Don't Cry Out (6)
“Good, good. What have you been doing?” “Working mostly. Look, I called to find out about mom. I’ve been thinking. I really should talk with her. How’s she been about me? Has she finally calmed down?” Don’t you sound pathetic? Is my mommy ok? Cripes! “I think so. She hasn’t mentioned anything in a while now. Are you sure you’re ready for her?” No. “I have to deal with her sometime. Seems to me there’s no time like the present. Right?” “I guess. I’m just sorry things got this bad. I should have done something.” “What? You couldn’t make her stop. All you could’ve done was delay the inevitable. It’s ok. Really.” “Well, I still think it’s wrong.” “Well I’ve moved past it. Anyhow, is she there?” Please no. Please, please, please no. “Yeah, just a minute.” Don’t hyperventilate and pass out now. Relax. Deep breath. You started this, now you can go through with it. I heard my grandmother call for my mother. Now or never. Would never really be so bad? No! I can do this! I can! I can! “Hello?” Say something. “Hello?” HEY! Say something! “Hi mom.” Brilliant. Just brilliant. Silence “It’s me, Leanne.” “Hello.” Well, now she knows your name. What are you going to say now? Have to call. Have to call. Perhaps a letter next time? Something on the level of Dick and Jane should just about do it. “How are you?” How’s the weather? What do you think about the election? Come on. “Fine. How are you?” “Ok. Hey…um…I was thinking. Would you like to come see my place? It isn’t the greatest, but, well…” It ain’t a cardboard box honey. Get on with it. “I suppose I could.” She said yes! I can’t believe it! She said yes! “Ok…” Wait. She said yes, now what? Oh Lord, I should’ve thought this out more. “Well, uh, do you have a pen? I’ll give you directions.” “Sure, just a second.” Now you did it! Now you did it! Now she is going to see how you really live. Busted dishes and garbage furniture. Now you did it. “Ok, go ahead.” I gave her directions through the best parts of town I could, limited as they might have been. When I finished we decided on Thursday for the day she would come over. I had a short day at work planned, but I could always claim I was tired if things didn’t go well. Right, wrong, or somewhere in between, I did it! The voices in my head were offering a revolt. There was nothing I could do to silence them. Wave after wave of accusations and doubt floated wildly around. Come into my world. Come see what I’ve done. Come on over. It will be fun. The rhyme was crude, and elementary. It played over and over again in my head. I didn’t know the voice, but I did know the meaning of the rhyme. It was frightening. More than frightening, it was sinister. “Shut up.” Come into my world. I think I’m a star. If you think this is bad, I once live in my car. “Shut up.” Blah, blah, blah. You can’t ignore me. You need me. At least I’ll tell you how stupid you are. “Shut up!” And crazy too. Don’t you know your nuts? You’re a total, fucking loony. I stood up from my chair and stomped out of the room. I knew I couldn’t walk away from myself, but I also knew I couldn’t just sit there either. No matter where I went, or what I did, the voices were there. Ladies and Gentlemen: Welcome to the nut-job show, starring Leanne! I put my hands over my eyes, and rubbed them hard. Little colored lights floated wildly around, but the voice continued. She’s worthless! She’s crazy! She’s hardly even part of the world! Back and forth, back and forth, I paced across the painted wood floor of the room. Something had to give. Something had to change. I had to make it stop. I didn’t know what to do, or where to go, to make my mind quiet. It was like thousands of hands reaching out to touch you, from the shadows. Poor baby. Can’t deal with the truth? Can’t handle reality? Aw. Should we feel sorry for you? Should we tell you lies? We all know the truth in here. We all know how unimportant you really are. I grabbed the pipe from the table, pressed my thumb into partially smoked remains in the bottom, and lit the lighter. At least if I was high, I thought, I won’t care what they say. A little marijuana, a little beer, and some peace. If they were going to be talking in my head, then I’d leave. I smoked all there was in the pipe. It stung my lungs, and made me nauseous at first. Then came peace. The voices were still there, but they seemed distant. Tapping out the ash, and dropping the pipe back on the table, I went to the kitchen for a beer. Beer alone never was something I wanted. Get me high and that was another story. The cold, wet tang was so refreshing, and satisfying. It reminded me of the rush of cold when you first walk into a movie theatre on a steamy August day. There was nothing quite as satisfying. I finished the first beer, and returned to the kitchen for a second. As I walked back into the living room the door opened. Denis had returned. As impossible as he was to live with sober is exactly how delightful he was to live with high. Drugs and drinking were things Pat didn’t approve of. With his family history I understood why. Denis, however, would gladly join in. He sat down next to me, reached across and took the beer from my hand, drank some, and handed it back. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a bag of marijuana, handed it to me, and headed to the kitchen. “Take out the seeds and pack it. I’ll be back in a second.” I did like he asked. When he returned, with his own beer, I handed him the pipe. “Come on over here on the couch,” he said as he lit the pipe. He smoked a little, handed me the pipe, and kissed me. His kissed were soft and warm. They were a welcome change from the icy voices I’d been alone with before. I let go of the memory of bruises and blood. I gave in to the warm, comforting feeling. Even if it were only temporary, it would do. Oh sure, he’d hit me. He insulted me sometimes. He didn’t even contribute to the household. These things didn’t matter. As bad as he could be, he did care. He loved me right then, how I was, completely. Having smoked the pipe down to ash, we moved to the bedroom. He could be a passionate lover. He focused his complete attention on me. Rather than simply whispering in the background, he drove the voices out. I woke up, the next day, more confused than ever. As much as I loved Pat, he didn’t silence the voices. I knew they’d come back, but for the moment they were sleeping. Quiet. I called Pat and told him not to come over. It was Tuesday, and he would be at the door that night if I let him. It tore me apart to call him, but I was confused about how I felt. I wanted to see Pat desperately, but Denis had given me quiet. It was the difference between wants and needs. Thursday morning I got up early. I had cleaning to do before work. I made coffee, and started with wiping the counters. By the time I had the floor swept, Denis was getting up. I poured him a cup of coffee, and headed into the bathroom the clean. Denis followed me, sipping his coffee. “Morning,” I chimed over my shoulder, shaking scouring powder into the bathtub. “What’s all this?” “Just cleaning. Remember, my mother’s coming over later?” “Yeah. Still don’t know why you’re bothering.” Whispering “Just want everything to look nice. That’s all.” Whispering “Not like it’ll matter. Besides, what do you care?” “Just wanted it nice. Could use a good cleaning anyhow. Guess it doesn’t matter.” Never did. “Whatever. Hey listen, I have stuff to do today. You don’t expect me to be here with you anyway, right?” How about packing your stuff before you go? “I was planning on you being here. Can’t you stick around for a little while?” “Why? You think I really want to listen to you two?” Never listened before. Why should now be any different? “Just wanted you here.” “Well, I got better things to do.” Aw, poor baby. Are you going to cry now? Oh sure you will. Come on, you baby. Cry. “Ok. You do what you have to. I’ll manage.” Oh how grand, quality time with mommy. Maybe you two can bond? Ha! He walked out, sipping coffee as he went. The whole time I cleaned, the most he did was pick his feet up as I swept. I not only had to face my mother alone, I had to prepare for it alone too. I finished what I had time to do, dressed for work, and left Denis sitting there. Things at work didn’t go as smoothly as planned. When I did leave I had to rush to get home in time. Everything told me I should cancel, but it was too late. She would already be on her way. I was stuck. I ran from the bus stop home. You smell like rotten flowers, you know. Can’t even keep yourself up. That’s what she’s going to say. I fumbled for the door key, almost broke it off in the lock, and finally managed to open the door. Well looky here. Isn’t this precious? I see how much good your cleaning did. There, in my living room, sat a lawn mower. It wasn’t just sitting there in the way either. It was in pieces. On the carpet sat the mower deck, grass clippings and all. In front of the coat closet stood the handlebar. In the chair were the blade and carburetor. The engine was oozing black goop across the coffee table. Finally, the tools used to create the whole scene, were interspersed throughout. How are you going to fix this one? She’ll be here any minute you know. Guess you will make an impression after all. Having considered the options available, I set to picking up what I could. The voices in my head were going wild, but there was no time to listen to the rambling. I couldn’t change the situation, so I just did what I could. I quickly gathered the tools as I moved across the room. Throwing them on the table, I grabbed the end of it and dragged it out of the room. After storing the tabled, and its contents, in the nearest bedroom, I returned to retrieve the other parts. Having stowed all the pieces, I went to change out of my work clothes. On my way out of the bedroom, to sweep up the grass clippings, I pulled the sheet from the bed as a cover for the grease clad chair.
Copyright © 2003 Sylvia Browne |