The Voice in My Head

by Dana L. Davis

  “Mom, she is not okay! Violet could be dealing with a number of things as we speak. Liver damage. God only knows what else. Dial 911! Do it now!”

  Violet shakes her head. Tries to pull off her mask.

  “No, Violet,” Michelle commands. “Don’t take it off. Honey, you need it.”

  Violet speaks through the mask. “No...hospital,” she whispers. “I won’t...go. They can’t make me.”

  Michelle speaks pointedly to Mom. “I don’t care if she doesn’t want to go! Pull rank.”

  Violet shakes her head. “They can’t take me...if I won’t go.”

  “It doesn’t matter...” Michelle speaks only to Mom. “There’s a form for involuntary commitment. Explain when EMS arrives.”

  Mom’s holding up the IV bag of solution but her hands are trembling. She’s clearly not ready to pull rank on Violet.

  “Fine. Where’s my cell?” Michelle digs around the bag. “I’ll do it.”

  “Michelle, wait!” Mom hands off the IV bag to Michelle and steps around her to stand directly in front of me. “I wanna know what God says.”

  “What?” I ask breathlessly.

  “Mom...” Michelle’s voice is strained, a mixture of sheer exhaustion and...disbelief, probably. “You want Violet to die on this bus out here in the middle of nowhere? Indigo is out of her damn mind. You can’t continue to let her guide us into the abyss.”

  “I want to know what God says,” Mom repeats. “So please tell me, Indigo. Tell us.”

  Michelle doesn’t have to speak a word. Her expression says it all:

  Stop with the voice in your head!

  Do the right thing for Violet.

  We need to get her to a hospital!

  “Well?” Michelle breaks the silence. “What’s it gonna be, Indigo?”

  I close my eyes. Please speak to me, Voice. Tell me what we need to do. Please don’t leave me hanging this time.

  “Indigo...” The Voice whispers.

  “I’m listening!” I cry. I don’t even care if Mom and Michelle think it’s weird I’m talking to myself. It’s what they asked for, anyway. “Please. We need a word from you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  The Voice sighs. “Fine. Michelle’s right. You need to get her to a hospital.”

  I wipe my eyes before tears can fall.

  “I’m sorry, Indi. I like giving a word. I only wish I had a better one.”

  “So what do I say to my family? Tell me exactly what you want me to say. Word for word.”

  “Word for word, say this: ‘She needs to go to the hospital. It’s the best place for her now. Michelle is right.’”

  I nod. “Anything else?”

  “Tell them you all can still get her to the Wave. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe the next day when she recovers. Maybe next week. But for now, she needs more medical help than Michelle can give. Get her to the hospital. Call for the ambulance.”

  I chew my bottom lip.

  “Is God talking to you right now?” Mom asks.

  I open my eyes and stare into Mom’s, realizing that it might be the first time I’ve ever really looked deeply into my mom’s eyes. They’re brown. I don’t know why I always thought Mom’s eyes were black. And they’re vibrant. And I can see the worry etched into the fine lines of the skin around them. Skin that crinkles with her pained expression. Her eyes don’t seem cold and disengaged like I’ve thought for so many years, but rather, full, warm and... I study them closer. There’s something else there. What’s a good synonym for...want? It’s yearning. That’s what I’m seeing. Like decades of information are yearning and desperate to burst free. Stories I’ve never bothered asking her to share. Tales from her past. What was her childhood like? What were her dreams and why were they deferred? Surely she didn’t plan to grow up and drive a bus. Surely she had something else in mind for her life besides all of us. Besides...this.

  “Indigo...” Mom stresses. “We need a word. Is God talking to you or not?”

  “The Voice is talking to me.”

  “And?”

  “Yeah, Indigo.” Michelle heaves the heaviest of sighs. “Violet’s life depends on this. Enlighten us with the word of Almighty God.”

  “The Voice says—” I wipe tears as they slide down my cheeks “—that Violet needs to get to the Wave quicker than ever. He said to get the family back on the bus and drive.”

  chapter fourteen

  The Voice has stopped communicating with me. No matter how many questions I ask...he won’t respond. No matter how much I talk...he’s not listening. Or maybe he is listening and choosing not to respond to screw around with me. Maybe he’s mad at me for lying. Or maybe he was never real to begin with. It doesn’t matter anymore. The mustard seed of faith has been planted, has rooted and is growing like a wild weed. We are getting to the Wave and Violet will live. That’s all there is to it.

  Speaking of people not talking to me. Add Michelle to the list. Though in truth she’s not really talking to anybody but Pastor right now. Ever since the sun set and a blanket of darkness hijacked the sky, he’s been passing stones behind his blanket cubicle. So even though it’s late and clearly past everyone’s bedtime, nobody can sleep through the screaming. With each whimper, shriek, grunt and howl, we all sink a bit farther into our seats. This trip has turned into our very own horror movie.

  “Straight through,” I explain to Mom as she listens to my fake instructions from The Voice. “We stop for nothing but gas and restroom breaks until we get to the Airbnb in Hodell. Tomorrow we arrive at the ranger station in Kanab, Utah, where we’ll see if our numbers are called for the lottery.”

  “I can’t drive for that many hours,” Mom explains. “It’s too much for me. I’m already exhausted.”

  “Then let Drew drive while you rest.”

  Mom shakes her head. “He’ll kill us all.”

  “He can do it,” I reply simply. “The Voice says he can.” The lies just rush out of me like projectile vomit.

  Mom nods. “What’s this about a lottery, Indigo? Explain it to me.”

  “It’s protected and preserved land. Only a few get to hike the Wave. Our numbers have to be called.”

  “And what if they’re not called?”

  “The Voice said not to worry about it. It’s all taken care of. Everything is taken care of.”

  “Okay, Indigo. Anything else?”

  “Have faith,” I say like I am Moses incarnate. “Mustard seed faith, Mom. It’s really all you need.”

  * * *

  “Pastor, hold it for longer. I know you can hold it.” Michelle’s trying her hardest to speak softly to Jedidiah as we barrel down the highway with Drew at the wheel, driving like a cast member of The Fast and the Furious, but we can all still hear.

  “I’m trying,” Pastor cries.

  “Try harder. The longer you can hold it, the easier it’ll move down the canal.”

  I scoot out of my seat and head down the aisle to sit beside Violet, struggling to keep my balance as Drew switches lanes every two seconds to pass a new vehicle.

  “Hey, Vee? Feeling better?” I ask.

  “Hmm?” Violet is somewhat awake. I take her hand and hold it in mine.

  To our right, Mom rests her head on Dad’s shoulder. Her eyes are closed, but I know she’s not asleep. It almost feels insensitive to even think about sleep when Pastor is suffering so.

  “I’m sorry...” Violet whispers. “If I was mean.” She pauses to take a deep breath. “Michelle says...it’s a side effect. I...wasn’t myself. I’m—”

  “Violet, stop.” I smile even though I feel like crying. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay.”

  “You need to squeeze the tip of the penis,” Michelle instructs him.

  Brandon and Nam howl with laughter near the back of
the bus.

  I cringe. Brandon and Nam’s giggles, hoots, snorts, cackles (or any other synonym for being insensitive to another human’s pain) are more than I can bear.

  “Did she tell him to squeeze the tip of his penis?” Nam asks loud enough for the whole bus to hear.

  I turn to Violet. “Sis?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  She nods, eyes half-closed.

  I walk down the aisle and slide in beside Nam and Brandon. They have to squish together to make room for me.

  “Hey!” Brandon growls as he’s forced up against the window. “Fall back, Auntie. Dang.”

  “Yeah, Auntie,” Nam agrees. “Go sit somewhere else. What’s your issue?”

  I lean forward so no one else can hear me but them. “My issue is both of your big mouths.”

  Their eyes widen.

  “Is the word penis funny to you, Brandon, because yours is so small?”

  He shakes his head, the orange frames on his glasses sliding down his nose. “I—I dunno.”

  “What about asshole? Is that funny? Because that’s what you and Nam are being right now. Little assholes. Laughing at a man who donated his wheelchair, his bus and his time. For adults who work nonstop like Pastor Jed, time is money. And you wanna know how much he’s charging us for all of this?”

  Brandon shakes his head so hard, his glasses fall onto his lap. He snatches them up.

  “Zero dollars,” I hiss. “He has done nothing but give to us and be good to us and all you monster brats have done is laugh at his pain and misfortune.”

  Brandon’s literally shaking now. Good. Serves the little turd right.

  “So here is how things are going to go for the rest of this trip. You two are going to behave like little angels instead of demon seeds from the depths of hell.”

  “Whatever.” Nam folds his arms across his chest. “Mom says all they need is two signatures to have you committed. I heard her tell Dad that you belong in a straitjacket. You’re not the boss of us.”

  “I may not be the boss of you.” I drum my fingers on my cast. “But I am the boss of my collection of photographs. You guys know how I’m always taking pictures, right?”

  Brandon and Nam exchange horrified looks.

  “I have memory cards on board, filled with embarrassing photos of you two.” I cock my head to the side. “Like, Nam...remember when you pooped your pants at the Georgetown Morgue haunted house a few Halloweens ago? I have photographs of your shit-stained sweatpants.”

  Nam hangs his head. Brandon cracks up.

  “Oh, is that funny, Bran? Because I have a dozen frames to go along with my vivid memory of your mom testing out a YouTube makeup tutorial on you. I wonder how all of second grade would feel to see you wearing Plum Dandy eye shadow and Crème de la Crème lipstick?” I ruffle his mop of curls. “I actually liked the look on you. It made this Einstein hair-don’t you got going on really pop.”

  “Hey!” Brandon’s bottom lip quivers. “That’s private.”

  “Is it?” A smile stretches across my face. “I’m monitoring your behavior from now on. Call each other booger monsters or call Pastor Farty-Mc-Fart-a-Saurus and I’ll upload a pic onto the embarrassing family photos website and send a mass email to all the parents on your class email lists. Each disturbing thing you say and/or do.” I hold up one finger. “One pic.” I tap them gently on the cheeks. “Starting now.”

  “But, Auntie—”

  I scratch my chin. “Perhaps I’ll start with the photo of you, Nam. You know, when you came off the waterslide at Wild Waves without your swim trunks? And you had to run naked, snot-faced and crying to get a towel from your dad? Your ashy behind on display for all of Seattle to see? All footage captured by...” I tap my chest. “Yours truly.”

  “Auntie, you can’t show those pics.” Nam’s voice is weak.

  “I can do whatever I want.” They both seem to cower in fear. I pinch their cheeks. “I’m watching.” I lean forward and whisper, “I’m listening. Ready. Set. Go.”

  I scoot back down the aisle into the seat beside Violet. She’s sitting up now, rubbing her legs vigorously. “Where’d you go?”

  “Just chatting it up with Bran and Nam. Good times.”

  “Practicing being nicer?”

  “You could say that. Are your legs cramping up? You cold? I can get more blankets.”

  “I’m not cold.” She stretches out her neck to make sure no one is looking, then rolls up her pant leg. “Look.”

  I lean forward to examine her legs. Her calves are swollen. Abnormally so. It looks grotesque. It looks...deadly. A shiver rushes up my spine as I remember the words from The Voice:

  Michelle is right. She needs to get to the hospital.

  She pulls her pants back down and the bus rumbles on in the dark. I know that Violet’s swollen legs are a clear sign she’s taken a turn for the worse; somehow she knows it, too.

  “You can’t tell Michelle, Indigo. Okay?”

  I look at Violet. It’s the first time in years I’ve seen her appear a mess. Her hair is pretty much all over her head, her painted nails are chipped, her lips dry, eyes red and swollen. Dark circles are under her eyes.

  “I’m serious, Indi. You can’t tell her. When we get to the Airbnb, insist to sleep in my room. Insist to do... everything she normally does at night.”

  “But I don’t know what to do. I’m not a nurse.”

  “I can talk you through it.” She pulls her messy hair into a bun on top of her head, accentuating the dark circles under her eyes and her sunken cheeks. “Suggest she sleep in Pastor’s room...because of his kidney stones or something. Tell her... Oh, I know. Tell her it’s God’s orders. Yeah. Blame it on the voice in your head.”

  “So you basically want me to lie?”

  “Indigo, you lie all the time. And if I’m going to make this hike, I can’t have her hovering, scaring the shit out of me with all the medical jargon. It’s too much.” She sips from a bottle of water. “What does God say, anyway? Is he...talking to you...now?”

  Should I tell her? Tell her that I haven’t actually heard from The Voice since I ignored his advice? Explain that The Voice has pulled a Troy Richmond and bailed faster than I can say Hey, wait up? Then I’d have to admit that The Voice suggested she be hospitalized. Admit he warned me this very thing was going to happen. I bite the skin around my thumb. “I...don’t hear him. Right now, I mean.”

  Drew picks up the microphone. Clears his throat. “Good evening, family. Thanks to my expert driving, we made up some time from the few delays and are about fifteen minutes from the Airbnb in Hodell. Gather your things. Put on your shoes. You’re not free to move about the cabin just yet. But get ready. Ten-four.”

  Michelle is now kneeling in front of Violet and me. “Vee, I hope you don’t mind sleeping in Pastor’s room. We’ll pick one of the rooms with two beds. I can sleep on the floor. Doesn’t really matter to me. I only wanna be able to keep an eye on you two. I don’t imagine he’ll pass another stone tonight. Might even be the last of ’em.”

  Violet kicks me.

  “Ow!” I turn to Violet. “That hurt.”

  “Accident. Sorry. But...isn’t there something you wanted to tell Michelle?”

  “Um.” I turn back to Michelle. She’s glaring at me. “Uh, yeah. The Voice in my head...says I need to stay with Violet tonight. Just me and her. She and I. We. Sorry.”

  Michelle laughs. Not a ha ha laugh. The kind of laugh that says This is some bullshit. “Okay, well, I have to wash her incision. Help her take a bath. Give her her medicine and basically check on her every hour on the hour. Something you’re not equipped nor qualified to do—”

  “Indigo can do it. I’ll talk her through it all. Plus, God’s with her,” Violet explains.

  “And you’ll be close. It�
�s a house,” I add. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll walk four steps to the next room to find you.”

  “Fine.” Michelle sighs. “I officially give up. You win, Indigo.”

  She moves down the aisle.

  “Michelle’s gonna murder me in my sleep.”

  “That was brave.” Violet squeezes my hand. “Thank you, sis.”

  * * *

  As we turn into the driveway of the Airbnb in Hodell, Utah, I’m a bit surprised to see how remote it is. It’s basically the only house in sight. It’s miles and miles of dirt and rocks on acres and acres of land. A vast nothingness. In the distance are mountains, but it’s really too dark to see details, so they look more like ominous shadows, reaching high into the sky. Or maybe they look like monsters, lined up and ready to attack.

  Drew turns off the ignition and all eyes turn to take in the Airbnb house that will be our home for the night. It’s a nice-sized colonial, well lit, relatively new construction with concrete pavers that lead to the front door. Also worth noting: it’s surrounded by about a hundred American flags.

  There are two different flagpoles on opposite ends of the lawn, both with flags blowing in the wind, half-mast. I always thought a flag flying half-mast meant someone died. I really hope that’s not the case for this place.

  One monster-sized flag hangs from the side of the house, dangling from the roof to the ground.

  There are a dozen tiny flags hanging from the porch railing.

  Holiday lights in the shape of flags on the lawn.

  Red, white and blue flowers line up to look like flags.

  “This is creepy AF,” Alfred whispers, leaning his head up against the window.

  “It’s not creepy.” Dad sounds...well...creeped out, but he’s trying to keep a positive spin on the weirdness. “It’s patriotic.”

  “And I know my baby girl,” Mom adds. “She probably researched the best Airbnb with the best reviews. Right, Violet?”

  Violet shrugs. “Actually, Mom, since it was short notice... I didn’t have a ton of options that were wheelchair-accessible.”