I pulled out the junk mail, and underneath were two envelopes, a white one, which I knew contained my cable bill and an orange envelope. I read the return address "Mr. & Mrs. Joseph Hill," and knew immediately what it contained. Each year, my high school best friend, Julie, and her husband, Joe, throw a mega Halloween party. It was famous in our hometown of Ellwood City, so much so, that Julie claimed a few people offered her bribes for a spot on the guest list.
Each fall,exactly two weeks before Halloween, they transformed their small farm, just outside of the city limits, from bucolic to horrific. Last year, when everyone reached a comfortably buzzed state, farmer zombies, complete with dripping blood and cows, emerged from the rows of dead corn stalks that bordered their back yard.
Excitement tingled through me, as I tossed my purse and jacket onto the sofa, then it occurred to me, I only had two weeks to come up with a costume idea. Over the last few years, Sam and I spent at least a month planning and working on our costumes. Last year, we scrounged through thrift shops to create the perfect gangster and moll costumes.
It took less than an hour for trepidation to override my excitement. Sam and Joe golfed together every Sunday during the summer. I picked up my phone and dialed Julie. Even though we hadn't spoken in months, we'd been friends for so long I skipped over the small talk and got straight to the point.
"Did you invite him?" I asked.
"Maggie, Joe and I got into this huge argument over inviting Sam. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to invite him, but Joe overruled me."
"I understand, and don't worry. Everything will work out fine. I promise no scene," I said, doubting my own words. As I hung up the phone, I wondered if Sam would show up, knowing I would be there. Then I reminded myself that he never turned down a party invitation.
Throughout the week, thoughts of Sam and Halloween distracted me from the important work of paying attention to droning professors. With each day that passed, I became more and more preoccupied with the idea of walking into the party wearing the perfect costume. I bought three different ones and changed my mind at least ten times. It needed to be something Sam would find irresistible. The perfect idea hit me while eavesdropping on my professor describing the costume she bought her seven-year-old daughter. A Jasmine costume, the character from the movie Aladdin--Sam's favorite movie. He made me watch it at least once a month, and a poster of the genie hung above his desk when he lived with Eric.
The costume shops in town didn't have it, so I searched website after website before finding a store in Florida, selling it in adult sizes. I coughed up the extra fifteen dollars for rush shipping just to make sure it arrived on time.
The entire week before the party, my skin felt too tight, and I found myself jumping at the slightest sound. My internal engine revved faster than normal. Overloaded with excess energy, I mopped the bathroom floor, scoured the grout lines between the ceramic wall tiles with an old toothbrush, and wiped down the inside and the outside of the kitchen cabinets. My mind jumped from idea to idea. Staying focused on anything, especially school, became impossible.
That morning, as I walked to class with Tom and Aggie, I became frustrated because they were walking slower than Mrs. Livingston.
"Hurry up, or we'll be late," I said, twisting to see them poking along behind me.
"Relax, Maggie," Tom replied. "Class doesn't start for a half hour."
"I know, but still, I don't want to be late. So speed it up."
"Maggie, you really should consider switching to decaf coffee," Tom suggested. "That stuff you drink is making you hyper. At least cut back on the sugar or dump the morning doughnut."
"He's right," Aggie said. "You've been bouncing in your seat all week. Why don't you come to my yoga class tonight? It will take your blood pressure down a few notches."
"Sorry, I'm nervous and excited about the Halloween party. Sam will be there!"
"I should have guessed he was somehow involved," Tom said, and proceeded to mumble, "Asshole," just loud enough for me to hear. Aggie elbowed Tom's ribs.
On Thursday, the scheduled package arrival date, I skipped the bus and ran home from class. My heart pounded as I passed through the revolving doors and saw a FedEx box perched on the doorman's desk. I sprinted across the lobby, grabbed it, and read the name on the airway bill. Maggie Hovis. Before the elevator doors opened, the box was ripped open. Slamming my apartment door behind me, I peeled off my jeans and stumbled into the bedroom. The costume was on before I reached a mirror.
This party, but even more so, the costume, would be ammunition in the battle to win Sam back. Too excited to sleep, I watched infomercials until three a.m.
Early Friday evening, I could feel my body slowing down and getting heavier: the number-one and two signs of an oncoming episode. I fell asleep on the sofa.
Saturday morning, after finishing a bagel and downing a cup of coffee, dread took up residence in my stomach and brain. Vacuuming the living room failed to help shake off the feeling, so I crawled back into bed, hoping to sleep it away. At about noon, I woke up with a pounding headache, an indefinable angry sensation, and no desire to leave the bed. Then for absolutely no reason, I started sobbing. Please, I begged the encroaching depression, go away, not now, not today. Please, let me make it to this party.
At six-thirty, I dragged myself out of bed and dressed in the costume. By seven o'clock, against my better judgment, I backed out of my parking spot and began the forty-minute drive to Julie's house. Common sense warned me to turn around and go home, but I needed this chance to talk to Sam.
While driving down the main street of Zelienople, the absurdity of the costume smacked me in the face. I turned up the radio volume to drown out the horrible litany of adjectives reverberating through my brain, Ugly, fat, worthless, stupid...
As I drove west on the Ellwood-Zelienople Road, self-abusive thoughts replaced the rational ones, and the angry, evil woman living inside my head, who silences me during every episode, commandeered my thoughts. She taunted: Julie only invited you because she pities you. She knows Sam will never come back. You're ugly and useless, Sam marry you? Ha, such a joke. Stop deluding yourself. No man would waste his life with you.
So absorbed in my masochistic thoughts, I failed to realize my car had drifted into the lane of an oncoming van. Frantic horn honking wrenched my attention away from the costume and back to the road. For a brief second, time slowed and every muscle in my chest constricted around my rib cage. My arms cut the wheel hard to get back onto my own side of the road. Once the van safely passed, I eased onto the shoulder, threw the gear into park, and collapsed forward onto the steering wheel. My hands flew to my head and squeezed. "Shut up," I roared to the part of my brain telling me I should have let the van kill me.
Ten minutes later, I turned the key and put the car into drive. My heartbeat had returned to normal and air moved in and out of my lungs. I gripped the steering wheel with both hands and focused on the road, knowing full well I was driving in the wrong direction. Home was the other way.
I parked in the area of the lawn Joe roped off for cars. Before getting out, I checked my face in the rearview mirror and wiped the mascara trails from my cheeks. Inhaling, I closed my eyes tightly and did a mental assessment--control slightly improved. Hesitantly, I walked up the front steps, stretched my mouth into a fake smile, and did an open-and-shut move with my hands to keep them from quivering. Satisfied I could act normally, I reached forward and opened the door.
Julie, dressed as Tinkerbell, met me at the door and handed me a glass of wine. She scanned me up and down. "Stay away from my husband." And then she danced toward the kitchen.
I navigated through the room unable to recognize anyone, but hoping to hear a familiar voice. "Wow, Maggie, you look hot," exclaimed Joe's head, which stuck out of a cardboard box done up to look like a slot machine.
Blushing and taking a big swallow of Chardonnay, I choked out thanks as the evil voice inside my head shouted, Liar.
I made small tal
k with Joe for a few minutes and tried to work up the nerve to ask about Sam, but before I gathered the courage, a former Ellwood football star, dressed in helmet and knee pads called him away.
To escape the awkwardness of being alone, I walked out the door and sat down on the steps of the front porch. The breeze flowing through my hair felt cool, but not uncomfortable. Looking up at the stars just intensified my loneliness, and tears pooled in the corners of my eyes.
A silver sedan pulled into the last open parking spot. My heart fluttered. Sam arrived. Smiling, I watched him get out of the car. Dressed like a cowboy, he looked beautiful. I squeezed back the urge to run over and hug him.
The passenger-side door swung open a few moments after Sam stepped out of the car. In a nano-second, my mind reviewed every one of his friends. Could it be Dave? Eric? Dan? Sam walked to the passenger side and reached out his arm. She stood up and clasped his hand. Invisible fingers clenched my neck, and an imaginary fist punched my stomach. Sound exploded inside my brain, Noooo.
I ran into a room, slammed the door, and leaned against the wall, squeezing my head. My mind and my vision blurred.
Within moments, someone pounded on the door. "Maggie, Maggie, please open the door. I swear I told him not to bring her. The asshole knew you would be here. Even Joe told him not to bring her. We agreed that it wouldn't be fair to you or Michelle."
The gaping holes in my memory began to fill. "Oh, God," I managed to choke out while sliding down the wall to the floor. My mind floated out of my body, and I watched the rerun of my exodus from above. I saw myself sitting on the porch watching Sam get out of the car. Next, I saw my mouth open in a silent scream as he clasped the hand of a pretty Asian girl dressed as a cowgirl. "Julie, you know her name?"
"I'm so sorry, Maggie. I didn't want to be the one to tell you about her. That's why I swore I would kill the son-of-a-bitch if he brought her. He started seeing her when he started the new job. She's an accountant, too."
I extended my arm and twisted the lock. Julie opened the door and sat down next to me. She leaned over to hug me, but I buried my head between my bent knees. "Did they see me?"
"I don't think so, but I'm not really sure."
Based on the pity emanating from Julie's face, they did see me.
"Julie, my head hurts and I drank too much. I can't think about Sam right now. I'm going to slip out the back door and drive to my mother's house."
"I can't let you drive. You have two choices, climb into this bed and go to sleep or go downstairs and join the party. Either way, you're not driving. In the morning, you can go wherever you want."
Inside my head, the horrible thoughts laughed and taunted. Hey, Ugly, why delude yourself? You know you're nothing, Sam knows you're nothing, and Julie does, too. Why would he want you when he has someone gorgeous like Michelle? You're a joke--a loser in a tacky kid's costume that screams pathetic and desperate. Give it up, Ugly, you're a, waste of space on the planet. You should have let that van smash you. If you were dead, Julie would be downstairs having fun with her new best friend, Michelle.
Julie didn't know about my episodes, and I didn't want her to find out about them tonight.
Pulling myself up from the floor, I staggered toward the bed. "Please, invent a story to tell Sam."
I collapsed backward onto the bed and feigned drunkenness.
"Don't worry, Maggie, I'll think of something."
"Thanks. Never let me drink three glasses of wine again," I lied. My first glass of wine sat spilled on the floor in front of me.
The next morning, I pulled myself together just enough to drive back to Pittsburgh. At home, I stripped out of my Jasmine costume and collapsed into my bed.
CHAPTER 5
Groveling and 911 Rush Service to the Psych Ward
I opened my eyes on Monday morning and quickly did a brain check: still fuzzy and emotionally weak, but capable of getting out of bed. Instinct told me not to miss another class, and I needed my therapy session.
As I stepped out of the elevator, I heard my name. "Maggie, Maggie." Shuffling toward me, gripping her walker and a bit breathless, Mrs. Livingston greeted me with a huge smile. "Maggie, you are just the person I wanted to talk to this morning. Do you think that you could drive me to my doctor appointment this afternoon? My hip has been bothering me more than usual, so my doctor is squeezing me in."
"Mrs. Livingston, I'm sorry, I can't. I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon, too. Any other time, I would love to take you, but I can't reschedule this one," I said, feeling bad about turning down her request.
"Oh," she said, pursing her bright-red lips. "It's okay, honey, but promise you'll drive me to my next visit. This new doctor is better looking than Clark Gable."
"Mrs. Livingston, stop. You're awful," I said, smiling and pointing my finger at her as if she were a naughty child. "What your doctor looks like doesn't matter to me. I will take you to your next appointment because I care about you and your hip."
"You have no idea what you're missing, my dear. I'll take Mrs. Walker to look at him. Besides, she can drive. Her kids haven't taken away her car keys yet." Already moving forward, she turned her head and looked back at me. "You're not sick, are you?"
I gave her the best smile I could muster. "Nothing a doctor can’t fix."
***
Today, Karen's waiting room felt like a hug of safe arms protecting me from the world, relieving the pounding in my head caused by the professor of my first morning class, who'd droned on for fifteen minutes beyond the class time. The waiting room door made the usual creaking sound before I heard the words, "Hi, Maggie, come on in."
She began the appointment with innocuous chit chat. "Did you get that project turned into your professor on time?"
"Yeah."
I could see from the expression on her face that she expected more than one-word answers, but her small talk was annoying me today.
"Maggie, are you listening to me?"
I fiddled with my car keys as anger began bubbling through my veins. "I heard you, but I don't want to talk about school today."
"Okay,' she said, "if you don't want to talk about school that's fine, we can change the subject. I'm sure school is going well."
The morning proved to be too much for my tenuous control. "No, school is not going well, and you know damn well that it isn't. Who am I trying to fool? Me, in law school, what a joke. I only got in because I'm female, and they needed to fill their quota."
"Where is this coming from? You're an 'A' student, Maggie. You made Law Review."
"I've fooled the professors, but I won't be able to fool the lawyers in a law firm," I barked. "They'll figure out I am a fraud in the first week."
"Maggie, what do you mean by calling yourself a 'fraud'?" Fear flickered in her eyes. She leaned forward in her chair.
"I am not lawyer material," I growled and clenched my hands into fists.
Karen appeared shaken, and I really didn't care. Her refusal to see the truth pissed me off.
"Maggie, why are you getting so angry?"
"Because you are making me admit this shit out loud," I snarled.
Her face scrunched with fake concern. "Admit what? I don't know what you are talking about."
"You know I'm a fraud, but you won't say it because you're afraid I'll stop paying you. We both know damn well I am not smart enough to be a lawyer, so why are you forcing me to say it? Fine, humiliate me. I'm stupid. Are you happy, now? Pitt lets me stay in law school because they don't want to screw their dropout rate. And, you--you probably tell everyone about your most pathetic client." Tears exploded. I jumped up, grabbed my purse and backpack from the floor.
"Maggie, calm down. Let's talk about this. Maggie, put your purse down. Please, please, don't walk out," Karen shouted at my back.
I didn't remember driving home, but I did remember crawling into bed and praying for the ceiling to collapse and kill me.
The sound of the phone ringing jarred me back into reality. I gro
ped around the nightstand for it. "Hello."
It took few seconds to recognize the voice--Karen. "Maggie, I've been calling for hours. I almost called 911. Please, let's meet tomorrow."
Fully awake and remembering what happened, I inhaled. "I am so sorry, Karen. Please, forgive me. What time do you want me tomorrow?"
***
The knot in my stomach twisted as I started down Shrink Row, which seemed to have grown longer since yesterday. Reducing my normal stride to baby steps gave me a few more seconds to rehearse my "beg for forgiveness speech." I didn't know what I hated more, the episode or the humiliation of cleaning up afterward. Karen's door looked bigger today, heavier than usual. Inhaling deeply, I turned the doorknob. Groveling time again.
I walked across the waiting area and lightly touched the buzzer. The door flew open so quickly that I jumped backward.
"Come in," Karen said, waving her arm in a motion that had only one interpretation, hurry up. We didn't speak during the short amount of time it took to walk from the waiting room to her office. Once inside the office, I shuffled to my normal spot at the end of the couch and sat down. Exhaling, I dropped my eyes--so embarrassing, God, why does this happen to me? Please, give me strength to learn to control my emotions.
I sat and stared at my lap while Karen fumbled with the papers on the table next to her chair. A few moments later, she situated herself in the recliner. "What happened yesterday, Maggie?"
Inhale, exhale--the apology. "Karen, I am so sorry. I should have canceled the appointment, but I thought I could hold it together. Please forgive me for anything awful that came out of my mouth."
The expression on her face suddenly switched. No longer preoccupied, she smiled and her eyes shined. "There's nothing to forgive and I'm glad you agreed to meet today. Your behavior just startled me for a moment."
"I'm sorry, really." I said, with an aching heart, and my minuscule amount of self-respect smacked into the ground.
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