by Melanie Dawn
I nodded. Honestly, all I wanted to do was go back to sleep. There was too much confusion in my muddled brain.
“Mrs. Honeycutt…” I heard Greg calling in the background.
“Son, she’s gonna be fine. No need to worry,” the EMT patted Greg’s shoulder assuredly.
Greg shrugged him off. “Get your hands off me, sir.” The edge in his voice managed to pull me a little out of my fog. “Mrs. Honeycutt!” His cries were frantic as he fought the guard, trying to get closer to me.
I threw my hand in the air and gave him a thumbs-up. I would be just fine, and I wanted to put him at ease. I just needed some rest… and maybe some food.
I was thinking about my rumbling stomach when a thought grabbed my heart and squeezed. Oh god, what if they see my wrist? They might fire me. Before I could think, the EMT was jerking up the sleeve of my shirt to find a vein for an IV. No! I screamed in my muffled, swimmy head.
The EMT didn’t say anything. She just looked at me with a hint of compassion and concern, and maybe even a dash of just-think-of-the-children stink eye.
“Oh my god, Salem!” Graham rushed to my bedside, glancing at the nurse who was charting my vitals. “I just got the call ten minutes ago. I tried to get here as fast as I can. What happened?”
My mouth was dry. The bright, florescent light above my bed caused me to squint my eyes. Feeling too weak to speak or move, it was as if my brain was thinking of all the right things, but the synapses didn’t seem to connect.
The nurse chimed in, “Sir, your wife is being treated for severe fatigue. We’re giving her some fluids through an IV for minor dehydration as well. She passed out while she was with a client, but with some rest, she’ll be just fine. She should be fine to go home soon. In fact, we can go ahead and get the discharge paperwork started now.”
“Thank you, nurse,” Graham nodded at her and then turned his attention toward me. “What’s going on, Salem?” he said, gently clasping my hand. For a moment I saw the compassion in his eyes that I remembered from our years of dating when we were in college—before we were sucked down into the vortex of ‘real life.’
My eyes blinked rapidly as I tried to swallow the cotton growing in my throat. “Just tired… so tired… need sleep.”
“Okay, honey,” he touched my cheek lovingly. “You sleep. I’ll go get Alexis from daycare and then I’ll be back to get you. Hopefully they will send you home by then.”
I simply nodded, my brain less receptive with each word he spoke. I could already feel my eyes rolling back into my head. Goodnight was my last thought.
“Mrs. Honeycutt?” The doctor’s voice cut through my heavenly bliss, rousing me from my deep, dreamless slumber.
“Hmm,” I stirred, my eyes trying to focus on the man in the white coat standing by my bedside.
“I’m so sorry to wake you. I’m Dr. Raman. I just wanted to discuss your treatment.” He stood at my bedside wearing a white coat.
“Okay,” I nodded weakly.
“The EMT brought your injury to my attention.” His eyes travelled pointedly to my injured wrist then back to my face. “I was wondering if we could talk about that for a moment.” His nearly black eyes looking into mine held an element of alarm.
The mention of my ‘injury’ immediately jarred my senses. “Oh, you mean my wrist?” I asked innocently.
Dr. Raman nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Do you mind if I have a look?” Reaching out, he grasped my arm and peered down at it. He turned it over to expose the thin line of a scab. My instinct was to cover it up, to hide my secret, but I didn’t. The truth of my pain was out. I couldn’t avoid it. “How did this happen, Mrs. Honeycutt?” he asked with concern.
The words refused to come. For a brief moment I considered lying, but I knew from the look on Dr. Raman’s face that there was no getting out of it. It was obvious by his expression that he already knew the truth.
“I did it,” I admitted, ashamed by my actions.
“How long ago?” he asked, releasing his grasp.
I tore my eyes away from him and stared at the stark, white hospital blanket that covered my legs. “A few days…”
“Is it something you want to talk to someone about?”
I shook my head vehemently. I was a counselor. I could talk to myself. I knew how to fix this. “I’m not going to kill myself,” I announced firmly. “I have no plans or intentions on taking my life, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Dr. Raman watched me intently over his black rimmed glasses. I returned a gaze of wide-eyed innocence, a further attempt at trying to convince him.
Finally, he said, “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to write you a prescription.” He flipped out his prescription pad and started scribbling. “It’s for an anti-depressant, but I’d like to refer you to a counselor for a follow-up.”
“Okay,” I said dejectedly, hiding the embarrassment of my wrist beneath the blanket.
Thoughts swirled in my head—defensive, wishful thoughts. I shouldn’t need a counselor. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I can snap out of it. I just need a little sleep, that’s all.
A sense of dread suddenly came over me. “Dr. Raman, please don’t tell the staff at Fairbanks about my wrist. They’ll ask me take a leave of absence. I need my job. My kids need me,” I could feel the panic welling up in my chest.
Dr. Raman shook his head, ripping the prescription he’d written off the notepad. “I will not disclose any medical information to your employer. I do, however, highly encourage you to seek counseling as soon as possible. I will have my staff supply you with a referral. Please talk to someone. You’ll be surprised of the results. Even a counselor like yourself should know that.”
“Yes, sir. And thank you,” I said, flopping my head back against my pillow, relieved.
Dr. Raman jotted a few quick notes into my chart and walked out the door. My inner plight was safe for the moment. No more raw, exposed, ugly secrets lying out on the table. I was safe… I hoped.
Four hours and one hot, bland, hospital meal later, I was on my way back home with Graham driving and Alexis snoozing in the back seat. Those few hours of sleep didn’t make me feel refreshed at all, and I could already feel the ache of despair squeezing into my thoughts. Back to real life. Back to my reality, also known as hell on earth.
I stepped into my office after a week of Dr. Raman’s ordered bed rest, also known as a total joke when you have a baby who never sleeps and a husband who never helps. I was blasted by the musty smell of a stale office. Hopefully with some cross ventilation of my open door and an open window would help air it out a bit. As I stepped over the threshold, I glanced down and saw a white piece of paper folded up on the floor. Someone must have slipped it under my door. I opened it to realize it was Chris’s handwriting.
The small gesture brought a smile on my face. These guys always knew how to lift my spirits. I’d missed them too. I was anxious to see them again.
The first thing on my agenda was to visit Malik. I’d been rushed to the hospital the day I’d planned to speak to him, so I knew I needed to smooth the waters with him immediately. If I knew him like I thought I did, he had been sitting in his bunk beating himself up over his little tirade in my office. Malik was a good kid; he just needed a chance to learn different ways of venting his frustration.
I walked down the hall toward cell block-A. Officer Blevins was standing guard.
“Good morning, Mrs. Honeycutt.” He smiled, surprised to see me. “Good to see you back.”
“Thanks, Barry. Glad to be back.” And that was the honest truth. Just being back at work felt like the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders. “I’m just coming to see Malik.”
“Good. He could really use a visit from you today.”
“That bad, huh?” I figured he’d been beating himself up about what he did.
“Worse than you think,” Barry shook his head with pity. Barry had a soft heart, just like I did. He knew the situations these kids came from, and it broke hi
s heart all the same.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I nodded resolutely.
“Thanks,” he said while he held the door open for me. “I’ll get Malik from his segregation room and meet you in the conference area.”
“Great. Thanks.”
I opened the door to the conference room and found a comfortable chair to sit in while I waited.
Before long I heard Malik’s shuffling shoes as he trudged along beside of Barry. Rising to my feet, I greeted them. “Thank you Officer Blevins.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Honeycutt.” Barry winked at me and turned around, positioning himself across the room.
“Hi, Malik,” I said.
Malik stood, staring at the floor, hanging his head in what I could only imagine as shame.
“Look, Malik, I–”
“Damn, Mrs. Honeycutt,” Malik said simultaneously. His sorrowful eyes shot up. Big brown eyes full of hurt and pain stared at me. “I’m so sorry.” Once again, he lowered his head and looked at his feet, wringing his hands in front of him.
“Malik…” I walked gingerly toward him, so as not to startle him or set him off.
His face twitched with repressed emotion. The moment my hand connected with his shoulder, he let himself go, finally exhaling the breath he’d been holding.
“It’s okay, Malik. I forgive you,” I whispered.
Without hesitation, Malik folded himself around me, wrapping me up in a tight hug. Officer Blevins stepped forward to intervene, unsure if I was comfortable with Malik’s arms around me. But I held up a hand to stop him. This needed to happen.
Malik leaned his forehead against my shoulder and shook with unyielding emotion. Not crying, just heaving gasps of remorse that tumbled out of him. “I don’t know what came over me, Mrs. Honeycutt. I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you. You are like my most favorite person on the planet right now. I mean, you’re like the closest thing I have to a mom. Know what I mean?”
I patted Malik on the shoulder, allowing him this moment to embrace me. A lot of people frowned upon hugging clients, but honestly, at that moment, I didn’t give a shit. Who knew the last time Malik had been hugged—really hugged. Those tender moments had been robbed from him as a child. Malik needed this hug. He needed to know that there was goodness in this world. This hug probably meant more to him than all of our counseling sessions combined; it was just one more small step on Malik’s road to reform.
We stood in silence. I stayed wrapped in his arms, comforting him until his sobs subsided.
I held back my own tears until I got back to my office. The minute I sat down on my chair, I let go. My moment with Malik helped me realize how much I meant to these kids. They need me, and I need them. I considered Alexis. What would she do without me? Who would get up in the middle of the night for her? As much as I despised having to do it, I knew no one would do it better for her than me. I needed help. I needed to talk to someone. But I was scared. How would it feel to reverse the role of counselor and client? How would it feel to tell my problems and admit my weaknesses to a stranger? Regardless of my fears, I knew I had to seek treatment. I dug through my purse for the card Dr. Raman had given me. Flipping it over, I dialed the number of the therapist he’d written on the back.
“Hi,” I said hesitantly when the receptionist on the other end of the line answered. “I need to schedule an appointment.”
Hell yeah! Today is the day I get to call home for the first time since I’ve been at Fairbanks. I’d been waiting for that day for way too long. I hated to admit it, but I missed my little brother, even if he was a pest.
I knew my mom was going to cry. I dreaded hearing that. I hated being the source of her tears. Just watching her cry those tears after we left visitation with dad was hard enough to handle. Knowing it was because of me that she’d be crying this time almost tore my fucking insides out. But, I couldn’t wait to hear her voice. I knew she’d been looking forward to this day too. I was sure she’d be sitting at the table, sipping her coffee and watching the daily news, anxiously awaiting my phone call.
Now if only I can only make it to 6pm. That was when I got to call her.
To help pass the time, I took out my journal… the one Mrs. H gave me after my first few sessions with her.
I don’t know what I would have done this time at Fairbanks without Mrs. H. Last time had been so different; there wasn’t a girl involved. This time I couldn’t fucking breathe most days, but Mrs. H had always been there. She had my back.
I’d been working on a song for her. Maybe I’ll get some more lyrics down today.
“Hey, baby,” my mom cooed through the phone.
“Hey, Mom,” I smiled at the sound of her oldies station on the radio in the background. It was a familiar sound that I’d actually started to miss.
“Oh my gosh, we’ve missed you around here, Chris.” Her voice wavered with emotion.
“Thanks, Ma. I’ve missed you guys too. How’s Mitch?” I sure did miss that little spitfire kid brother of mine.
“Mitch is great, honey. He misses you something fierce. The other night I found him asleep in your bed. He must have had a nightmare. You know how he sneaks into your room at night when he has those nightmares.” I could hear the sadness in her voice. I wasn’t there like I should have been. Just like dad wasn’t. I internally beat myself up for that daily.
“Yeah, I know,” I reminisced. I hated when my brother did that. So annoying. But at that moment, I would’ve given anything to give my brother a squeeze. He was a turd sometimes, but he was my brother, and I loved him.
She cleared her throat, changing the subject. “You eatin’ good, honey?”
Leave it to my mom to worry about me and my food intake. I guess that’s just typical though. I switched the receiver from one ear to the other and leaned against the metal frame of the pay phone. “Yeah. They feed us good. How’s dad? Have you heard from him lately?”
“I visited him last weekend. He’s been transferred over to Newcombe Correctional Facility for now because of overcrowding in Jackson County. He said he misses you and loves you very much. He’s proud of you, Chris. He can’t show you right now because of his situation, but I know how proud he is of you. The day you were born he told me that you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. All he ever wanted was to be a good father.”
“Tell dad I miss him and love him too. I know I messed up and landed myself back in here, but I can promise you it was for a good reason, Ma.” My mom knew my charges, but she didn’t really understand why I’d kicked the shit out of Trevor. She’d probably be proud of me if she knew. The fucking rapist that he is got what he deserved. “I know when I get outta here, Ma, I’m gonna make all this up to you. I’m going all the way. I’m gonna make you all proud.”
She sighed. “Honey, you do make us proud. Just do your time and come home, okay?” I could hear her fighting tears as she spoke. It broke my heart, just like I thought it would.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I said, “Okay, Ma. I love you.”
“Love you too,” she sobbed, unable to restrain the tears anymore. “Here’s Mitch.”
“Okay.” I heard muffled sounds as the phone was being passed to my brother.
“Hey Chris,” Mitch said. His cheerful voice did wonders for the ache in my chest.
“’Sup baby brother?”
“I’m not a baby,” he griped. He hated when I babied him.
“I know,” I laughed, “but you’ll always be my baby brother no matter how old you get. How’s school? Got a girlfriend?”
“Ew, no. Shut up.” His instant, appalled reaction had me chuckling. He was ten. I remembered being ten. Girls were the last thing on my mind, too.
He chattered on. “I got an award in art. The teacher picked my drawing to go to the county art fair.”
“Really? That’s great, Mitch. You have some real talent, bro,” I said, pacing back and forth in the three-foot span of the telephone cord. We both got our artistic
side from our dad. Made me proud that we had that connection.
He giggled. “Oh yeah, I saw that girl.”
“What girl?” I asked, stopping dead in my tracks.
Suddenly aware that this was no laughing matter, he said carefully, “That girl that came over right before you left.”
I almost felt my heart rip through my chest. “Kaitlyn? Where? Did you talk to her?”
“Uh… no,” he paused as if he thought he’d made a mistake in telling me.
“And? You gotta give me something, Mitch. Anything.” I demanded, reaching out to the wall for support.
I could feel his hesitation, almost as if it were a living breathing thing traveling through the line, and instantly I wanted to punch something. “Uh… she was with some guy. She was holding his hand. They looked like they were in love.”
In love. Those two words sucker-punched me. Fuck no. She was not in-fucking-love with someone else. No fucking way.
The moments all came rushing back to me—when I first saw her by the gymnasium, when I sang to her in class, when I danced with her under the moonlight, and when I held my hand to the glass professing my love for her as she drove away.
“Who, Mitch?” I ground out. “Who was she with?” If it was Trevor I’ll fucking kill him.
“I don’t know,” he swore, talking fast to calm me down. “Not that football player though. He was tall. A lot taller. And skinny.”
The realization hit me like a tsunami. A wall of heartbreak slammed into me, knocking the wind out of me, sucking me under. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. Oh god, she moved on. She fucking moved on!
My heart splintered into a million pieces and I fell to my knees, letting go of the receiver. It dangled below the pay phone, spinning and bouncing on its long metal cord.
“Chris? Chris?” I heard my brother calling through the speaker.
I managed to compose myself long enough to tell him I loved him and to say goodbye, but the moment I heard the click, I fucking lost it.
