Shhh...Mack's Side

by Jettie Woodruff

  I smiled, watching Kyle nonchalantly walk past Gia and swept her up, jumping to the pool with Gia in his arms. She screamed and kicked her legs, trying to get away.

  “I hate you! I just straightened my hair,” she yelled, angry that she’d just spent an hour in her room making her hair flat and shiny. I thought it was funny. I tried to be playful with my dad that night, too, wanting what Gia had. I shook my head like a dog after my shower, sprinkling water to his face. He didn’t think it was funny. He asked me if I was trying to be stupid, or was it bred into me. I knew it was a low blow to my mom. Thank god, she didn’t hear. I would have been going to bed listening to a screaming match.

  I paid more attention to Gia’s dad after that. One evening when I knew Gia had a dentist appointment after school, I watched for him to get home. I had asked my dad what time he would be home that morning before school, knowing they carpooled. In my dad-stealing defense, I did try with my own dad first.

  I walked into the den where he was already getting situated to work.

  “Dad, can you help me with my math?” I asked, carrying my book.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “She went to the gym.”

  “Can’t you wait? I’m sort of busy here.”

  “Yeah, okay, sure,” I sadly responded. He didn’t care whether I passed math or not. He was just like my mom, only he was seeking the glory in his office, not with his best friend.

  My heart pounded a little when I made my way to the side entrance, where I knew I would find Kyle. Tapping on the door, my legs shook, knocking my boney knees against each other.

  “Yes!” he called, landing the dart to the red dot right in the center. I smiled. He was playing darts. He wasn’t even busy.

  “Hey, sweetie. Gia’s with her mom. She’s getting her braces today.”

  “I know. I was just wondering if you could help me for a second.”

  “Sure, love. What do you need?” he offered, waving a hand to the second chair at his desk.

  “Finding functions,” I answered, plopping to the chair and opening my book.

  “Really? How old are you again? I didn’t learn this stuff until like ninth grade.”

  Kyle helped me with my homework and I had a new goal.

  “I never knew you were so smart, McKenzie. You got it. You could be teaching me this stuff,” he teased. I smiled, feeling wanted for the first time ever. I wanted approval, but not just any approval. Gianna’s dad’s approval. That’s when I decided to be smart, wanting to impress Gia’s dad, rather than my own.

  I didn’t really know it at the time, but I wasn’t really being smart. I was occupying my mind with information. Information that would quiet things I didn’t understand at my young age.

  I threw my last homework tantrum that night. It took ten years of me whining, laying on the floor, crying that I couldn’t do it, tipping my chair, leaving marks on the table with my eraser, writing on my arms, getting a million drinks, and peeing a million more. Ten years of careful planning, gone in one night.

  I didn’t know he was there. I guess I was crying too loud. My mom was trying to work at the dining room table while trying to make me put one line under the noun, two under the predicate noun, circle the verb, and check mark the correct punctuation at the end of the sentence. It was too hard. Ten-year-olds couldn’t remember that much.

  I kicked my too-long legs, landing my feet hard to the floor. I just wanted my mom to give up and get mad. Half the paper was done. All she had to do now was get angry and do it. She didn’t see Kyle, either. I’m sure neither of us would have been acting that way had we known he was there.

  “Goddamnit, McKenzie. Will you stop? You’re not five anymore,” my mom yelled, cracking me on the back of my bare leg. It stung, but worked. She grabbed my paper and started reading, just like I knew she would.

  “That’s great, Liz. You should come over to my place. I have some homework, too,” Kyle offered. I sat up, tantrum instantly over when I heard his voice. His tone was joking, yet, it wasn’t. He looked at me with condescending eyes and I came to my feet and slid in my chair. I took the paper from my mom and underlined the noun.

  My grades went from C’s and D’s to straight A’s. The tantrums I threw every night about homework with my mother became nonexistent. Doing my homework made me feel good about myself. Like I accomplished something on my own. I reminded my mother of the fact a couple times, seeking her approval.

  “Mom, my homework’s all done,” I chanted excitedly, running to her preparing spaghetti while talking about a house warming party she was going to throw on the phone. She shushed me with her finger.

  “Mom. Look at the time. It’s only six. I already did my math and my history.”

  “Mack. Shut up. I’m on the phone.”

  “Mom. Look.”

  “McKenzie, shut the hell up for a minute,” she yelled, moving the phone behind her back. I just wanted her to be happy that she didn’t have to get onto me. That she didn’t have to fight with me. She never told me “good job” or anything, not that night or any other night. She just did what my dad did and worked more. It was her turn to plan the vacation. She had to sell one more house before she decided on the twenty-thousand-dollar vacation, or the ten-thousand-dollar one. She was too busy to notice that she wasn’t spending two hours sitting at the table with me.

  When I got my report card, I ran to Kyle, not my own mom or dad. He made a big deal out of it. High-fiving me and making up gangsta handshakes. Gia didn’t like it. Gia was like I was before, minus the way I got my way with my mom. She didn’t really do that with Melanie. I guess Gia was a lot more laid back than I was.

  “He’s not your dad. Stop trying to steal my dad. Go find your own dad,” Gia whispered behind Kyle’s back. I didn’t listen. I sought his approval every chance I got. His kind words and the attention he showed me was more rewarding than Gia’s whining. I know he showed me more attention than he should have. I’m not sure why he did, but as a kid, you long for that attention. I did, anyway.

  I was always high-strung. I think that’s one reason I hated staying at Gia’s house. I needed to be in mine so I could wander around my own house, and go to my own kitchen. I didn’t want Gia to think I was any more of a freak than I already was. It wasn’t unusual at all for me to be watching television in my room at three in the morning. I never understood why Gia slept so much.”

  “Tell me about the visions, McKenzie,” Lila interrupted, looking to her watch. “You were around this age when they started?”

  “Yeah, I mean I saw them before, but not as bad. I don’t know what to say. It’s the same one, over and over. Sometimes it’s very vivid and sometimes I can only see dark images, but I always hear the chimes. The chimes are always there.”

  “Do you remember a place where there were wind chimes on a beach?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, it’s possible. We were always on a beach for vacation. I don’t remember anything specific about the place. Just that it was on the beach, wind chimes hung on a porch and I was alone in this building or something. Someone helps me, but I don’t know why and I don’t know why I am crying.”

  “Do you know who helps you?”

  “No. I never see a face. He’s bigger than me. A man. I’m just a little girl.”

  “How little?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell. Just smaller than him. He’s stronger than me and whispers, ‘shhh…’ in my ear. I don’t move. I just watch the chimes and listen to the music.”

  “And you say Gia is yelling for you?”

  “Yes. She’s yelling for me. She’s calling my name.”

  I take in a deep breath.

  “Mack! Where are you, Mack?” I called out to the room. Lila slowly stood, holding my gaze while I mimicked Gia’s voice.

  “Listen to her voice, McKenzie. How old is Gia? How old does her voice sound?”

  “Five,” I whispered holding her gaze in a trance. I could hear her. Plain as day. Where w
ere we? I couldn’t see anymore. That’s it. Just Gia’s voice, calling for me. That was it. I snapped, rose to my feet, and grabbed my purse.

  “I have to go,” I suddenly decided, feeling dazed.

  “McKenzie. You had a very good session. We’ll continue here next time. Okay?”

  I don’t know what happened, why I felt she was safer than any of the other twenty-one and half therapist I’d already made it this far with. As soon as I felt like this, I bailed. Lila was wiser than my life long experience with psychiatrist. She read me like an open book. I wasn’t pulling anything over on her.

  “I can’t breathe, Lila,” I said, dropping to the sofa, clinching my chest. Just like I did when I was alone in my bed.

  “You’re okay. Just relax. I’m going to write you something for anxiety. It’ll help relax you.”

  I nodded, agreeing. I knew I wasn’t going to die. I knew it was all in my head, but I couldn’t help it. It felt real. Like I was really going to die. Nobody could understand that feeling until it happened to them. It can hit anywhere at any time. I left long lines of the grocery store before, because there were entirely too many people. One minute I was fine, searching messages on my phone, and the next, I was losing my marbles.

  I knew it wasn’t real. I knew those people who were out for their livelihood needs weren’t really taking all the air. It was the sound of a newborn baby one day. I went from swiping messages with my thumb to a full blown panic attack. A young man followed me to my car when people watched me desperately suck in air. I ran from the store, leaving my full cart, embarrassed and dying.

  “Ahh, I was wondering if that was the problem. I have asthma too,” the boy smiled when I dove into my car and pulled an inhaler from the console. I didn’t have asthma, I had anxiety. Lila told me the inhaler was all in my mind and it wouldn’t work. I didn’t care. My mind told me it was the needed air my lungs were searching for. I gave myself asthma. As impossible as that is, I believed it.

  “Yes, sorry about that. I think I’ll just come back for my groceries tomorrow. Will that be okay?” I asked the bagboy, feeling my airways expand, allowing my lungs fresh, New York smog. It was enough. I felt myself relax, knowing I wasn’t going to die. Not that day, anyway. And I certainly wasn’t returning to that store.

  “I don’t want any more medication,” I complained. Four was enough.

  “McKenzie. You can’t keep doing this. You’re holding something in that you need to let out,” Lila pleaded, sitting beside me.

  “Yeah, lots of things, but I am talking to you. I haven’t lied to you, yet.”

  “Do you normally lie to your therapists?”

  “Yes. Well, not at first. I won’t lie to you for a while yet.”

  “You mean the rape part?”

  “Well, no. I mean, not really. I guess I refuse to talk about that. Yeah. I don’t want to talk about that part.”

  Lila audibly sighed and leaned back. “What do you want, McKenzie?”

  I looked over, feeling my breathing regulate. “What do you mean?”

  “Why are you here? If I were a magic pill, what would you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know.” I didn’t know. That was a dumb question. How was I supposed to answer that? I was there because I needed medication that nobody would give me without doing therapy.

  “When was your first visit with a psychiatrist?”

  “Um, I was twelve.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. I knew why. I just didn’t have time to get into it. I had a Fashion Week to design and a letter to write. “I’m fine now. I don’t need this,” I said, handing the prescription back to her.

  “Take it. It’s good for three months. They’ll reduce the anxiety.”

  “They won’t work. I don’t need them.”

  Lila stood with me and placed her hand on my forearm. “You need to stop living in the past.”

  “I don’t live in the past. I hate the past,” I chuckled. As if. Really? Of all people living in the past, it wasn’t me. I never wanted to go back there. I spent the last seven years of my life trying to forget it.

  “We’ll talk about it next week.”

  “Talk about what?” I asked, confused. What was there to talk about? Okay, maybe I didn’t like her as much as I thought I did.

  Lila walked to the door and crossed her arms. She looked up at me from her short frame, confounded. “I’m just betting that when we reach a certain point in your story, you’re going to be on to the next shrink. The story never gets told, does it, McKenzie?”

  Wow. Is that what I did? “I’ve got to go,” I said, trying to derail the conversation that I needed time to translate first. Lila knew that. She was more manipulative than I was.

  The days leading up to Fashion Week were exhausting. Colton watched me carefully struggle with the creativity Jane was trying to force from me. It wasn’t coming no matter how hard I tried. I had barely slept at all in two weeks and I still hadn’t written the letter. Even though I told myself, over and over, I’d do it. I never did.

  Colton took on the concerned role after our first encounter. Always lecturing me about things and my life, asking personal information that pissed me off. It irritated the hell out of me. I didn’t need him getting all daddy-like on me. I got enough lecturing from my mother. I didn’t need more.

  I thought more and more about what Lila had said. I had been going from therapist to therapist, retelling the story. Over and over. For whatever reason, I wasn’t letting it die. Was it because of Mr. Nichols? Was it because of sending him to prison? Was it because of my parents and the way I was raised? Why did I feel the need to live through this crazy life, over and over?

  “McKenzie. McKenzie. McKenzie. I don’t know what to do with you. Where is my McKenzie that shined this week last year? We’re running out of time. I need you. Please, McKenzie. I’m begging you,” Jane pleaded, pulling me from my thoughts for the, well, I don’t know how many times. A lot.

  “I’ve got it, Jane. I don’t work like this. I need peace and quiet. You two chattering about this and that is what’s keeping me from seeing anything innovative. I’m going to my office. Let me work through a few things on my own.”

  I walked out, and hid myself in my office. I pulled up the layout and some of the fall fashions before opening a blank document, unable to stay focused on the job I needed to finish, or at least start.

  Dear board of parole,

  My name is McKenzie Perry. I am one of the victims from the rape case back in 2005.

  That lasted for one sentence. That’s all I got. One sentence. What do you say to a parole board when you want your accuser to be set free? How did you word that without sounding like a nut job?

  “Come in,” I called, giving up on that, too. I walked over to the little refrigerator and downed half a bottle of cold water.

  “Jane wanted you to see these. It’s the hats. I think we should go with the knit ones.”

  “Because you know anything about fashion,” I teased Colton.

  “You okay?”

  “Stop asking me that. You don’t have the right to ask me if I’m okay. You’re my coworker. That’s it.”

  “Until you decide to go off the deep end,” he accused. I looked up, feeling awkward. That was the first time he ever mentioned that night. I was sure he’d never had sex with a lunatic like me. I enlightened him by being enlightened myself. I did things he probably would have never experienced without me.

  “I’m sorry, McKenzie. I didn’t mean it that way,” Colton said, moving to my seat behind my desk.

  “Get out, Colton,” I ordered in calm quiet manner. He was right, and I didn’t want to talk about it. Colton knew me. Colton was one of very few people I let see this side of me. He knew me and he still wanted me. I couldn’t handle that in my life. Not right now.

  “What the hell is this, McKenzie? You were raped? Is that why you’re so screwed up?”

  “No. Get out. Leave me alone,” I said, so
unding like I was twelve, not twenty-six.

  “McKenzie, why didn’t you tell me?” he questioned, coming to me. I backed up.

  “Because it’s none of your business. Leave me alone. Please, just get out.”

  Colton left, but I could tell he didn’t want to. He wanted me to fold, take comfort in him and let him be my superhero. He couldn’t. I tried that with AJ back in Detroit. It didn’t work for me like that. I wasn’t like most girls when it came to men. I never had been. Not for as long as I could remember.

  Spending hours in front of my computer, I thought about what I had to do. I needed sleep, and I needed to get this project done. I looked at the clock, deciding to do what I promised myself and Lila I would never do. I’d give it two more days, but that was it. If I didn’t sleep soon, I was going to scream, and I would have no choice.

  Locking up, I headed home, hoping to find one straggling food truck left on the streets. I wasn’t much into cooking these days. Hell, I wasn’t much into anything these days. I worked. I had to work, especially these last couple weeks. The whole thing was wreaking havoc on my sanity. I just wanted it over with. I hated Fashion Week and I hated parole.

  “I wish you wouldn’t walk the streets alone at this time of night,” Colton said, stopping the elevator just in time. I didn’t mind walking the streets alone. I didn’t mind it at all. Maybe I was secretly asking for it.

  “I think I’ll be okay,” I reminded him with a smile, quickly reverting my eyes back to the elevator doors. I couldn’t look at him. He’d freshened up. I could smell the new scent of Felioscios looming in the elevator. He was going out.

  “Have a drink with me.”

  “I’m good. I’ll see you Monday,” I said, rushing out and away from Colton Briggs.

  Answering my mother’s call, I did what Colton also told me not to do. I paid no attention to the lecture about being on my phone and not observing what was going on around me while I walked the busy city. Maybe I didn’t care. Maybe I wanted someone to grab me, pull me down a backstreet, do horrific things to me, and leave me for dead. That’s what I thought my life was worth. That’s how much I wanted to go on like I was, how much I valued my own life. I was a twenty-six year old, successful loser.