by Harlow Hayes
“Of course I do.” He pointed to his sister. “She’s not very smart, and sometimes her feet stink, and she’s always telling on me. But she’s my sister and I love her.”
Well, I guess he did understand. I was being taught unconditional love by a child. He explained it better than most adults can.
“Well said, man. Well said.”
I could only give the kid his kudos before I drifted back into my own little universe. I was just schooled in love by a child. I obviously wasn’t as smart as I thought I was.
November 13
DEATH
You can never be ready for death, and at some point, it comes for us all. Death is so feared because it is not understood, and to say I completely understand it would be a lie, but when death comes for me I hope I will have the understanding to go with it peacefully. When that time comes, I don’t know what sort of legacy I will leave behind or who will even care, but I can die happy if I can say that I have endured my hardships with grace and persevered when I could. I felt that I died a thousand times this year, and each time I was resurrected stronger than I was before. Death is so natural to our universe, it seems almost unnatural to fear it because even with its sadness and ugliness, the thing once dead is regenerated and created into new earth, new life. But in most cases that beautiful thought is not enough to fill the hole in the heart that was once filled with life and love. I know I carry the loss of my grandmother with me daily. Some days are easier than others, but the loss of her physical presence is felt every day. But the love we share keeps us tethered, and I feel it here and I hope she feels it there, wherever that may be.
Chapter 29
Pot-smoking parents. I couldn’t believe it. The weed had been Sophie’s parents’ all along. They owned up to it, which took the heat off the rest us, but I wasn’t sure if it was going to help Sophie. Her chance to get her son back was still on the line, but at least it wasn’t my fault; she could now blame her parents for that. However, I was forced to submit to drug testing and wear an alcohol monitor. I was adamant in my objection initially but I realized that it could be a lot worse, so I wore the damn thing like a badge of honor. It was my proof to the world that I was a badass and not one to be trifled with, or more realistically, it showed that I was a drunk.
I walked out of clinical feeling uneasy. It had been a slow day with few clients, but I couldn’t seem to leave my problems at the door. Everyone else’s problems reminded me in some small way of my own. I couldn’t escape the shame and embarrassment of my secrets, and they hovered over me like a loudspeaker, announcing my shame to the world. What made things worse was that I couldn’t stop thinking about Niko and our fight. I hadn’t spoken to him since that day and my world seemed darker for it.
The wind was brisk and fall was in full effect, and like most things in my life, I wasn’t ready for it. I walked out of the clinic and headed for the train station. My mind was absent and I felt like a machine moving through the cold. Stiff and rigid. I had only been walking a few minutes when I heard someone call my name.
“Mara.”
I turned to see Frankie sitting in his car, the passenger side window rolled down. I stared at him for a long while. I couldn’t say anything, not yet. I just watched as the wind blew dirt and leaves up from the street. I took a deep breath.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, enraged. “Are you following me?” I kept my distance. I wanted to keep as much space between us as possible.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice low. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was sad or he had been drinking again. Frankie usually drank, but this was getting to be ridiculous.
“Well, I don’t feel like talking right now,” I snapped back.
“Could you get in, please?” he said, his speech slow.
I threw my hands down and stepped closer to the car.
“Have you been drinking?” I asked, leaning to peer in on the passenger’s side. But once I got there, I got my answer. “Are you drunk?” The smell of alcohol was radiating off of him. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. He sat there, hands on the wheel, staring at me, not answering. I remembered him at the party, how he looked, lost and disheveled. I remembered how angry I was with him and how I hated him and wished he would leave my life for good, but today he looked worse and it frightened me. “God, Frankie. Park the car so I can take you home.”
“Please, get in first. I need to talk to you,” he kept insisting, but I wasn’t getting in unless it was to take him home.
“What?” I asked. “What do you want to talk about? And why are you here in the middle of the day?”
He dropped his head in shame. “I got fired.”
“You got fired? When?”
“Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What did you do, Frankie?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes, looked the other way, and blew out some hot air. The smell that came out of his mouth made me want to gag, so I took a step back.
“Bullshit, man, it’s all bullshit. Don’t worry about that.”
“Frankie, get out, get in the back or over here, let me take you home,” I said, leaning back down to look at him face to face. I could feel my body temperature rising and the flush of anger across my face. This was all about him. Again. If I’d been smart, I would have called the police right then and there. There was no point in protecting him anymore when he didn’t give two shits about protecting me. I realized that our relationship wasn’t shit, that it had always been some twisted sort of love. Frankie always got what he wanted, what he needed, and in the process I was the one who had to suffer. Even now, he owed me the apology, but there I was again, trying to help him. Yes, many would say that I was being a good friend, making sure he got home safe, but the cops could do that. I didn’t need to sacrifice myself anymore.
“No, I need to talk to you first, get in. Look, I’ll park the car.” He parked the car in a fire lane with the tail of the car still sticking out on the street. Traffic had picked up, so my ears were overwhelmed with the sound of horns and angry ‘fuck yous’ flying out of car windows. Feeling the pressure, I got in and he pulled the car closer to the curb.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I miss you, MJ.”
“Oh my God, Frankie” I said, burying my face in my hands.
Frankie was beyond drunk and his slurred speech was the proof.
“Look, I’m telling you this because I’m real,” he said, pounding on his chest. “I’m a real kind of guy. I know you miss me.” He reached his hand out to grab my leg.
“Frankie…” I brushed his hand away from me.
“Why are you acting like that?” he asked, his voice hostile.
“Like what, Frankie?” I barked back. “How am I supposed to act? After what you did to me, I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to talk to you.”
His chin fell to his chest in shame.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” I asked. I knew he was trying to be sincere even in his drunken stupor, but I couldn’t take it anymore. He had reached his sorry quota with me.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“You know what? Fuck you, Frankie. You’re always fucking sorry, have been sorry since college. Sorry for then, sorry for now. Sorry for humiliating me, sorry for fucking Kate…”
“Oh, come on! You’re mad about that, still?”
I stared at him so hard I could have lasered his face off with my eyes.
“You’re fucking crazy,” I said.
“I’m not crazy. You can’t be mad about her. You cut me off, remember? But I have to admit, everyone else has been very disappointing.”
He reached over to grab my chin.
“Don’t touch me,” I said as I swatted his hand away.
“God, I was just messing with you,” he said.
“I’m not in the mood to be messed with,” I yelled.
“God, you’re so fucked up.”
“If I’m so fucked up, then why do you bother? Maybe if you leave me alone, I won’t be.” My blood was boiling.
He readjusted himself in his seat. “Let’s go do something fun.”
He had really lost his mind.
“Frankie, I’m taking you home.”
“No, we’re going to go have fun again like we used to, a few drinks, a few laughs.”
“No, Frankie, I’m taking you home.” I reached for the door handle to get out.
“No,” Frankie said, and I heard the car door lock.
“What are you doing?” My throat felt swollen and my mouth dry. I reached down to the floor board, rummaging my hand through my bag, feeling for my phone. “I’m calling the police.”
The car started to move out of the parking space and into the street. Cars started honking at us and people on the street started yelling, too, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“Calm down,” Frankie said, the car moving down the street.
“Stop, Frankie!”
But I was too late. We only made it several yards before Frankie crashed into a parked car.
The air bag deployed and popped me in the nose. I reached over to unlock the door and stepped out of the car while Frankie jumped out on his side. I nearly lost my footing but a woman came rushing to my side and helped brace me.
“Miss, are you okay?”
“What?” I asked, slightly confused myself, but I wasn’t hurt, just disconcerted.
“We’ve called for help,” another lady said, approaching me. I sat down on the curb to ease my dizziness.
“Stop that guy!” one of the women yelled, pointing at Frankie, who was wandering around aimlessly in the streets.
“Sir, you need to calm down,” a man said, approaching Frankie. Frankie turned around at that moment and saw his car. His face was painted with shock and awe as he stood there taking in the damage.
“Sir,” another man said, stopping the oncoming traffic so that they wouldn’t hit Frankie.
“Don’t talk to me,” Frankie said.
One of the men got close to him and tapped him on his shoulder to get his attention.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” He circled the car again, this time looking for something.
“Mara! Mara!” he shouted.
I sat there, watching and saying nothing. How could I have been so stupid? The whole time the signs were right in front of my face and I didn’t process them. I had dealt with alcoholics before but had I been so distracted that I didn’t see it in Frankie. I didn’t see what he was becoming. He was failing at life and I didn’t see it. The party should have been the giveaway but I was too consumed with my own anger and hatred towards him. I was seeing him for who he was for the first time, and he had a problem that was just as big as mine.
“Miss, can you hear me?” some lady asked.
I looked down at myself and saw the bloodstains on my shirt and hands.
“I think I’m fine. Just a bloody nose.” I was regaining my focus when I saw a man yelling in the street, approaching Frankie.
“That’s my car!”
Frankie waved him off.
“Fuck your car,” he said. “Where’s Mara? Is she okay?”
He looked around and when his eyes landed on me, he flipped out.
“Mara… I hurt her, oh my God. I hurt her,” he said, thrashing about. His pain, his anguish played out in front of me and it scared me to death.
The cops and paramedics arrived and I watched two officers approach him.
“Sir,” one said, grabbing Frankie by the arm. Frankie pushed him away and started walking towards me from the street.
“Get off me! She’s my girl!” Frankie yelled.
“Keep him away,” one of the women yelled.
“Sir, you are under arrest,” the smaller cop said.
Frankie kept grunting and thrashing about. The larger cop pulled him down onto the ground and the other put handcuffs on him, but he kept on shouting and his cries were like a knife to my ears. They pulled him up off the ground and Frankie’s eyes locked on me as they dragged him into the back of the police car kicking and screaming.
“Get off me! Mara! Is she okay? That’s my girl! Mara, I love you! I love you!”
I said nothing. I did nothing. I could only watch as my heart was run through the shredder. I blamed myself. How did I not see this? How could I have let this get so far? Frankie was a raging alcoholic.
November 20
HAPPINESS
I’m happy today, then not happy tomorrow, and the cycle continues. I’ve spent so much time trying to find happiness that I forgot to be happy. I keep looking for happiness outside of myself and I cling to that falsehood now, even though I know it is unstable. I wanted to be Dr. Goodwin, but I don’t know what that means anymore. The thought doesn’t make me happy and neither does the work that is required to get there. I am so sick of papers and books and research. What I crave is the connection, what I need is to be in there with people, actually helping them and getting out of my way. If I seek only happiness, I feel that I will always be disappointed since it is dependent on external circumstances, and mine are in constant flux, but if I can find joy, I think I might have a chance…
JOY
Joy. It’s there, deep within me. If I let myself die and be reborn I can come back to this world naked, free of any baggage that once weighed me down. In that nakedness, I can be free and seen for the individual that I am and not as the selfish and emotionally drained creature that I once was. I am a woman with the desire to be present and know that I am well. I don’t want to fight with myself and I don’t want to fight with others. There is a sense of purpose that surrounds me, but I don’t know exactly what is to be done about it, not yet, and for the first time in my life I’m fine with that. I am fine with not knowing and I think that is where my joy will begin.
Chapter 30
I walked into the house cold, hungry, and angry. My head hurt so bad I felt like my brain had been chained to my ankles and dragged on the ground behind me the whole way home. I didn’t want to see anyone. I had gone to the hospital just in case, to be sure that I wasn’t going to start passing out again, or worse. Fortunately I only had a bruised nose and a blood-stained dress shirt. I was hoping that no one was home, but as soon as the door shut, Kate came out of her bedroom, dropping the glass she was carrying once she saw me. The sound of the shattering glass pierced my ears, making my head feel as though someone had just driven a nail through it.
“Mara! What the hell happened to you?” she asked, her eyes scanning my body, assessing every bloodstain and every scratch.
“I was in an accident,” I said as I walked past her, dropping my bag to the ground before I flopped onto the couch.
She rushed over to me and planted herself slowly on the cushion next to me.
“Are you okay?” she said, brushing the hair out of my face, continuing her assessment. “What happened? Was anyone with you?”
I brushed her hand away, hesitated, then finally said it.
“Frankie.”
“Oh my God, is he okay?”
“No, he’s not okay,” I snapped. “They arrested him.”
“What?” she asked cautiously. She leaned away from me, preparing herself for my reaction.
I calmed myself down enough to answer.
“He was drunk. He’s always drunk,” I said, leaning back further into the couch.
“You got in the car with him when he was drunk?” she asked, all authoritarian like.
“No… that’s not what happened. I didn’t know…”
“What didn’t you know?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”
“This whole time, I didn’t know. I didn’t know that the drinking was this bad.” I slipped my ponytail holder off and threw it on the ottoman. “It was just a few bad moments… I knew he was off, he seemed off, but not a full-blown alcoholic. I am a horrible friend.”
“Whatever is going on, don
’t blame yourself. Don’t do it. You didn’t make him drink.”
I could barely comprehend what she was saying.
“I knew he drank, but even at the party… I didn’t know it had gotten to be like this… even then, it didn’t click, not until today.”
“Look, Mara, I know that you and I haven’t been on the best of terms since the party and I just wanted to clear the tension.”
This was not the time for her to “clear the tension.” I could feel the tears begin to build up in my eyes but anger came out instead.
“What tension?” I quipped. “You two did what you did. Frankie isn’t my boyfriend, hasn’t been for a long time. You don’t owe me any type of explanation.” I stood up and walked to my bedroom. “I don’t know what Frankie told you, and I never told you anything about our relationship, so…” I shrugged my shoulders. “But this is the shit he does. He always thinks only about himself, and he didn’t care whether it hurt me or you.”
“He’s damaged, Mara, you both are.”
I paused in my tracks and stared at her. She corrected herself quickly.
“Well, maybe damaged isn’t right word, but you’re both hurting.”
I turned around and leaned against the doorway, exhausted, tired of talking, standing; even breathing was an effort.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I just want to go to bed.”
“Mara, you need to find it in yourself to face it. It’s not going away.”
“I know it’s not going away. I face it every day when I wake up, when I walk out the door, but I can’t worry about that right now. I’m going to bed.”
I turned around to shut my door, and right before it shut I heard her call my name.
“Mara…”
But I didn’t wait to hear what she had to say. All I wanted to hear was the sound of my door shutting on her voice, shutting her out, and I laid on my bed and embraced the silence.
November 28
FAITH
I have tried so hard to have faith and hope that things would be getting better, but they seem to only get worse. I don’t know how to keep the optimism alive when things, terrible things, seem to happen one after the other. I admire people who have strong faith in God, humanity, and themselves, but I can’t seem to grasp hold of it. I don’t think I should try to hold out faith for other people because look where it has gotten me. I’m not sure I should keep the faith for myself either because I know I have disappointed myself more than once. What is there to have faith in anymore when all things are fickle? I feel defeated, but again, what I feel may be misleading me as well, because faith isn’t feeling, it is trust, trust in yourself and the potential that you and the people around you have to be better.
