She carefully placed the lid back on the box and hid it under her hoodie. She went down the back stairs and slipped out a side door. She threw the box into the trash bin. Lies. Lies. My life has been nothing but lies. I can throw this stuff away, but can I stop the lying? Can I really stop the cutting? Yes. Yes, I can. I will.
Her parents sat at the kitchen when she came in from that final act of defiance and liberation; now she would be the old Maddie. “We just want the old Maddie back.” That’s what her parents had said repeatedly when she was in the hospital.
“It’s good to see you smiling again.” Judith said. She pulled out a chair and motioned for Maddie to sit. “We’ve made some hot chocolate. Just like things used to be. Here together, drinking our hot chocolate.”
She sat down and cupped her hands around the warm mug and inhaled its sweet smelling vapor. Like things used to be. The old Maddie is back. That felt good. But it didn’t feel right, still didn’t feel real yet. She wanted it so much – but something deep inside her kept telling her she didn’t deserve it. No. No. Of course she did, everyone says she deserved it.
Her father rested his chin on his clasped hands. There was a cautious smile when he said, “We’ve been talking … about Christmas. We thought we might go away this year. How does Acapulco sound? Wouldn’t it be fun to be somewhere warm for Christmas? How about that for a change?”
Maddie felt every bodily organ inside her twisting. Instinctively that urge to slice her skin demanded homage. This was her fault. Go away for Christmas? Family was everything and Christmas was the ultimate definition of family – aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents came from two states away to celebrate, not just a holiday, but a family being a family. And their Christmas Eve party was the highlight of everyone’s year. Her mom would spend a month preparing the front room, turning it into a winter wonderland of miniature houses, churches, town halls, ice rinks and even a 19th century train set. Each miniature figurine of snuggly dressed men, women and children would be carefully and lovingly placed to depict the perfect Christmas. Go away? Maddie had ruined Christmas. She had destroyed the family, wrecked everyone’s life. There would never be forgiveness. A tear slipped from the corner of Maddie’s eye. She felt it slip down her cheek; she resisted the urge to wipe it away. “I’ve ruined everything. It’s not right. It’s like you have to choose between your brother and me. That’s not fair.”
Howard shook his head and said, “There’s no choice about it, puppet. No choice at all.”
“They don’t believe me, do they? Nan, even she doesn’t believe it. They’d just let him come around like it’s okay, like nothing happened.”
“Your uncle will never come around here again.” Judith said with a flash of rage she quickly reined in with a slow and deliberate breath.
Maddie felt another tear giving birth. She looked at her dad. “
Howard said, “I won’t be able to face Billy ever again. If I did, I might kill him.” He stopped and looked out the kitchen window. He bit his lower lip and shook his head, then looked back at Maddie. “Listen. The family doesn’t want to believe it. They don’t want to believe such a thing could happen in … in this family. That it could have happened to … to you. It’s not that they don’t believe you, Maddie. Right now …well, they just can’t believe it.”
All the right words; but his voice seemed hesitant. His tone seemed to be that of one hiding fear or maybe hiding doubt, or of one trying to convince himself. “Do you? Do you believe me Dad?”
Howard drew in a quick breathe and held it in for what Maddie thought was a moment too long. “Well, of course I do.”
Maddie head slowly tilted down. He doesn’t believe me. No one believes me.
Judith got up and stood behind her. She pulled her bangs away from her left eye, bent down and kissed her cheek. “We’re not worried about the rest of the family. We’re only worried about you. I hate it; that you carried that secret so long. You were brave, Maddie, to tell … what happened.”
“I don’t believe that. No. I should never have told. It was a long time ago. What does it matter now anyway? It’s ruined the family. No one believes me. The police don’t even believe it. They’re gonna let him walk around and he’ll just end up doing it to someone else. What was the point of telling? None of its right. Nothing’s right anymore. I’m sorry. I’ve ruined Christmas. Ruined everything.”
Her mother put her head against Maddie’s. “Don’t say that. You did the right thing, honey. I wish … I just wish you had told us sooner. But that doesn’t matter now. No, you did the right thing. Absolutely you did the right thing.” Judith began to cry.
Shame, guilt – still there, seeking to destroy her. The family torn apart, destroyed. Exposing the dirty secret did nothing to expunge the toxin from her soul – like her therapist said it would. Now the poison had spread to everyone around her, the ones she loved the most. The secret would destroy them all. Maddie dared not be alone that night; she knew what would happen. She slept on the sofa bed in her parents’ bedroom. She prayed the nightmare would stop – to wake up and be the old Maddie, and her family being all that it should be, used to be; before her uncle …
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Joe lay motionless staring at clumps of dust matted on the edges of the ceiling fan blades. His pillow was moist with sweat, again. The nightmares; they were determined to ruin his sleep, his life. Since he’d left the hospital, cruel and ugly dreams attacked him at will; dark shadows chasing him, slashing him with knives, beating him with bats, evil creatures mocking, laughing. Twice he had been jarred out of slumber, thick in sweat; twice he was sure he saw a shadow in his window – hooded, just like the grim reaper. Joe sat up in his bed. No more flippin’ Trazodone. Someone said it could give you nightmares. Better to stay awake than to keep suffering this sort of thing.
A soft knock on Joe’s bedroom door felt like a cruel and thoughtless blow to the head. Sarah’s muffled voice came through the door. Her voice still oozed with anxiety, or was it guilt? He’d be coddled forever. “You awake Jo-Jo? Need to be getting up and around. You don’t want to be late for school.”
Jo-Jo. That’s what his mom called him when he was a kid, a world ago. When he turned thirteen, he begged, then ordered her to stop using that ridiculous and childish nickname. She tried hard to break the habit, but the affectionate term slipped out now and then, mainly when his mother was excited, or very stressed. “I’m up mom. I’ll be ready.”
“It’ll be hard for a while kiddo. But you’ll get back into things, into the routine of life. Things will settle. Just don’t be too hard on yourself.” Braxton’s words were meant to comfort and assure him as he left the hospital. The routine of life. Is that what he needed, wanted? Routine. As much as he hated the hospital, it was hard to leave. There he could live in a carefully crafted cardboard reality; never having to plan a day out – wake up, eat breakfast, go to the hospital’s alternative school, eat lunch, go to groups, therapy sessions, an hour at gym, eat dinner, shower, another group, off to bed. Now that’s routine. And what did he mean? “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
School? It’s Monday! Hell’s bells! School! No. It will be alright. Day at a time. The old routine. It’ll be okay Things will settle.
***
“There he is, back from the dead. Thought we’d lost you man.” Skyler Evans shouted as Joe walked through the door of first period, Algebra Two. Greetings and laughter, high fives, hugs from both males and females, wisecracks, lame jokes, crude innuendos – all of it hazy, moving toward the surreal. Joe had to find a desk, get seated quickly, get it over with. The bell rang as he sat next to the window toward the back of the classroom. Old faces, old friends, should bring comfort, security; it should be safe. But it felt like a world he no longer belonged in. No. I do belong here. Back with friends. Real friends. This is my real life. Relax. Just relax.
“Look who’s back, Coach.” Skyler yelled as the teacher walked through door.
Coach
Tyler took his place behind his desk and glanced at Joe. “Good to you see Kline. All right people. Get your butts down, shut the pie holes and open your books to page one fifty-five. You all have a hell of a lot of work to do to get ready for the final.”
Joe opened his book. Finals. Can’t do this. End of semester test? Life just keeps heaping up the bull. Joe stared at a jumble of equations and formulas floating across the page. He closed his eyes. Books opening, pages turning, feet shuffling, chairs creaking – everything screeching like intrusive high-pitched sirens. “Everybody needs to freakin’ be quiet!” That’s what his lungs begged to let loose. He took a breath and forced his eyes to focus on equation 1.a. Can’t do this goddamn stuff! How can I be ready for a semester test?
“You Okay Joe? Don’t sweat it. I can help ya if you need it.” Skyler whispered as Coach Tyler wrote the first equation on the board.
Joe shook his head. “Hey I’m fine. I’m alright.” He stared out the window and took several deep breaths, filling his lungs to capacity before he emptied them slowly, peacefully. Relax. Relax. Just like they taught at the hospital. A day at a time.
After a never-ending hour, the bell rang. Joe had endured and survived. Six more classes to deal with. Can only get easier. I’ll make it.
Skyler slapped Joe’s desk and said, “Com’n Joe? Hurry your ass up.”
“Go on. I’ll catch up.” Joe replied as he fiddled with loose papers in his spiral notebook. Joe waited until the class nearly emptied before he got up from his desk.
“Kline. Hold on a sec.” Just as Joe reached the door, Coach Tyler’s words seemed to grab him by the throat. “Come here.”
“Yeah Coach?” Joe stood in front of the teacher’s desk looking down at his football coach. With arms crossed, he held his textbooks close to his chest, as if ready to shield off any fiery darts that his coach would hurl at him.
“You look good. You doing okay?”
Joe nodded.
“They put you on a lot of meds there? At that hospital? That’s what they do, ya know. I had a nephew there, a few years ago. Drugged him good. But you look good. Don’t worry about the test. Do what you can. Just see how it goes.”
“Yes sir.”
“Can’t promise you’ll pass. You can always take Algebra Two next year. Or you can get caught up in summer school … maybe.”
Joe stood motionless. What a nice way to tell me I’m going to flunk the semester. “I’ll be okay. Should be able to pull off a C, I think.”
“You think? Well good. Just do your best. No pressure.”
“Yeah. Coach. Uh. You know, I … well, sorry I let you down. Missing the last few games.”
“Six games.” Coach Tyler looked down at his lesson plans. “Team sport you know. It goes on with or without you. You did what you did, you pay the price.” Darts flung hitting their mark.
“Coach, I know it’s late and you’ve had try-outs already, but I’d like chance to make the basketball team.”
Coach looked up. Arrows readied. Joe clutched his textbooks tighter. Coach Tyler’s words came out slowly. “Yeah? Well, it is a bit too late.”
“I started for you last year. You know I could make the team.”
“I know you could, Kline. Here’s the thing. Everyone knows what you did. Get on the court and everyone in that gym is going to see your … well your scars. Which arm was it? You wouldn’t want that. It’s to protect you. Give sports a rest this year.”
“I think I really need to play. It would help me … to get back at things.”
“Second bell’s about to ring, Joe. Get on to second hour.” Joe turned to leave. “Kline. Did they? Put you on a lot of drugs?”
Asshole. Screw you, none of your goddamn business. Joe looked back and shook his head. “No sir. They didn’t.”
“Well that’s good. That’s good.” Coach looked back down at the papers covering his desk.
After that encounter, Joe went straight home and retreated to his room. He waited for the walls to implode; crush him, bury him. Why bother? Why the hell bother? I’ll just do the online high school. Screw Tyler. Screw JFK. A social leper. A reject. Of course, I’m a reject. Everyone knows what I did. Everyone knows. Damaged, ruined.
The next day Joe forced himself to get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, and go back to school. “Sometimes you have to pretend.” Something else Braxton told him, more than a half-dozen times – “Why do therapists have a terrible habit of repeating themselves?” Joe and Maddie often complained to each other. “Pretend to be confident. Sometimes we just have to act like we’ve got it together and then, the reality will follow.” He decided to test Braxton’s theory – pretend and it will follow. It must have worked. He survived the next day and the next week. He pretended to be strong, normal. But still, sick feelings would come, like waves edging up further and further; everyone knew – knew he was pretending. The scar on his left arm, though covered by long sleeve shirts, sweaters and hoodies, would always be there, declaring he belonged with the crazy kids on the adolescent psyche ward at St. Jimmies. The scar proved he was weak, vulnerable, needy, proved he would never be the person he used to be. He could only pretend to be strong.
Christmas break finally arrived, a reprieve, a breather. He barely passed his classes; that was good enough. Joe survived. Now, a few weeks without having to pretend. But the Christmas break gave him time to worry about others things.
Chuck shook Joe out of sleep, late Christmas Eve morning. “Wake up. Now. Police are here. They want to talk to us.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Steven sat on a wooden stool staring out his bedroom window. His chin nestled on his crossed arms, which rested on the windowsill. Wide-eyed he intently watched snowflakes floating downward; peacefully descending and fulfilling their destiny to blanket the earth. He felt the blood trickle down his forehead, down his cheeks and drip onto his arms. Proud – proud of his blood flowing, proud to be a warrior who would never give up. His father had struck him three times with a belt. The third time, the buckle landed square on his temple. When the blood started to ooze out, Henry shouted, “There you little shit. That’s what you deserve. Time you learned respect for your father. Do the damn dishes when I tell you. Not when you want to.” Steven had just finished drying the last dish, when his drunken father stumbled into the kitchen. “Didn’t I tell you to do that an hour ago?”
When Henry raised the belt for the fourth time, Steven grabbed it and yanked it out of his father’s hand and threw it across the room. He kicked his father in the groin causing the drunk to double up and collapse. Henry groaned and cursed Steven as he slowly pulled himself up. His father then chuckled and with slurring words said, “Christmas Eve tomorrow. We’ll go into the woods and find ourselves a big-ole Christmas tree to put up.” After his dad said that, he passed out.
Steven dragged Henry to the bedroom. Somehow, he hoisted him onto the bed and covered him with a blanket. “I don’t want to hate you. Why do you make me hate you?” Steven said as he wiped his father’s forehead with a damp cloth.
The rocking of Steven’s stool stirred him out of his thoughts of that evening; he grabbed the windowsill to steady himself. He heard something – snickering, as young children would. He looked around and saw no one. Then his stool teetered again. Jumping up he went and sat on the edge of his bed. More giggles. He looked down. Two miniature beings, ankle high, looked at him and laughed, in a low, gruff manner. Their hair nearly reached the floor. One had rich grey hair, making him look quite old. Both held tiny bows, with tiny arrows in tiny quivers. The younger one spoke. “Running Fox. You surely have had too much to drink, nearly falling over like that. Are you drunk? Shame on you.” Both Little People laughed.
The older one looked into Steven’s eyes; his expression became sullen. He elbowed his companion and spoke with concern. “Burning Bear has been at it again. I am afraid your father has not learned his lesson after all these years. I do fear it is getting too late for him. But you, my child, ha
ve time to learn. And indeed, we’ve been watching. We have not forgotten you. Your grandfather, oh, he speaks fondly of you every day. He surely will not let us forget you.” The pair grunted as they climbed up the bedspread and sat on either side of Steven.
“I feel forgotten. I have so much fear and hatred … it’s like it wants to take over. And I have this anger that scares me. I have …”
“Running Fox, shh. It is not time for you to speak, only to listen. And you must learn to listen carefully.” The grey haired creature said, then put his tiny hand on Steven’s leg and patted it. “The Great Spirit had made all the animals, just as He intended. The wasp with its stinger, the lion with its strength, the beaver with its sharp teeth and flattened tail. Now, the Great Spirit was working hard to finish creating the rabbit. The Creator of All asked the rabbit what he wished to be. The not yet finished rabbit proudly told Great Spirit what he wanted. First, he wanted long ears, and so it was granted. Then rabbit told the Great Spirit he wanted long and strong legs as the deer, and he wanted powerful and sharp claws and fangs as the panther, and too he wanted the strength of the bear. Great Spirit took note and was about to continue his work, when an owl swooped down and frightened the rabbit. The frightened rabbit ran off before the gifts of the Creator were bestowed. Only his back legs had strength, so he had to hop instead of run. And rabbit never received its fangs or claws, and was never given the strength he desired. So the rabbit became a creature preyed upon, a creature weak and timid. You see, the rabbit failed to let Great Spirit do his work, and so failed to become what he wanted and what the Creator intended. Understand this Running Fox, running in fear, running to flee from that which we do not understand, only assures our lives will be so much less than the Creator intends. Running Fox, find the gift the Great Spirit has for you. Remember this, you will please Great Spirit by being his gift to those he brings into your life. And Running Fox, this I must tell you, your destiny is great, but your destiny is short. Run toward life and you will bestow life. And young warrior, you must stop letting anger control you.”
Life So Perfect Page 7
