by J Grace
“I’m sorry Marjorie. You just sounded…I just wanted to help.” He was worried and scared for me, but I couldn’t accept his help. This is how it had started with Sierra and I couldn’t repeat that cycle. I had to try. It hurt so much, but I had to try. I had to stop relying on other people.
What if they left me too!
“You can’t help me! Please just go away!” My heart pounded in my chest and my vision tunneled. I was close to passing out, but I fought it with everything inside me until I was able to control the battle raging within.
It was quiet on the other side of the door when I finally stopped crying. My body felt weak, and my soul was tired, but part of me felt stronger than I had in a long time. I had gotten through it on my own. It would have been easy to let him comfort me, but it wouldn’t have been right. I needed to do this on my own if I was to have any chance of getting better, truly getting better.
I can do this. I can do this!
I mustered all the strength I had left to get myself up off the floor. I felt woozy on my feet and swayed. I grabbed the doorknob with one hand and pressed the flat of my palm to the door with the other to steady myself as I blinked away the spots in my vision. I needed to get to my bed. When I stepped into the room I was greeted with the presence of Nurse Astrid sitting in the desk chair.
“Zachery came and got me, said you needed help,” I nodded in understanding as I made my way to my bed, “Do you want to talk about it with me?” I shook my head no. Nurse Astrid grabbed the notebook from my desk and held it up for me to see, “That’s what this is for. Anything, anything at all that you aren’t ready to talk about, write it in here. Sometimes it’s easier to write it down. We won’t read it unless you want us to. But eventually, you are going to have to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be any time soon and it doesn’t have to be in a group session, but whatever it was that was serious enough to cause an episode like this can’t go undiscussed, okay?” I nodded again, “Okay.” She rose from the chair and walked to the door, turning before she exited, “There is a worried young man out there. Can I tell him you’re alright?”
Consent.
I swallowed.
“I-I think I o-owe him m-more than that.” I stammered, the exhaustion rolling over me in waves. Nurse Astrid looked at me pointedly.
“No, you don’t. You don’t owe anyone but yourself an explanation. He’s worried for you, and that’s sweet, but that doesn’t entitle him to anything. It’s your choice to say as much or as little as you’re ready for,” Her face had gone from concerned to serious as she waited for my response. I nodded that I understood.
“You can send him in.” She turned and exited the door leaving it open. I had just made my way to the bed when I heard her tell Zachery that he could go in. Within seconds his body was darkening my doorway. His eyes were red like he had been crying himself; his pale skin was splotchy, his curly hair was disheveled, and his shoulders slumped a bit as he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets. He looked almost as bad as I felt. Something in me shifted and I relaxed.
“Hey,” he said hesitantly.
“Hey,” I replied. We both stayed in our spots for a few minutes, each silently trying to figure out a way to broach the subject. I couldn’t take the awkward silence anymore. “Why don’t you just come in already, you’re letting all the cold air out.” Apparently awkward gave way to corny. He scrunched his face at my bad joke but made the move to come inside anyway, choosing the desk chair to sit in. He stared at his hands a few seconds before he cleared his throat and met my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Marjorie. I had no right to come into your room, much less touch you. It was wrong, and I'm not making excuses, but you just sounded so…” he ran his hand through his hair closing his eyes and sighing before continuing, “I just couldn’t help myself. I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but that cry - I know that cry.” he said with tears rimming his eyes. I could tell that he meant he had cried that cry. I wondered what kind of trauma or abuse he must have endured to be so familiar with it. I knew then that I wanted him to know why I was here. I didn’t want him to feel alone. I didn’t want to feel alone either. All of my overthinking about being awkward disappeared. I had found a kindred spirit in Zachery. It was different than with Sierra because I knew he would understand in a way that she couldn’t.
“You don’t have to be sorry. You were trying to help and I can’t fault you for that. It’s just…”
“You don’t have to explain. I’m not here for that. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” His expression was earnest but I wanted to tell him, I felt like I needed to tell him.
“It’s okay, Zachery. I want to explain. It’s been a long time since I had anyone even try to comfort me. It might not make sense to you, but if you’re willing to listen…” I trailed off, waiting for his consent if he wanted me to continue. He nodded and sat back making himself more comfortable.
“Since I was little I’ve had this need for security and reassurance of some kind. I don’t know where it stemmed from originally, but looking back now it’s probably from the lack of affection from my parents,” I paused a moment as I said those words aloud, then I continued, my words coming a little easier. “It’s weird because I have this sort of memory that it wasn’t always like that. That at some point they loved me and then one day it was gone and all of a sudden they became who they are now. Cold, mean, full of disdain and contempt for me. I remember waking up crying from a nightmare and no one came to check on me. I would sit there in the dark terrified of what might lurk under my bed. But the fear I felt from that was nothing compared to the fear I had about what would happen if I went to my parent’s room in the middle of the night. I had done that once, and once was all it took,” I looked down at my hands when I said, “I would have to beg for a hug, and if they ever gave it, it was lacking any real emotion. To get an ‘I love you’ was unheard of,” I looked into Zachary’s eyes, “And then, in Kinder, I met a girl named Sierra. She was bright and shiny and just what I needed and had been missing from my life. She made me feel warm and safe and I knew that as long as she was around I would be okay. Before her, I just felt weird and out of place, you know, like I was on the outside looking in. But with her, I felt seen. She never hid her affection from me. I never had to ask for it and it was always full of kindness and hope. Over time she became my everything. I consumed so much of her time and energy, but she never complained. I don’t know why she put up with me. Especially as we got older. I’m not normal. I don’t connect with people well. I’m not a joiner or a participator and she was. It was the only thing we were at odds about.”
As I remembered this, I was reminded of the last conversation Sierra and I had but I pushed it away, not wanting to go there just yet, “And then she died. And my world was upended.” I said softly, but I know he heard me. I wiped a stray tear and continued, wanting to finish, “Well, today, when I came back to my room after lunch my thoughts drifted to her and I started to feel...everything all at once, like I was being swallowed up by all of these things being thrown at me in such a short amount of time. I didn’t know what to do because I don’t have Sierra anymore.” My sadness quickly turned to anger as I rambled on, “And then I started to realize how selfish I was with her and I was questioning my motives, and our friendship, and the part I played in it, and it all just got to be too much - I broke down. I was trying to work through it when you came in. That’s why I pushed you away. I can’t do to anyone else what I did to Sierra. I can’t transfer that dependence to you and if I had done what I wanted, and let you comfort me, that’s exactly what would have happened,” I released a shaky sigh and continued, feeling a bit more emotionally stable, “I realize now that why I’m here is so much bigger than what actually brought me here, and I have to work through this on my own if I want to get better, and I want so badly to be better. I owe that to Sierra and to myself.” I felt so much lighter having told someone, but by the look on his face, I hadn’t explained my situati
on very well.
“So you’re here because of co-dependency issues and anxiety?” he asked with a dip in his brow.
“No. Last year on April 23, my best friend, Sierra, was killed by a drunk driver. She was sixteen and on her way home from an away basketball game when she was forced off the road and into a flooded ditch. And four days ago, on the one year anniversary of her death... I attempted suicide.”
Chapter 5
Zachery
HOLY SHIT!!! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!! I can’t breathe! This cannot be happening! What the fuck am I gonna do?
Just when I think maybe life is taking a turn for the better by putting this beautiful, shy, sweet girl in my life the rug is pulled from under me.
Hard!
I’ve always had shit luck so why should this be any different.
But FUCK! How was I going to be able to be around her knowing what I do? And how was I going to tell her that my family, my dad, was the reason for her pain? How could I ever look this girl in her beautiful green eyes again when she finds out that my dad was the drunk who ran her best friend off the road?
FUCK!
I sat there a few minutes waiting to see if this new information would cause a PTSD attack, but when it didn’t come I looked up to see her watching me.
She’s just sitting there trying to read me, and I’m trying hard as fuck to school my expression, even though I’m clearly freaking the fuck out inside. I don’t want to lie to her, especially after she’s opened up to me, but how do I even say what needs to be said? I mean, she didn’t recognize me so she obviously doesn’t know who I am, but what about my dad? The only way to do this is to just pull off the Band-Aid. She’s going to find out eventually and if I don’t tell her now she’ll only hate me more for keeping the secret. I guess I could play dumb and act like I didn’t know, but the details she’s given would blow that lie out of the water.
Please God, if you’re really out there, help me out.
“Marjorie, I need to tell you something, but before I do, I want to tell you why I’m here,” I was feeling nauseated by the fact that I was going to say it out loud. I hadn’t spoken about this to another living soul, “Six months ago I saw my dad kill my mom and then himself,” I stopped to catch my breath, my heart pounding so hard in my chest I could hear it in my ears, “My dad had been depressed about something that had happened- that he did. At the time I didn’t know what had happened, except that it was an accident, a terrible accident, but…well, he was arrested, charged and then released on bail. People found out, as they always do in small towns, and he lost his job, friends turned their backs on him. He was getting hate mail. People spit on him when he went out. It was bad,” I wiped the sweat beading on my forehead off with my sleeve, “And then the kids at school started making little remarks about my dad, not to my face, but loud enough that I could hear. I finally gave in and asked my mom,” I tried to keep eye contact, but it was getting harder and harder, “I couldn’t deal with what she told me, so I shut my dad out. I knew it was an accident, but it didn’t have to happen. He had made the wrong choice; one I’m sure he had made many times before, but this time it ruined everything.
The day before he…. his lawyer called and told him that a trial date was set for the next week. As soon as he got off the phone he pulled out the whiskey and got drunk. My mom started arguing with him, but I went up to my room and put my headphones on to drown them out. I woke up the next morning like yesterday didn’t happen. I had to focus, I had a swim meet later that day that I had to be prepared for. I couldn’t let my dad ruin that too. But that morning I forgot my lucky swimsuit so I went back home to get it,” I took a deep breath trying to push away nausea that was bubbling in my stomach from the memories rushing forward and continued, “When I walked inside it was eerily quiet and then I heard shuffling upstairs and a crashing sound. I was climbing the stairs when I heard my mom’s indecipherable screams at my dad. I ran the rest of the way but when I got to my parent’s room the door was locked. I was banging on the door calling for my mom when the gun went off,” I could feel the tears as they slid down my cheeks, splattering on my pant legs, “I froze for a moment, unsure of what I had heard and then my adrenaline surged along with the fear that my mom was hurt and I kicked the door open. My dad was standing there over my mom’s body with the gun pointed to his head. I can’t tell you what I felt at that moment or what was said. All I can remember is the ringing in my ears and the empty look in my dad’s eyes before he pulled the trigger,” I couldn’t block out the memory of watching his body slump to the ground landing on my mom. Of not being able to move or look away. I shook away the memory and pain that pierced my heart like a million dull knives, “I don’t know who called the police, but they showed up shortly after. Everything after that was a blur. They took me to the hospital to treat me for shock and then to my Grandma’s house the next day.
I slept a lot. Walked around in a haze. My Gran tried, she did, but she’s old and has her own issues. I was a drain on her in more ways than one and I hated myself for it. I hated myself for a lot of things.
One night I was looking for something to eat in a cabinet and I stumbled upon her stash of whiskey. It triggered something in me and I went on a rampage. I started yelling and throwing things, destroying anything in my way. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. I really scared the shit out of my Gran. Fuck, I really scared the shit out of myself. After that my Gran was scared to be around me. I wasn’t sure if she was scared of me or if she was afraid that I was one step away from going off again. I didn’t want it to be like that; I didn’t want to have night terrors almost nightly, I didn’t want to be afraid of my own shadow. I could see the emotional and physical toll it was taking on her, but any time I mentioned leaving she just told me she wouldn’t hear of it. I was spinning out of control and I knew that another episode was on the horizon, but I didn’t know what to do. Then I got a letter in the mail. The therapist that I saw at the hospital sent in an application for admittance to Brighton House. Apparently they take a pro bono case every quarter. Anyway, that’s why I’m here. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to be here. I mean I’m scared as fuck, but I was really scared that I might hurt my Gran.” I took a beat to collect myself before I said what was coming next.
“The thing is though, what my dad did, it was bad. He killed someone,” I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat and looked down at the floor. I hadn’t talked about this to anyone, not even the therapist, and I was scared that it might be me lying on the bathroom floor screaming at her to leave me alone soon...or worse. I swallowed again determined to push through, “Last spring my dad had gone out with some co-workers to a bar to celebrate a friend’s retirement. He drank more than he should have, but still decided to drive home. On his way home he got into an accident. He ran a red light at an intersection, clipping the other cars bumper. The impact caused his airbag to deploy, knocking him out. When he woke up he saw that the other car had flipped into a flooded embankment. He tried to get to the car, but he broke his leg in the accident. He called 911, but when they got there he was taken to the hospital under police escort. It wasn’t until the next day when he was arrested and charged that he found out the other driver died,” I searched her eyes again for understanding but there was none, or maybe it was denial. I was going to have to spell it out for her and it hurt to have to do it, “The night when I finally asked my mom about what happened, she told me that my dad had killed a young girl from the town over. She was on her way home from a basketball game, still dressed in her cheer uniform when they pulled her from the wreckage, and that her name was Sierra Morrison.” It was deceptively easier to say it than it was to feel it. I sat there letting the pain of the memory fade and waited for her to say something, but she never did. I looked up to meet her eyes, but she was facing the wall, her eyes closed, cheeks stained with tears. I shifted in the seat causing it to squeak. Her head turned in my direction and she opened her eyes to meet mine, and then she cast t
hem down, “Marjorie…”
“Don’t, please, don’t say anything,” Her expression was pained and she wrapped her arms around herself gripping her shoulders before she started to silently cry. Anger started to bubble up inside my chest. All of this was because of my dad. Because he couldn’t control his drinking, Sierra was dead, my mom was dead, he was dead, Marjorie tried to kill herself, and I was suffering from PTSD, and night terrors! It wasn’t fair that one stupid night of drinking could ruin so many lives!
I stood, needing to get out of there when Marjorie called out to me, “Wait. Don’t go. I don’t want you to go,” She had moved to the edge of the bed, her feet flat on the floor.
“Why do you want me to stay?” I couldn’t believe that she didn’t want me gone, that she didn’t get up and hit me or something - anything other than sit there with a pained look on her face.
“Because haven’t we been through enough? Aren’t we broken enough? And…” she looked down, all the color draining from her face, “I always wondered if it was my fault. She was on her way home because of me. She was supposed to go to a party at one of the other cheerleader’s houses, but I called her and asked her to come to my house. She never even put up a fight about it. So you see. if it hadn’t been for me she never would have even been on that road. I killed her just as much as your dad did. Which means you have every right to hate me for putting your dad in that position.”
Is she serious? How could she think that? No, if my dad hadn’t been drunk this never would have happened.
Even if Sierra had been on the road she would have arrived at Marjorie’s house very much alive.
“How could you even think that? My dad was drunk. You didn’t cause Sierra’s death, he did. I could never blame you for putting my dad in any situation.”
“And hating you for something your dad did…I could never do that. I know some people might, but I know in my heart that Sierra wouldn’t want that. She never held a grudge, or got angry, or used the word hate. ‘Life is too beautiful for that’ she would say. I never saw it that way…but I want to. I want to be free of all the blame and the pain and I can see that you do too, so, if you need it, I forgive you.”
