by J Grace
Still, there we were, in a church filled to the brim with people as we prepared to lay Darren to rest. He was barely nineteen and so deep in his addiction that he was denied a spot on the transplant list because no one had faith that even if he could get sober that he would stay that way. In truth, he was so sick with cirrhosis that he wouldn’t have lived long enough to receive a transplant. It shouldn’t be this way.
I tried to stay sober after he died, but withdrawals hit me hard so I took a drink when I felt the shakes coming on, just enough to keep them at bay. But that day, not even a drop had passed my lips. I wanted to be sober when I said goodbye to him for the last time. Fuck, this is hard.
Unfortunately, by the time I made it to the casket, I could feel the first sign of withdrawals coming on. I crossed my arms over my chest to hide the tremors in my hands and I took a good look at Darren. He didn’t even look like himself, yellow and gaunt with paper-thin skin. I walked away from him with the image burned into my mind and my salivary glands ached with the need for a drink. And as much as I hated myself for being weak, I needed that drink more. Just a little longer.
The drive to the cemetery was torture. My body was sweating even though it was thirty-five degrees outside. I stood at the back, swaying on my feet, while the rest of the family sat up front, but nobody said anything or if they did, I couldn’t hear them through the fog forming inside my brain. My mind and my body were at war with each other. My mind saying almost, it’s almost time and my body screaming NOW! NOW! NOW! Tears were falling from my eyes, but not because of the pain of losing my best friend -no, it’s because of the pain that coursed through my body born from denying it what it needed Not what it wanted, what it needed to keep it functioning. I could feel the shut down coming, but I pressed on and pushed through, accepting everything that my body was throwing at me because Darren was worth it. He was worth my pain, my suffering, if just for today. Hold on, hold on.
Suddenly I was woken by someone shaking me and calling my name. I opened my eyes and saw my mother staring back at me, sadness and something else in her eyes.
“Where are we? How did I get here?” I said through chattering teeth. I was drenched in sweat and shaking violently as I tried to recall what happened between the cemetery and now.
“Drink this. It will help.” I didn’t hesitate and swallowed down the smooth brown liquid in one gulp. Almost instantaneously I felt better. And yet...
“Mom.. “
“It’s okay Bodie,” she whispered, brushing sticky strands of hair from my eyes, “You did your best. It’s over now. Come inside and get some rest, we’ll talk about this tomorrow.” Knowing. That’s what was in her eyes. She knew. How long? I wanted to ask her, but the words wouldn’t come, instead I nodded my head. She kissed my cheek and took the cup from my hands. I didn’t even know I was holding it. How fucked am I?
She said it was okay, but it wasn’t okay. I had failed. I was weak. I was still thirsty. As soon as my mom walked inside I called an Uber. While I waited, I began to question how long my mom had known. Did Darren’s mom know too? Had they known this whole time? Did they let us do this to ourselves?
I had originally thought about going home, but the longer I waited the angrier I got, so when the Uber finally showed up I told him to take me to the family liquor store. I popped open the first bottle I saw and when the burn of the Vodka hit my throat, I swear I came. Halfway through the bottle I began to feel like myself again. The old Bodie was back and he was ready to party. I called a buddy, loaded up his car and took off determined to wipe this day from my memory.What happened after that, I don’t remember.
By the time I pulled myself out of the memory I had about five minutes left. I got dressed quickly and met Marjorie with a minute to spare. “So, where did you want to go?”
“I reserved one of the private rooms in the library, if that’s okay?” My eyes immediately fell to her mouth where she bit her lip nervously, making me want to pull her perfect lip into my mouth.
“Yeah, that’s cool.” She stood from the couch and we made our way to the library. Not one word spoken on the five minute walk, well not out loud. I was rambling a mile a minute inside my head. I could feel the heat of nervousness creep up my back, making my skin feel clammy. Once we were situated inside the private room we sat there in an uncomfortable silence for about three minutes until she spoke. I didn’t want to be the first to speak, this was her idea so she should go first.
“I wanted to thank you for today. For helping me, and telling your story. It really helped me a lot to know that other people struggled at such a young age. Growing up I was the only one I knew who had a hard time coping with life and all of its expectations and implications. My parents form of treatment was to ignore me and pretend nothing ever happened or yell at me for every little thing. I was really young when they stopped taking me places out of fear that I would embarrass them. Which in turn only added to my fears. I hated crowds and loud noises and… that's not what we came here for.
Because you shared something with me I wanted to share something with you. I've never let anyone read my poems or stories, but I wanted to read you a poem I wrote, if you'd like to hear it?” This wasn’t where I thought this conversation was going at all and it surprised me. I could see the nervousness she was trying to hide and it broke my heart that she doubted herself. I hoped that I could be a small part of helping her change her mind about how truly amazing she is.
“Yeah, I'd love to!” Marjorie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Just when I was about to tell her she doesn't have to, she started to speak.
“It's called She is Me.”
She is all alone,
Though you sit there beside her.
She is still as the night,
Though her world is quite dire.
She is happy and light,
Though the stones weigh her down.
She is always afraid,
Though she acts like a clown.
She is brittle and broken,
Though she's strong with desire.
She is cold to the touch,
Though inside she's on fire.
She is tangled in knots,
Though you think she's unwound.
She is weak and unable
Though her thoughts are quite sound.
She is never enough,
Though she longs just to be.
She is not just a girl,
She is you, she is me.
Marjorie’s voice was barely a whisper at the end and she sat there for a while, eyes closed, shaking, while tears streamed down her face and I couldn't tell if it was from fear, nervousness, embarrassment, shock, or all of the above. I wanted so badly to go to her and wrap her in my arms and tell her how proud I was of her, how brave I thought she was, how I felt that in the marrow of my soul, and how I thought I might be falling in love with her. But I couldn’t. For one, she had given several signs that she was uncomfortable with unsolicited touching and two...we had only known each other a little over a week, how could I possibly be falling in love with her already?
My face was screwed up in a grimace when she opened her eyes and her expression read as though she thought it was for her. It wasn't. Well, It was, just not the way she thought. So I quickly plastered on a smile. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I know how hard it is to put yourself out there and share something so personal. Especially with a relative stranger, so I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I really liked it a lot. And, I can totally relate to those feelings.” She smiled at me and nodded, either not believing me or still too emotional to speak. “So do you want to stay and just be quiet for a while or do you want to get back? You still have thirty minutes left in here.” I said, nodding towards the timer on the desk.
“If you don’t mind, I'd like to stay.” I nodded at her, rising to my feet to go.
“Wait! Where are you going?” Did she want me to stay?
“I thought you wanted to be alone?” She shook h
er head.
“No. Stay, please?” I didn't say anything, just sat back down and got comfortable. We stayed there in companionable silence until the timer went off and then headed back up to our floor. If it was a first date it could not have been better. I think my earlier assessment of me falling in love was right.
As we walked through the automatic door to our living room, I saw Zachery and Avery sitting there. As soon as they saw Marjorie I knew that I wasn't the only one who was falling for her. I knew then, I stood no chance. “Well, goodnight, Majorie. See you guys in the morning.” I headed off to my room, the beginning of another sleepless night awaiting me.
“Hey, Bodie?” I turned to see her smiling at me. God, what I would do to have her look at me like that every day of my life.
“Yeah?” She walked over to me with purpose and my heart seized. Her gorgeous green eyes never left mine.
“Thank you for today.” She whispered in my ear as she hugged me tightly. Hope sprouted in my chest.
Maybe I do stand a chance!
Only I know, as I look around the room one last time, I'm not the only one who's hoping.
Chapter 10
Marjorie
Is it wrong to have romantic type feelings for more than one person? Especially after never having feelings, romantic or otherwise, for anyone before?
Well, besides Sierra and Carson.
I'm so conflicted and scared of the way my heart races when I see them, any of them, all of them. Do they see it? The way my body reacts to them? I shouldn't be thinking about this, about them, all the time. I didn't come to Brighton House to fall in love or to even make friends, but here I am doing both with multiple people.
What is happening to me?
For the first time in my life, I'm feeling something other than fear and awkwardness. I'm finally starting to feel good in my skin. Skin I desperately want them to touch.
Stop it, Marjorie!
Even with my hormones raging I know what I'm feeling is more than just carnal desires. It's deeper. I enjoy their company, the conversation and the quietness of just being. They understand me in a way Sierra never could, though she tried her best. I'm happier here than …
Woah, I don't think I've ever been happy. Not even with Sierra. How can that be possible? She was like the air to me. I mean, I tried to kill myself because I couldn't breathe without her! How could I have never been happy with her?
And then it hit me. The answer to the questions I asked myself the day I arrived here. I did use her! But she used me too. The day we met she began her job of taking care of me and I happily let her. I had found what I needed, craved. She never once tried to change me because she didn't want me to change. She needed to take care of me. It made her happy. It made her feel useful. I didn’t understand it at first, coming from a family that would roast marshmallows over my burning body before they’d spit on me to put the fire out, but after being friends for a few years I found out that she had an older brother who had spina bifida and that she took care of him. At first, it was because she wanted to be close to her brother, but then when she noticed that her parents paid more attention to her because of it, it became a need for her. But he had died before we started Kindergarten. She had learned to be a caregiver and God knew I needed care, so I let her take care of me, because I wanted her to be happy, and I didn’t want to be alone. So when she died, I shut down. I had spent more than half of my life being something for someone and then, suddenly, I was nothing to anyone. I didn't know who I was other than Sierra’s best friend. That’s not completely true, I also knew I was my mother's verbal punching bag. I remember questioning why God took Sierra and not my mom. If anyone deserved to die it was her. But that wasn’t true either. She was vicious, cruel, and abusive to me, but to everyone else she was sweet, God-fearing Muriel Long, upstanding citizen and long-time patron of Mark the Baptist Holy Church.
The first few months after Sierra died were unbearable. Especially at school. I had always thought of school as a safe place, not my favorite place by any means, but at least it wasn’t home. In the days after Sierra died a memorial had been placed by her locker, which was right next to mine and people would stand around crying and talking about her. I knew she was well-liked, but I couldn't stand to listen to them or see her locker covered in notes and flowers so I had to resort to carrying all of my books until the principal finally had the custodian take it all down. That day I was a walking mixed bag of emotions: angry, sad, scared. Mostly scared about what it meant. She was truly gone, people were moving on. I thought it would be easier when it was gone, but it wasn’t. I closed in on myself even further. I went to school every day and if I wasn't paying attention the guilt of being alive and the fear of being alone would slam down on me. It’s not as if anything changed. I was still invisible to the whole of the school, but as the day wore on and I got closer to having to go home, the heavier my mood became. When Sierra was alive we would sneak into my backyard and make our way to the treehouse. Sometimes we would go to her house for hours just to prolong the inevitability of going home to receive my daily verbal flogging. After she died, I no longer had that reprieve. Every day was miserable and I longed for the happier times with Sierra. But since being at Brighton House, having experienced true happiness, I realize that I wasn’t actually happy in those days. How could I be, knowing what awaited me? No, I was grateful, but not happy. I think I could’ve been and I know Sierra tried. It wasn’t her fault. It was my mother’s.
How I wished that Sierra could have met me the way I was now because even though it had only been a little over two weeks I was almost an entirely different person. Would she even like this version of me? This Marjorie 2.0, a little upgraded with new, burgeoning feelings and desires, but with little glitches that carried over. Would we still be friends if we no longer served each other’s purpose? Those are some of the questions I would never be able to know the answers to. Still, I hoped I could fix those glitches without ruining my memories of Sierra. She was my best friend and I would always love her for the gift of her friendship, but if I was going to be the best me that I could be I had to think of her only as my friend and not my savior. I had to start believing that I would be okay without her. I had to believe in myself and my ability to be my own savior.
Sierra always told me that I could do anything I wanted, and that she couldn’t wait for the day when I would realize my own power and self-worth because she knew that when that day came I would be unstoppable. I never believed her before, but I was starting to be able to. And while I wasn't there yet, I felt it coming.
Thank you, friend. I hope to make you proud.
The next morning I woke early, feeling amazing. My time here really had been therapeutic, despite the technical lack of, well, therapy. I was sleeping better, eating better, and feeling more self-confident, heck I was talking to boys! I was laughing and smiling, feeling joy. Emotions and actions I had never dreamed I’d experience. I fought them at first, my mother’s voice always in my head. But now? Now that I’ve had time to think about it, it all felt right. I just hope that Dr. Banner doesn’t disagree. I had been to a few more group sessions, but I still hadn’t shared my story. Other’s talked about different issues like anxiety and moving past heartbreak, and while I found I had many similarities, I kept quiet. I had my first one-on-one with Dr. Banner today and I was a little nervous, but feeling good about my chances of not having a freak out moment. I took my shower, got dressed, and actually combed my hair in anticipation of who I might see beyond my door. And if I was honest, I felt more nervous about that than seeing Dr. Banner. I glanced out the window in my door and saw an empty space and my heart dropped a little, until I open the door and remember my greeting from Avery a little over two weeks ago, and stopped. Peeking my head out I looked left, then right.
All clear!
When I didn't see an ambush in waiting, I stepped into the common room just as Malcolm opened his door. Our eyes met and he smiled softly.
“Hey, y
ou,” his voice held a note of something that made my stomach flutter, but I pushed it aside for now.
“Hey, yourself!” I said in a chipper voice that I didn't recognize.
“Well, you sound...happy,” he said, entering the room further, his limp less noticeable.
“You know, I think I am. Or at least what I imagine happy feels like. It feels strange but good.” He looked at me quizzically, the dimple on his left cheek making an appearance as he bit his bottom lip.
“Yeah, I haven't been happy in a long while. Maybe one day I can feel that strange but good feeling too.” He suddenly looked forlorn and then he shook his head and cleared his throat. “So, you heading down to breakfast?” I nodded. “Mind a little company?”
“Ha, nothing about you is little!” My eyes flew wide open and I turned a bright shade of embarrassed! He quirked a smile. “Oh, my God! I'm so sorry! I can't believe I just said that!”
This is what you get for feeling confident!
“It’s cool. Don't worry about it. I'm a big guy, I get what you meant. Come on, before you melt into a puddle of embarrassment.”
As we descended from the third floor to the first, my embarrassment faded and I was almost feeling like myself pre-verbal diarrhea. When we got to the dining room it was virtually empty. Just a few early risers like us. We got our trays and sat at the table way in the back corner and ate in relative silence. I was lost in thoughts of the last few weeks’ interactions when Malcolm's deep voice permeated the silence. “So, I heard that Avery tried to tell you why I'm here?” I look over at him.
Well, that’s an interesting opening line.
