Defective

by Susan Sofayov

  "We were the first people into the park and the first in line for the Phantom. We acted like little kids, and at the end of the day, the man behind the counter at Park Services told us that there wasn't a record for most Phantom rides. We didn't care, and declared ourselves the record holders.

  "I realize, now, I was hypomanic that day. If I explained to him, my good days were actually bad days, I don't think he would understand. My heart couldn't survive another rejection from him."

  She gave me a quizzical look. "Do you really believe that his reaction will be to reject you?"

  I shrugged.

  That question ended our session, but my mind struggled all day to find an answer to it. One minute, I imagined a sappy open-armed reunion on Fifth Avenue. A moment later, the vision switched to an empty street and Sam walking away after hearing the word Bipolar. I decided to do nothing for a while.

  I moved through the cold, ice, snow, and sleet of January and February without discomfort. Beyond going to class, I hibernated. The last semester of school came packed with work. My human interactions consisted of hanging out with Tom and Aggie between classes and periodically eating lunch with them. Mrs. Livingston maintained our scheduled weekly gin rummy game, reminding me that my brain deserved some down time--a few of my professors would have enjoyed arguing that idea. She informed me that she planned on showing up every week until I found a new boyfriend.

  Occasionally, I'd drop in on Mark and Amy to play with Kelsey and eat a good meal. The two of them collaborated to make sure mental illness never became a topic of conversation. Mark teased me about failing the bar exam, and Amy nagged me to find a new boyfriend.

  The world continued to look bright through the eyes of my new medication. At each appointment, Dr. Graham emphasized that to consider the drug to be effective, I had to remain symptom-free for one year. I was grateful for each symptom-free day.

  ***

  Darkness arrived early during the Pittsburgh winter months and with the darkness came loneliness. On weekdays, I distracted myself with class, homework, and housekeeping. Saturday nights became the enemy. My heart ached for Sam. On weekends, the sound of happy, drunken, college kids staggering back to their dorm rooms drifted through my windows, and loving couples walked under my balcony, bundled in hats and gloves and snuggled tightly together.

  On a Saturday night in late February, I wrapped up in a blanket and stood on my balcony, watching the snow silently fall to the street. A glorious night. Snowflakes sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight, and the streetlights cast the air in a soft orange glow. A Hallmark night, perfect for walking arm-in-arm and making snow angels. Inspired by the scene, I typed a long love e-mail to Sam. I explained how empty the apartment felt without him and told him that his side of the closet was empty and ready for him if he came home. I apologized for being bipolar and ruining our engagement. Crying as my fingers stroked the keyboard, I wrote about the medicine and how it quieted my brain. It felt good typing the words, I haven't had an episode since before Thanksgiving. My final sentence was an invitation to dinner. As I typed the words, Love, Maggie at the bottom, I heard Justin's voice. 'Defective.' My pinky finger slid over the keyboard and hit the delete button.

  CHAPTER 16

  Party Planning and Creeping

  Eventually, the daylight lengthened as the winter passed. After three long years of dreaming about law school graduation, it was finally happening. Soon my status would be upgraded from law student to law firm employee. The best part, the law firm paid money. As nice as the thought of cold, hard cash in my pocket felt, it didn't come close to the joy of my new mood stability.

  On a rain-free April afternoon, I drove over to my brother's house for some quick tutoring. When I arrived, he was at the gym, and Amy was standing behind her kitchen counter, cursing at a dead chicken breast.

  Parking in my normal spot at the end of the kitchen table, I asked Amy, "Do you realize that the best thing that ever happened to our family was your graduation from culinary school?" Scanning the kitchen, in an attempt to figure out the menu of the day, I continued talking. "Mark is so lucky--no drive-through McDonald's for him. Anything good cooking today or are you just going to continue swearing at that poor piece of chicken?"

  "It's supposed to become chicken cordon bleu, but this breast is pathetic," she replied.

  "Sorry. I mean, sorry for the inferior chicken. I'll be happy to be the unfortunate sucker who is forced to eat it."

  "No, you won't. Mark's boss and her husband are coming for dinner, and I want everything to be perfect. She's a bit of a diva. Should I make my chocolate cake for desert or would a black raspberry torte work better with cordon bleu?"

  "Make both. I'll eat the leftovers."

  "Why do I ask you about this stuff? For someone so skinny you eat like a sumo wrestler. If you're hungry, heat up some leftovers," she said, gesturing toward the oversized stainless steel refrigerator they recently purchased.

  "Can I help it if I like food--any food I don't have to cook or buy?" I asked, rushing to the refrigerator and throwing open the left-side door. Nothing beat gourmet leftovers.

  "By the way, Maggie, your mom and I can't decide if we should have your graduation party at her house or my house. What do you think?"

  The thought of food slipped from my mind. "Excuse me? What party?"

  "Yours, of course. We're throwing a graduation party to celebrate our newest family lawyer. I'll e-mail you the list your mom and I started. I think we covered the entire family and the Ellwood friends. So, type in your additions and send them back to me. And don't forget, I need addresses, not just names. And Maggie, get me the list as soon as you can."

  "I don't want a party," I choked out. "I suck at parties. Tell my mom to drop the subject. I'm going to celebrate by using my Florida plane ticket to hang out in Boca for a few weeks before I start working. No party."

  "Be quiet, Maggie. There will be a party. I suggest you cooperate or your mom will invite all of her golf lady friends and none of yours. The party is scheduled for Sunday, May nineteeth the day after the graduation ceremony. The whole family is coming. Your grandparents will arrive on Thursday, and Aunt Rose's flight arrives on Wednesday. It should be a really fun weekend."

  "Who decided all of this and why wasn't I consulted? Don't get me wrong, I'd love to see Aunt Rose and my grandparents, but I hate being the center of attention."

  "Stop complaining, a few months ago you wanted to start planning a wedding, and that's really being the center of attention." Amy watched me wince. "Ah shit, Maggie, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded. Please ignore me. I'm an ass." She rushed over to my chair and hugged me repeating, "I'm sorry."

  Still stinging a bit, I said, "Fine, I'll cooperate. I'll e-mail the list back by Sunday night."

  "Please don't be upset. We're all so proud of you. Tell me, do you prefer the party in Ellwood or Mt. Lebanon? And can't you do the list any faster?"

  Slowly, I took a bite out of my leftover pasta. Ellwood or Mt. Lebanon? Who do I want to invite? Ellwood would be convenient for my family, Julie, and a few other friends, but Amy's house was bigger than my mom's and would be more comfortable.

  "Which location do you think is better?" I asked.

  "Actually, I've given this a lot of thought. Since I am the designated caterer, it would be easier for me to cook in my own kitchen. Your mom really doesn't have the best kitchen for preparing large quantities of food. If I cook it here and cart it to her house, everything will need to be reheated. First of all, I hate reheated food and second, she doesn't have the oven capacity. I don't want to serve a menu of cold food. And our house has more space and a flat backyard. I know Aunt Mildred and a few others would complain about the drive, but if they don't want to drive home after the party, I can book a few rooms at a hotel in Bethel Park. So, I think that my house is the best choice."

  "Okay, your house it is," I said.

  Amy continued preparing her chicken, and I sat picking at the now les
s appetizing pasta. Uneasiness over the guest list replaced my initial outrage over them planning behind my back. Amy broke the silence. "Do you want to bring a date?"

  "Very funny. Who would want to be my date?"

  Reading my mind, Amy retorted, "He's not the only man on the planet, Maggie. Lots of guys would love to take you out. You just emit bad vibes."

  "What do you mean by that?" I retorted.

  "Face it, you have this Stay away, I'm not interested in anyone aura. You intimidate men. I bet half of the guys in your law school class thought of asking you out, but didn't because you come off like an ice princess."

  "First, the wedding crack, and now ice princess. Who declared this 'beat up Maggie' day?"

  "I apologized for the wedding screw-up, but ever since Sam left, you've become so closed off. You're not trying to meet someone new. It's time to move on, Maggie. I am saying this with absolute love. Get a life."

  I picked up the plate and walked to the sink. "I have a life, and it will be even better when I start working. I'm content with the way things are."

  "You're never lonely? And you never wish you had someone to eat pizza with on a Friday night? Or someone to cuddle, while watching old movies on a Saturday night? Sam's been gone for almost a year, Maggie. If you don't want to meet someone new, recycle someone," Amy said. "And don't leave that plate in the sink. Rinse it and put it in the dishwasher, please."

  I ran hot water over my plate and, through the window, I saw a couple of squirrels looking for food. "I get it, now, Amy. This is about Nick, isn't it? You think I should track down Nick and invite him to this party? You are absolutely insane."

  "Okay, so don't invite him to the party. That would be a bizarre invitation. Just call him or send an e-mail," she suggested.

  "Sure. I bet he carries my picture in his wallet, and after I rode off on that bus, he considered joining the priesthood until he remembered that he wasn't Catholic. And, of course, he kept the same phone number for the last five and a half years, just in case I called."

  Amy stopped pounding the chicken breast and bent over to dig around in the cabinet for something. As the pans clattered, she lectured. "Drop the hysteria. There is nothing wrong with sending a hello-how-are-you email."

  Something frightened the smaller squirrel. It darted out of my view and, for some reason, my eyes misted. "He forgot my name the minute the bus driver closed the door. By the next summer, he was playing house with some girl down on Walnut Street. He's either married or involved. And even if he's single, I'm the last girl he would want."

  "He's not involved with anyone. He's completely single, finished with medical school, and still in Philadelphia," she said.

  I felt the air rushing out of my lungs and the muscles around my mouth dropped. Actually, for a moment, I thought I felt my lower jaw knocking against my knee cap. Shaking off the shock, I turned to face her. "Amy, how in the hell do you know anything about Nick?"

  A smug smirk stretched across her face, and her eyeballs practically popped with excitement. After a second or two of gloating, she said, "Facebook. I went creeping. You and Stephanie weren't kidding about him being gorgeous. If the profile picture is really him, Maggie, I'm declaring you certifiably insane. Nick--Sam. Sam? Who's Sam is more like it."

  My voice went shrill as I dropped my forehead to the table. "You creeped on Nick's profile. Am I so pathetic that you felt the need to date hunt for me? I don't even know how to respond to this."

  "No, you're not pathetic. I arrived home from our Margaritaville trip curious, so I looked him up. You two would make really gorgeous kids. His eyes are amazing." Giggling, she continued, "I confess, I went back to look at the picture a few times." Dramatically fanning herself with her hand, she added, "He's hot."

  "Exactly, he's a hundred times prettier than me. He can have any girl, each more beautiful than the last. So drop the Nick issue."

  "Seems to me, he picked you to 'hang out,' with that summer. I realize my memory of our evening may be a bit foggy, but I do recall you saying he wrote to you first. So what damage would there be in sending an e-mail?"

  "Amy, if Sam couldn't put up with my episodes, do you think Nick or any other man would? Even so, Nick would be the last one interested in me. I was a fling and a place to crash at the shore. Please. Nick is a nice memory, end of story."

  "You sound like Justin and its pure bullshit," she snapped.

  "What, that I'm defective? He's right, Amy."

  "You are not. It pisses me off, and hearing you say that would really piss off Karen. In case you haven't noticed, these drugs are working. I can see the difference. When is the last time that you had a full episode?

  "Three weeks before I started the medicine," I replied.

  "My point, Maggie, five and a half perfectly sane months."

  "Dr. Graham says he won't be convinced the drugs are working until I reach the one-year mark."

  The kitchen's island separated my chair from Amy. I watched as a stern look took up residence on her face. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron, reached up to redo her ponytail scrunchie, and locked her gaze on me. "In addition to being your sister-in-law, I consider you to be my best friend, so believe me when I say this, you will continue to do what Dr. Graham says. It's working. Here is the deal, if you have one episode in the next six and a half months, I will stop bugging you about getting a life. If I see you are episode free, I am going to bust my ass to find you a new boyfriend, or I'll recycle one for you."

  "You can recycle Sam," I said, not pleased with any part of the day's conversation.

  "He's not for you."

  "Then no one is for me."

  ***

  During the drive home, I became increasingly agitated at the thought of creating a guest list. Inviting people for the purpose of adding bodies to the party didn't appeal to me. Was it selfish to celebrate achieving my childhood dream in my own way? Why couldn't my mom and Amy understand that a small dinner with family and a few close friends, followed by two glorious weeks soaking up the Florida sunshine, equaled perfection to me?

  To drown out my annoyance over the whole subject, I tuned into a top forty station. The party drifted away as I sang along with Lady Gaga. Halfway through the song, I decided to spring for a plane ticket for Steph. I liked the idea of us spending week two of the Florida sunshine trip together. I exited the tunnel, as the song ended.

  Energized by the music, I dialed Amy and proceeded to give her new party guidelines. She promised to ignore my mother's grandiose ideas.

  I finished my school work faster than planned, wandered around my apartment, and realized I had absolutely nothing to do. Last night, during a caffeine-infused burst of energy, I had vacuumed the worn Berber carpet and scrubbed the bathroom. While I contemplated sweeping the kitchen floor, the early spring air wafted through the open balcony door. I grabbed my bag, keys, and headed out the door. After turning right onto Fifth Avenue, I noticed all the other students escaping cabin fever. Walking felt wonderful, or maybe the sensation came from the combination of drugs, spring, and impending graduation. Just the act of inhaling the air felt glorious. In fact, so wonderful I decided to indulge in a cup of chocolate-saturated something from Starbucks.

  As always, the line to the counter wrapped around a few tables and ended at the front door. Usually, lines made me grouchy, but today, I relaxed and enjoyed people-watching. Only three people were ahead of me when the bell over the door jingled and Sam's roommate, Eric, and his girlfriend walked in, arm-in-arm. Katie spotted me before he did. She smiled and waved from the back of the line. I watched her elbow Eric. He gave me a weak smile and a lame arm movement that I interpreted as a wave. Before I could wave back, he started furiously typing a text message.

  After paying for my 2000 calorie meal in a cup, I stopped to say "Hi" to them on my way out the door. Eric kept shifting from one foot to the other as we exchanged polite banter. Kate's voice sounded tense as she launched into an explanation regarding their presence in the cof
fee line. For some reason, she wanted me to know that they were just out walking and decided it was caffeine time. We all laughed when Eric's Tarzan ring tones began roaring.

  "Enjoy the coffee and sunshine," I said before walking out the door.

  Poor Eric. He acted so nervous, probably expecting me to put him on the spot and ask about Sam.

  Instead of walking back to my apartment, I decided to walk to the shoe store farther down Forbes Avenue. For the most part, I detested shopping, but when I was in a good mood, I didn't mind looking at shoes. At the corner of Forbes and Bouquet, the smell of "O" fries filled my nose and the source of Eric's stress approached. From a block and half away, I spotted their smiling faces, Sam and the girl from Julie's Halloween Party. I ran across Bouquet Street and ducked into a jewelry store. I couldn't pretend he hadn't seen me. His facial expression switched from carefree to the shocked gaze of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

  I hovered over the ring case and bent so low my breath fogged the glass top. Afraid to look up, I moved from rings to gold chains with my chin tucked into my chest, praying the top of my head was unrecognizable. The old woman behind the counter approached me. "Miss, are you buying jewelry today or just visiting it?"

  Intimidated by her stare, I blurted an invented explanation for fogging up her glass cases and politely asked a few questions about the rings to add credibility to my story. Before I walked out the front door, I scanned both directions. No sign of them.

  Many questions darted through my mind. Who was she? Were they holding hands? Or was I just imagining it? Friends or dating? I only caught a glimpse of her, but it was enough to see she was very pretty. My heart fell. On some level, the walk back to my apartment had a lot in common with a walk down death row.