by M. Billiter
Well at least he didn’t say schizo. I stirred the ice cubes. How much do I tell him?
“Do you think it’s the PTSD or the medication that’s doing this?”
“They don’t think it's PTSD,” I said.
“What else could it be?” Aaron’s hazel eyes filled with sincerity.
I scooted in closer to him and lowered my voice. “Dr. Cordova wants to start your brother on antipsychotic medication.”
“Have they done any tests to know if the medication will work on him? To know if he has the thing they’re trying to cure?”
It amazed me how neither Ed, I, nor even Dr. Cordova had ever uttered what we all knew we were trying to cure in my son. Instead, we all seemed to dance around the diagnosis of what we suspected he suffered from.
“Dr. Cordova wants to run a sleep-deprived EEG, which will study his brain and rule out anything organic.”
“Like hypnosis? Does that shit ever work?”
I chuckled. “No. An EEG is an electrical test that studies the brain waves to rule out something like a tumor.”
“A tumor? Why the hell would they think Branson has a tumor?”
I took a sip of water. “Your brother’s been having visual and auditory hallucinations.” I repeated the doctor’s good words without any emotion or feeling.
“So, like schizophrenia?”
And there it was. The word no one ever said and I dared not utter. Every emotion I tried to keep at bay settled at the base of my throat. My mouth went dry, and it felt like I would puke at any second.
I shook my head. “No one’s given him that diagnosis yet.”
“Ma, if he’s hearing things and seeing things, what else would it be?”
I tried to swallow the pool of saliva that had suddenly collected in my mouth, but my throat felt like it had closed. I’m going to be sick. “I don’t know.” I tried to swallow. “I’m praying it’s a brain tumor.”
“You know it’s bad when you’re praying for a brain tumor.”
I nodded and kept my focus on my glass of water. Why is the room spinning?
“So what kind of schizophrenia are we talking about? Like voices in the head or Beautiful Mind visual things? Or both?”
My stomach roiled and tears poured down my face. I shrugged because I couldn’t find my voice.
“Oh, Ma.”
I lowered my head and put my hand on my forehead to shield the crying that I couldn’t seem to control. “I don’t know. I don’t know what he hears. He calls it static. I don’t know what it’s like, if it’s male or female or what. He made it sound like it’s this static noise. And now he’s having visual hallucinations, but I’m not sure what they are.”
“Ma, this shit’s serious.”
I wanted to slam my hand on the table and scream that I knew this shit was serious. Instead, I took an even, steady breath. Aaron is not my enemy. “I’ve lined up the EEG, and I count his pills to make sure he’s taking his antidepressant. I don’t know what else to do.”
A cute dark-haired waitress who wore her hair in a messy bun appeared at our table. I quickly wiped my eyes, then looked up at her and smiled.
She elbowed Aaron. “Let me guess, Shirley Temple with lots of cherries?”
“Shut the heck up, Lucy,” Aaron said in a flirty voice. “It’s a good drink.”
She grinned and handed us each a menu, leaving two kid menus for Carson and Jack, who were still feeding the jukebox quarters. Carson turned toward the table, and I shook my head for her to stay where she was with Jack.
When Lucy walked away, Aaron leaned toward me. “Ma, it’s going to be okay. But I have noticed he has a new friend. This guy Trevor? I’ve never met him, but I guess he’s in Branson’s calc class.”
“So what does that have to do with anything?” My tone was a bit defensive. “Maybe he’s reaching out to new friends.”
“Ma, I know almost everyone in the entire school, and I’ve never even heard of him.”
“Aaron, there’s no way in a graduating class of four hundred and eighty that you know everyone.” My son didn’t even challenge me on the numbers of his graduating class, knowing I could recite the stats for every high school graduating class in Wyoming.
Aaron shook his empty water glass and fished an ice cube out with his mouth. “I’m not saying I know everyone, but I have seen or at least heard of everyone in our senior class.”
“So maybe this is a new kid and you’re jealous that Branson has someone new to hang around.”
“Why would I be jealous? I hang out with him all the time. I’m just saying he was late to practice today, and Branson is never late to practice.”
“I’ll talk to him about this Trevor kid. I’m sure he just lost track of time.”
“Ma, why is this so hard for you to accept?”
“Accept? You’re basically accusing Branson of, I don’t know what, creating a friend? I think you have the movie version of mental illness in your mind and….” The familiar sadness took over as I lowered my voice. “It’s hard enough to learn your son is hearing voices and now seeing things. I guess I’m just not ready to question a new friend simply because we haven’t met him.”
“I just have a bad feeling about this one.”
I massaged my forehead, which felt like a vise had gripped down on it.
Aaron reached for my other hand. “We just have to be extra careful and make sure his mind is clear.”
“Aaron, I don’t know how to do that.” I looked up at him. “If I knew how to make Branson’s mind clear and get him back on track, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Hell, I’d give up anything and everything I have to make him okay.”
“Well, we need to try harder.”
“I shouldn’t even be having this conversation with you, but now that we are, what do you suggest we do?”
“I don’t know. Everything we can. I will not let my brother go crazy on us.”
“If he has an imaginary friend as you suggest, I think he’s already crossed that line.”
“Then we give him that antipsychotic medication the doctor suggested and make that imaginary friend go away.”
“If he has an imaginary friend. We don’t even know that yet.”
“I don’t think we want to wait until he has an entire squad of friends.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Jesus, how did we get here?”
“Well, we could always blame Dad.”
That time I laughed so hard my cheeks hurt. “As much as I’d like to blame your father, there’s no genetic link on either side of our families. I already went down that path.”
“All I know is Branson’s not the twin I knew two years ago.”
The purity and honesty of my son’s emotion seeped into my soul. He had moved from conjecture to certainty.
“I just want my brother back, Ma.” Aaron’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“Oh, Aaron.” My voice cracked and I pulled him into me. He feels as alone in this as I do.
“I’m so sorry.” He leaned his head onto my shoulder and I kissed the top of his hair. I didn’t think it was possible to feel any more grief than I already did. My stomach was hollow, my throat tightened around a thousand emotions that bubbled at the surface as my eyes stung from crying in the doctor’s office and now at my son’s favorite diner.
Enough, I said to whoever was listening. I didn’t care who helped us, if it was some alien in another dimension or if God would actually listen to my cries and come to our aid. I only knew we had hit our breaking point.
Please. Help us.
“It’s sad.” Aaron raised his head off me. “I don’t have my brother here anymore.” He flicked away a tear. “And I miss him. I really, really miss him.”
“I miss him too.” I pursed my lips together to stop them from trembling.
The waitress reappeared, and Aaron quickly smiled in her direction. “Hey, Lucy. Let’s forget dinner and go straight for dessert.”
19
Branson
&
nbsp; Dakota pulled into the three-car parking lot. Full as usual. She veered her silver Jetta back onto the street and parallel parked along the curb, almost hitting both cars.
“Jesus Christ, slow it down. You’re driving like a bat outta hell,” I said.
“Shut the hell up. I’m a great driver. I’ve only had three tickets.”
“Yeah, and one hit car.” I shook my head disapprovingly, but when she looked at me, I had a smirk on my face.
A big, warm bag of tasty treats sat on my lap. I inhaled the smell of chicken tenders mixed with double-bacon cheeseburgers and large fries as I balanced a tray with two cups of sugary, ice-cold goodness in my hand. Blizzards. Yum.
“You ready?” I looked at Dakota, who was checking her makeup in the rearview mirror. “We’re just going inside your house, aren’t we?”
“Oh shut up. I’m just checking my makeup to make sure I look great.” She tilted the rearview back into position and unlocked the doors. The walk from the car to Dakota’s apartment complex was about sixty feet, but it was sixty feet of poverty. It was like a scene from a movie: dogs barking, babies crying, people shouting. The block of apartment complexes in Casper was referred to as “Felony Flats,” and it was easy to see why. There wasn’t one car in the lot or on the street that wasn’t dinged, dented, or broken. Screen doors were ripped, and flies didn’t even loiter here. It was depressing, to say the least.
“Half of them keep a hide-a-key under their front wheel well,” Dakota said as if reading my mind. “I guess they figure if they’re evicted, they can always sleep in their car, especially during the winter.”
“Oddly, that makes perfect sense.”
She giggled again.
I balanced the bag of greasy, cheesy goodness in one hand and the tray of Blizzards in the other. “I’m not opposed to hide-a-keys, because God knows Aaron locks us out of our car often enough, but to put it on a car that’s already broken into or has missing windows, that’s what I don’t get.”
“It’s a sense of ownership. You know I have one.”
I nodded.
“And my friend Scotty has a new car. Well, it’s used,” she amended, “but it’s new to him. He keeps a hide-a-key in case his mom kicks him out of the house or something. Then he always has a way to get to his dad’s.”
“That makes more sense. Except Scotty? Yeah, you don’t have any male friends except me.”
That time her laughter was throaty and sexy as hell. I embraced the sound.
Dakota and her mom, Helen, lived upstairs in a two-bedroom apartment. As far as safety went, it had average security: a bolt lock and a metal chain across the door, which Helen peered through before opening her door.
“Is your mom at work?” I asked, taking the stairs two at a time.
“She’s always working. Twenty-four hours, five nights a week. Shift work.” Dakota tried to shake it off, but I could tell it bothered her. Her mom was never home. She was a nurse at the hospital and took whatever shifts they had available, which often meant doubles, back-to-backs, and weekends.
“Ah, you know she’s doing it for good reasons. She’s just trying to get money to pay for food and all that,” I said.
“I know, and I’m really proud she went back to school to get her degree, but it just sucks that I never see her anymore.” She opened the door to the apartment, and I was overwhelmed by the scent of hair spray and perfume. “Damn,” I said, waving my hand in front of my nose. “Don’t anyone light a match.”
Dakota giggled. I made her laugh when she probably wanted to cry.
We plopped down on the beaten-up, mustard-colored couch. The stuffing was thin and stuck out of the corner cushions, but for whatever reason, it was comfy and soft. It was like sinking into a giant burnt-colored marshmallow.
Dakota handed me the remote and I handed her a Blizzard. I turned on Netflix and was scrolling through the list of television shows when she elbowed me.
“Stop there,” she said with a mouth full of Butterfinger bites and ice cream.
“Psych?” I reached into the bag and grabbed a bacon-cheeseburger.
“This is the best show ever. I’m like addicted to it.”
“Well, we’ll see about that.” I clicked onto the first episode of the first season. The lead character’s sarcasm was funny as hell.
“I’m gonna go put on my pajamas.” Dakota rose from the couch and kissed my cheek. “Be right back.”
I opened another cheeseburger and practically popped the entire thing in my mouth. Washing it down with my Blizzard, I was about to grab my basket of chicken tenders when I heard Dakota crying.
I pushed myself off the couch and found her sitting on the bathroom floor, leaning against the tub.
“Babe, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head, and her long, jet-black hair hung around her face. I knelt beside her and gently moved her hair.
“What happened?”
She balled something in her hand. “My pajamas don’t fit.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
She closed her eyes and tears fell down her cheeks. “You don’t understand.”
I moved beside her and sat against the tub. “I do understand.”
“I’ve gained too much weight.” She gripped the pajamas until her knuckles turned white. I gently reached for them.
“No!” She snapped them away and held them close to her chest. “I’m too fat. I’m too fucking fat to wear pajamas! Who’s too fat to wear pajamas?”
I just listened, knowing there wasn’t anything I could say when what she needed most was to be heard.
“It’s so hard,” she said with tears streaming down her face. “In the past, I had issues with my weight.” She turned toward me. “You know I had an eating disorder.”
I nodded.
“So in addition to recovering from that, which resulted in me gaining weight, I finally settled into a size that was healthy and good for me. But now that they’re trying to turn around my depression, I’m gaining more weight. And this.” She twisted the silk pajamas until I thought her hands would bleed. “This is not helping me feel better about myself or my appearance. I was a double zero.” She looked at me. “A double zero.”
I looked into her dark eyes that resembled the darkest depths at String Lake, wanting to throw her a life preserver, but I wasn’t sure she’d reach for it.
“It just breaks my heart,” she said softly. She released the pajamas and they fell between her long, slender legs. “I hate going shopping. It makes me feel uncomfortable and insecure. I’m on two soccer teams, I try to eat right, but if I don’t treat my depression….” She sighed. “My depression is crippling. I can’t do anything when it’s not in check.” She looked over at me. “I guess that’s the most upsetting part.”
I tilted my head.
“The doctors and my mom say it’s not my fault, that I need this medication to treat my symptoms, but I didn’t do anything to have these symptoms. I don’t know why I can’t snap out of it and be happy all the time, but I can’t. I’ve tried.”
I wanted to pull her into my arms and make the pain on her face that I knew reached deep go away, but I couldn’t any more than I could make the shadow people or static go away.
I contemplated my next move. “Okay,” I started. “First off, what size pajamas are they?”
Her dark eyes seemed to blacken. “What?”
“What size were those pajamas?”
“A zero. I wear a zero in everything.” She kicked the pajamas away from her. “I used to be a double zero, but ever since they put me on that new medication….” She lowered her head, shame creeping into her voice. “I can’t wear any of my zeros, and ones don’t fit. I think I’m in a size two now. A two. That’s three sizes bigger than when I met you.”
If Dakota wasn’t my girlfriend and I didn’t understand how much she struggled with body image, then I might've laughed and said something insensitive. But she was my heart. “Listen, Dakota, it’s the medication. You haven�
��t been on it long, and didn’t you say Dr. Cordova said your body would adjust to it and things like weight would level out?”
As if things weren’t weird enough, Dakota and I both went to the same shrink. Hooray for me.
She nodded. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Okay then. It’s only been a few weeks, so things haven’t leveled out yet.”
I could lose myself in the look she gave me. I didn’t hear static. The shadow people vanished. Everything I wanted in this world, everything that mattered, leaned her head on me and wrapped her arm around my waist. “Thank you.”
I shrugged and grabbed my stomach that had now become a belly. “Listen, ever since they started me on my antidepressant, I’ve noticed my body’s changed a bit too.”
She giggled softly, and then her tone turned serious. “Does it bother you?”
“Yeah, I hate that I can’t fit into my jeans that I’ve worn since middle school. But I don’t think about it much.” I think about it all the time. I lied. I lied because I wasn’t about to tell Dakota how much it bothered me that my body was changing. That I couldn’t outrun Aaron. That I was heavier and slower.
I didn’t tell Dakota for the same reason I didn’t tell her about the static or shadow people. I didn’t want her to know that part of me. I didn’t ever want her to look at me differently or be afraid of me.
“Well you’ve only gained like, what, five pounds?” Dakota said.
“Five pounds is equivalent to five hundred for a runner. Listen, I was like you and we were both able to eat anything and not see a dent on the scale. I don’t know how much I weigh now, and I don’t want to know. Scales suck.” I looked around the bathroom and found Dakota’s scale parked in the corner next to the toilet. “In fact, fuck this shit.” I pushed against the bathtub to stand up, then bent over and grabbed the scale.
“What are you doing?” The shock in Dakota’s voice made me grin.
“Come with me.” I held out my hand. She reached up and grabbed it, and I helped my very tall, still very slender girlfriend to her feet. “You’re beautiful.” I kissed her sweetly, softly.
