by Sarah Mussi
And I do.
It’s quite simple.
‘Good,’ I say. ‘We understand each other. Goodbye and good luck with the rest of your sorry little life, Fletcher.’
I call to the Alien. It jumps into my arms like a loving puppy. I turn on my heel. I walk out of the door. I don’t slam it, because I’m no longer emotionally engaged with him. I’ve just relocated myself. I’m floating out over the Milky Way into Outer Space. A gentle wind is rippling towards me from a humongous black hole. It’s teasing out the strands of my hair. But I leave it behind. I close the door in a very respectable and ladylike way.
I leave him.
I leave the black hole to swallow him up.
Before I go to sleep I email Kerstin. I’m so furious at her. I want to blame her. If she’d bothered to help, this might never have happened. Fletcher might not have given up on me. I do blame her. She was supposed to be a friend.
Dear Kerstin,
I guess you haven’t been able to find out anything about my early history. I can’t lie, I’m pretty disappointed. I don’t know how to think about this. I really need that info. I explained to you that it’s mega important. You said you’d do anything for me. I’m struggling with how that fits in with you not having done this – the one thing I asked for. Anyway, don’t bother any more. It doesn’t matter. Here in rehab we learn a bit about karma – what goes around comes around. LOL.
X Dani
Flight Three
Wisdom to Understand
Step Eight
Willing to Make Amends
42
I wake up with the word ‘pervert’ going round and round inside my head.
There’s something unwholesome yet addictive about it. I grasp it with the hands of my mind. It dances in front of my eyes, echoes in my ears. It’s outlined in neon lights.
Fletcher has given up on me.
I get up. I walk to the little sink, reach for a glass and absent-mindedly pour myself a cup full of water.
Fletcher called me a bitch.
These days I’ve been rationing even water, in case it makes the scales go up. But this morning for some strange reason I don’t care. I sit on the edge of the bed and look at the word ‘pervert’ as it dances in front of my eyes.
Fletcher said I was cold.
I sip the water.
And my mother was a pervert.
And suddenly it comes to me.
I cannot quite hold on to it.
Fletcher, I’ve remembered . . .
The glass slips from my hand, breaks, and water sprays cold on to my feet and legs.
There was a third person in the room.
The word ‘pervert’ makes me see him. He dances in front of my eyes. Huge, arms like tentacles. His footsteps echo in my ears. My insides dissolve. The smell of him. His face is outlined in neon lights.
And suddenly I’m back there . . .
I’m sitting on the floor with my eyes wide open, and the footsteps are coming, and my mother is trying to hold the door handle shut, which is strange because we’re locked in, and she should be trying to open it.
I can’t close my eyes because I know something terrible is going to happen.
My mother isn’t strong enough to stop the door opening. She cries and falls. I hear her elbow; I hear her shoulder hit the floor.
And I see him walk into the room. Behind him is a soft luminous light. And the word ‘pervert’ dances around him and rolls itself into a ball and zooms straight, like a bullet, in between his eyes, straight into the face of the man standing in the doorway.
He steps into the room.
My mother crawls across the floor and holds his ankle.
‘No, leave her alone,’ she pleads. ‘Don’t touch her. Please, for the pity of God! Leave her alone.’
The man shakes her hand off. Kicks her in the face.
He steps towards me.
I wet myself.
43
My heart floods. My knees tremble. I brush the water off my legs.
For some reason I don’t curl my Thinness into me and hug it close.
Instead, I systematically bend down and pick up the pieces of the glass. There are four large pieces and two smaller bits. Tenderly, I put them back together and balance the shards as best I can, until the glass still looks like itself, though shattered and broken.
I place it back on the shelf above the sink.
It looks whole. It pretends it isn’t destroyed.
And the darkness falls away from me.
And I am walking in the light.
And a surge of power comes over me.
And I know a number of things, and some of them are dreadful and some of them are beautiful.
44
The man steps towards me.
My mother screams. Begs. Pleads. I cannot look when he turns. I hear the blows, the crack of her head against the wall. And I know that in the room there is a darkness, and the darkness suffocates us and swallows me up.
And the man is still stepping towards me.
And I realize I don’t have to be there. I can escape into the darkness.
So I look across at my mother and I smile at her. Because she has tried to defend me. And she’s hurting. And that means she loves me. And knowing that I am loved by her defeats all the darkness.
And after the third person has done to me all that he can, and he has gone away, and the door is locked again, my mother drags herself up and picks up the bowl that he placed on the floor.
She crawls to my side and puts the food in front of me and holds me very tenderly and says, ‘Oh, my poor baby, my poor baby.’
And I say, ‘Did he hurt you, Mummy?’
And after some time she says, ‘Will you eat?’
And I say, ‘You eat too, Mummy?’
And she says, ‘I’m not hungry.’
And I look at the food. So little. It is not enough for both of us.
‘Please eat it, my darling,’ she says. ‘I’m really not very hungry at all, and I like being thin.’
And she is thin. I can feel her Thinness as she holds me. And I eat the food because I’m very hungry, but I know I ate the food yesterday and I ate the food the day before.
And I’m very sure that she must be very hungry too.
But she loves me, and her Thinness comforts me, so I eat all the food.
45
And the tendrils of the darkness withdraw and I step into the light.
And I know that I am loved, in the most powerful way, and I know that I am awesome and I know that nothing that happened in that room can steal that away from me.
And I know that I have been punishing myself ever since. Punishing myself for having eaten the food that my mother gave me.
Searching for her Thinness.
Starving her to death.
46
I’m so happy. I’m so excited. It feels like all the sunshine in the universe is pouring through me, that the blood in my veins is liquid heat. I must find Fletcher! I must tell him. I must explain why I’ve lived all these years in the darkness. Why I’ve done such dreadful things. I must thank him. I must tell him how that one word he dragged out of the black hole inside himself has freed me.
He will be so pleased.
He doesn’t really mean it’s over.
I can show him I’m not cold.
He wanted to help me and now he has.
I’m so excited; I think I might even eat something at breakfast. I don’t need to get there first. I look at the broken glass delicately balanced together. It’s broken but it’s still whole! All the pieces are still there.
I get down to breakfast. I look at all the food on the self-service counter. I can eat! I can give myself permission to eat something today. My mother gave me food; she wants me to eat. She wants me to eat the best things there are.
An apple winks at me from the top of a pile. It’s rosy on one side, delicate yellow-green on the other, with the prettiest dapples. Today I will eat an appl
e. No longer forbidden fruit. This rosy, green, dappled apple will be the fruit of knowledge. Of self-knowledge!
Suddenly I’m waxing all metaphoric and poetic, and it’s cheesy and it’s probably all been said before, but it’s not fake!
And it’s not funny.
It’s real.
I pick the apple off the pile. I cross to the table by the window. I sit and wait.
I don’t eat it, because I want to share this moment with Fletcher.
I wait for Fletcher to join me.
Outside the sun is shining down across the lawn, across the stone steps, catching sparkles from the little fountain. Today is a new day. Today I can walk in the light all day. Today I can bite into an apple, feel the crisp skin break beneath my teeth. Feel the squirt of apple juice hit the roof of my mouth.
WITH NO STRATEGIES.
And Fletcher will be able to come back to Circle Time.
A shiver of pleasure contracts in my throat at the thought. My eyes actually start to water.
NO STRATEGIES.
I’m not looking for points.
I was loved.
I WAS LOVED.
And, now I come to think of it, even the Alien loved me. Though weirdly he isn’t around now.
Oh, I just can’t wait for Fletcher to come. I’m wanting him so badly. I want to say sorry. I want to tell him I can heal now. My body is singing to be alive. Singing to be near him. I can be there for him. We can make this work. We can start again. We can get that bedsit. We can get through each day being there for each other.
We really can make this work.
Fletcher does not come.
Perhaps he’s mad at me. Of course he’s mad at me. I was horrible to him yesterday. I said unforgivable things. His mother was a bitch. He needed me so badly. And my mother loved me. And he tried so hard to save me. And I locked him out. Of course he’s mad at me. I reach for my phone.
After breakfast I’m going to find him. I’m going to make a true apology. I imagine going down on my knees. I don’t care. I’m going to be very dramatic. I’ll throw out my arms beseechingly.
No.
I banish that image from my head. I don’t want to be affected or pretentious or manipulative. No more starring in my own movie. I just want to tell him how really, really, really, really, really sorry I am. How wrong I got it. How much we need each other. How important it is to try again. How we can do it. Just stick together. Just believe in each other.
But then Kerstin arrives.
One of the very helpful members of staff informs me she’s waiting in the conservatory.
47
My heart sinks.
I’d forgotten about Kerstin.
I put the apple down. I leave the refectory.
Daisy Bank Rehab Centre encourages visitors. They encourage interaction with the Real World.
I walk down the corridor to the visitors’ section.
I don’t know why they call it the Real World. As if they have a monopoly on reality.
Ceramic tiles wink up at me.
If I refuse to visit with Kerstin it would be making a statement. A statement that would be noticed – especially by Judith.
It might involve hours of individual psychotherapy to help me understand why I’m isolating myself despite the fact that the Real World wants to reach out to me.
I sigh.
The wall clock chimes the hour. 9:00a.m.
I can make it quick. Maybe?
Kerstin is bound to be pissed off about the email. That’s why she’s come so early.
She’s furious.
She’s planning on annihilating me.
She’s screaming for blood.
I can tell her something, then I can leave. Give her biscuits. Smile a lot, say, ‘It’s all my fault. Mood swings. My illness, you know? I’m sorry.’ That usually works. Old lying patterns. I can’t help it. The last person I want to see is Kerstin.
When I was so happy.
I push open the glass doors to the visitor’s centre.
She’s so manipulative.
She’s unreal.
The place smells of floral disinfectant.
This is reality. It smacks you down.
Just when you’ve risen up.
I don’t know why I even asked her to help me.
Everything about her is so faultless.
So fake.
If that is what the Real World is like.
They shouldn’t call it the Real World.
48
I can see from the way Kerstin is sitting, smack in the middle of the wicker-cane sofa, that she is about to play death chess.
I used to play chess. I was quite good at it. It was the idea of running a strategy that appealed. It’s always about power and control.
Any good chess manual will tell you that you must gain control of the centre of the board. Once you have control of the centre, you have control of the entire game.
Kerstin is sitting in the centre of the board, smack in the middle of the cane sofa, smack in the middle of the conservatory. She has purposely placed herself there. She isn’t mucking about. She has come to kill. She has come to triumph. She’s already countless moves ahead. And I can see that she has plenty of other gambits up her sleeve.
I must be careful.
I’ve given up strategies.
I will need protective armour.
I will run a sub-strategy.
I will put on my rubber diving suit.
I will follow Tony’s advice.
Detach.
Observe. Don’t absorb.
Watch what it’s doing, follow every flicker of the eyebrow, every wave of the hand. Notice if it leans forward or falls back in its seat. Listen to the feeling behind its words. Breathe. Think how you feel.
Don’t react.
Its words will be bullets aimed to kill.
Notice where the bullets are aimed: at your mind, your hair, your heart, your belly.
Zip fast your rubber suit, my darling baby; the bullets will bounce right off you.
Nothing can be absorbed through a rubber bodysuit.
I yank the zip tight. I pull the hood over my head. I put on my visor. And for good measure I plug a breathing tube into my mouth and link it up to an oxygen tank. And then I sit like a frogman in front of it.
‘You look very pretty today.’ It starts.
I do not look pretty. I’m wearing a frogman’s diving suit – you can’t even see anything of me. That bullet doesn’t even need to be bounced off. It’s totally wide of the mark.
I don’t respond. I don’t want to play this game with it.
‘Hi, Dani.’ It flutters a row of fingers at me; delicately manicured nails flash red.
I notice. It’s warning me. There will be blood.
I wish I could go straight to Fletcher. He has never flashed red fingernails at me in this menacing way.
‘Now, hmmm,’ it says. ‘I just had a chance to read through really carefully that email you sent me . . . Hmmm . . . ’
I hate ‘hmmm’. It’s a cleverly reproachful, cleverly thoughtful, cleverly calculated, menacing put-down.
I take a sip of oxygen. That bullet nearly got me, right here at the side of my neck. I can feel the bruise.
‘Darling, I was really upset by it. You seemed to be suggesting that I don’t support your recovery because I’ve not rung people up and tried to find out things about that newspaper report.’
Here it comes! A rapid round of fire from a MAC-10. I mentally switch into The Matrix style and become the One. I warp and bend, and when I’m not quick enough and the bullet hits, I let the rubber absorb it, just enough to bounce it back. The words ‘newspaper report’ bounce off my heart and clatter loudly to the floor.
Oh, Fletcher. I did try. I really did.
‘But you know that’s utterly untrue! What you said was very mean and spiteful, and I’m deeply wounded by it.’ It delivers this in a single spraying action and reloads the MAC-10.
I giv
e it a silent handclap. Oh, brilliant – from ‘suggesting’ to ‘saying’ in a seamless transition with added insults.
What am I supposed to feel now? Sorry for her?
Be very careful. You slipped, Dani.
Feel sorry for IT. Not her. IT.
Wow, she’s good at this.
Double whammy.
Well done, Kerstin. Now we’ve established that I’m the baddie and we have to be worried about how hurt you are – not how hurt I was/am, or how let down I feel . . . I get it! A hierarchy of hurts. Plus you still didn’t bother to find out anything about the news report for me.
Despite all your promises.
Double double whammy.
I take a deep breath. I reassure myself: In my last message I was simply stating my feelings. Detach.
Don’t get defensive.
Observe. Don’t absorb.
I adjust my visor. I grip my breathing tube in between my teeth. I’ll be OK. The bullets marked You know that is utterly untrue don’t hurt at all. She can’t see inside my brain and know what I know. My beliefs are safe.
Christ, how I wish I could go to Fletcher right now and stop playing this stupid death match.
I must not resort to old tactics; I will not offer Kerstin a biscuit.
I hope she gets fat.
I hate myself for thinking that.
I will try to be honest and open and willing . . . I probably was blaming her.
I don’t want to play games.
I don’t want to hate myself.
I actually was blaming her.
She has a point. My email was toxic.
I don’t want to hate her.
I was upset.
Kerstin draws in another breath.
I brace myself.
‘To be honest,’ she says, ‘I take the view that we have to be extremely cautious not to be seen to be meddling in business that we have no right to meddle in.’
Surely my past is my business?
‘There are evil people out there who, in covering their own arses, are ready to point fingers and take us down.’
WHAAA?
Where did that come from?
WHO? WHY?
Uh?
That’s crazy, paranoid thinking!
