste says.
Liv cups the soapstone in her right hand, running her thumb over its smooth surface. Celeste’s calm, clear voice draws her down the path, counting the trees down to the sands of time. A raven caws high in the trees up ahead, leading her into the forest.
Session No. 11 transcript, Nov. 24, 1987
Joey, 1953
My spirit line is azure, sailing along a steep, forested valley. Now it’s dropping, travelling in a descending arc, like one of those parachute toy soldiers Micah loves to drop off our deck. I follow it, dropping dizzily from the tops of towering cedar trees and into the chilly shadows at their feet. Two boys, maybe six or seven years old, run laughing along a path spongy with red, decayed cedar. They’re running hard, nimbly leaping over roots and clamouring over and under enormous deadfalls — they know this trail well. My glowing cord trails from the smaller of the two, who is valiantly trying to keep up with this friend.
I meld easily with him and instantly feel Joey’s vigorous energy, which is exclusively focused on this race with his cousin Peter. Joey admires Peter utterly — he aspires to be just like him. He is his teacher and protector.
The trail suddenly widens and they stop abruptly, colliding boisterously, on the edge of a high riverbank. Peter won the race, of course. The river below churns and boils around boulders, lashing the shore on its journey to the sea. The boys slow their pace and descend down a steep path to a small beach created by a back-eddy. They start throwing stones. It becomes a competition to see who can hit a distant log. Joey cheers when he hits it first. Then Peter changes the rules — the winner is now the one who can hit the log ten times in a row. They comment loudly on every throw, taunting and teasing.
Peter finally reaches the goal and declares himself the winner. They wrestle briefly on the beach, laughing. As they try to catch their breath, Peter throws his arm over Joey’s shoulder.