The Idyllic Chaos of My So-Called Life

by Amy-Noelle Smith

  I lay back on my side of the bed and attempted to catch my breath. “Good night,” I said as I rolled away from him.

  “Good night,” he whispered.

  The next morning came in what seemed like a flash. I usually woke up at least two or three times each night, looked at the clock and then took great pleasure in the amount of time I had left before I had to wake up. Last night I slept straight through the night, and now felt like I’d gotten short-changed on a good night’s sleep.

  I woke to the sound of the clock alarm, and slammed it five times before I finally yielded. I jumped in the shower, and changed into a black T-shirt with a silver flower emblazoned on the front, and a pair of indigo jeans. I took my wet curly hair and methodically straightened it out with a blow dryer, flat iron and a lot of smoothing cream until it resembled topaz-colored liquid glass. I glanced out into the room, and saw that Will was still sleeping. Actually he was snoring, yuck.

  I put on my black sandals, took out the brown paper bag I’d brought with me, went over to Will, and gently shook his shoulder to try to wake him. He didn’t budge the first time, or the second. After that, I graduated from a gentle shake to a more forceful push. When that didn’t work I pinched his nose shut, and he finally opened his eyes.

  “Hi. I’m going to go. Can I borrow your truck?” I kept my voice low.

  “My keys are on the table,” he mumbled with his face still in the down pillow, rubbing his nose.

  “—kay, see you in a few hours.” I walked with light feet over to the table to grab the keys, and walked out the door.

  I pulled up to the complex, which had several buildings that housed maybe, a hundred women. The building looked new, with clean-cut lines with brick and beige paint around the trim. I circled around the looped driveway and pulled the truck into a spot furthest away from the main building.

  I took my purse and brown paper bag and walked up the steep sidewalk to the front door, where I saw a plaque that read: A World Away From the Everyday.

  I passed through the automatic doors and took a penetrating breath as the automatic doors paused before I was allowed to enter the building. This was it.

  It was difficult for me to establish a succession of linear and coherent thoughts. What I was going to say first, second, and so on. Mostly I had random images surging in and out of my consciousness without any discernable order. This made me nervous, and I’d felt like I’d lost the small measure of composure I had when I’d walked into the building.

  I walked up to the semi-circular front desk and gave the receptionist my name. She looked up at me with questioning eyes and punched the keys on her computer, checking the visitors’ list. She instructed me without any hint of compassion in her voice to show her my I.D. I fumbled through my purse, pulled out my old ratty black wallet, and pulled out the driver’s licence from its clear plastic shell.

  She looked back at me coldly as she handed me my license. “Pass through these doors, and go straight. You’ll see a sign marked visitor’s room. Go in and take a seat wherever you like.” She used her fingers like a flight attendant showing me where to go.

  I walked the green mile down to the visitors’ area with an immeasurable amount of nervous energy. I put my two fingers up to my neck to feel my quickened pulse, and felt the irregularity of the beats. Thump...thump...tha-thump-thump.........thump. I thought at some point I may have been having a heart attack. I tried to breath in and out with some measure of regularity to calm myself down. I was fearful that I would whip myself into some kind of quiet frenzy, and pass out or have a seizure, or something.

  I walked through the doors into a sparsely populated room. There were a few people strewn across the room sitting at tables. I took a seat at an oblong faux wooden table with the names Eddie and Misty scratched into the top. The walls of the room were white. The kind of white that burned my retinas, and made me see spots if I looked at it too long. There was a Coke machine and a candy machine sitting against the wall. I searched my pockets for some change for a drink to moisten my dry mouth and throat. I searched through my purse, and located one quarter, three dimes, and five nickels. I counted through the change until I reached the total, eighty cents. I checked the machine. One dollar twenty-five cents...damn! It seemed that my throat would just have to remain dusty for the duration of my visit, which now more than ever I intended on keeping very brief.

  I sat there tracing my finger along the carved names on the top of the old table. I spotted a figure, petite with an uncluttered face free from the dark circles and sunbursts of ruptured blood vessels that I’d become accustomed to in the past.

  She moved toward the table with great trepidation. She moved slowly and methodically, scanning my face and hair, maybe trying to figure out if I was her daughter. It occurred to me that she may not even remember what I looked like anymore since we’d spent the last five years or so apart.

  She came to the edge of the table, and with squinted eyes said, “Astrid, is that you?”

  I sat there with my hand on the paper sack I’d brought, and shook my head up and down to signify I was Astrid, her forgotten daughter.

  A—pulled up a chair across from me and sat down. I was glad she didn’t try to hold up the pretense of mother by giving me a hug. She even knew that hugs were not something that she deserved to give or receive. My knee bounced up-down-up down in a quick rhythmic fashion.

  “I’m glad you came. I’ve been doin’ real good here. I got moved here for good behavior. They’re really helping me to turn my life around—to make better choices. Don’t I look better?” she said in a proud tone, smoothing her hair back away from her face so that I could get a better look.

  “So I’m goin’ to these classes where I talk about my feelings and stuff, and why I do what I do. Our counsellor, she’s really nice. Some of the people in the group are total pains though. See that one over there,” she pointed to a woman across the room, “she thinks she’s something else I tell you—real stuck up. You’d be proud of me sweetheart. I’m doin’ real good now.”

  As I sat there and listened to her ramble incessantly about nothing I cared about, I became angry. I thought, not even a how are you came out of her mouth. Not an I’m sorry, nothing. She was the same selfish woman she’d always been, just without the drugs this time. It occurred to me that the drugs hadn’t made her selfish. That was her essence. She was completely egocentric. She’d always been a selfish person—the drugs had just intensified her basic character traits.

  I took the paper bag off of the chair and placed it on top of the table.

  “What’s that?” she asked, still ruminating about her imagined victory.

  I smiled contemptuously. She had no idea what was about to hit her. I took out the objects from the bag: a belt, a scarf, and a pack of cigarettes. Her face, still smiling and wide-eyed, looked a bit more perplexed than pleased now.

  I took the black leather belt and unraveled it from its coil. “Well, see this belt here. This belt was the weapon of choice for my second foster mother. Yes, I believe I was ten, had to go to the hospital. I got twenty-four stitches in my side, right here,” I said, pointing to the right side of my rib cage. “And this little number right here,” I said, picking up the red scarf that lay in tatters on the table. “This is what my foster brother used to tie my hands together before he threw me in the closet for the night. Pretty isn’t it.” I sardonically continued to puncture her glow, “and finally this pack of cigarettes. Ah, yes, my third—wait, no fourth foster mother put these little beauties out right here.” I turned my left arm over so that she could see the inside of the arm that contained dime-sized pink circles. “So you see, I’m real glad you’re doing good. But really, I guess I couldn’t care less. You haven’t even asked me how I’ve been, how was my trip, anything. You haven’t stopped talking about yourself since you sat down. I don’t know why I thought you’d be any different. The drugs weren’t your problem. You are the problem!” I left the items on the table and grabbed my pu
rse as I ran out of the room through the heavy doors. I heard a faint call behind me, but refused to look backward. My eyes were filling up with salty, angry, childish tears. I wouldn’t let her see my eyes well up. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. I thought back to the quotation from one of my favorite books I’d adopted as my mantra. My feelings can’t be hurt where I have none. She could just look at those things and swim in her guilt—supposing she had any.

  I rushed out to the truck with a lump lodged in my throat and tears cascading down my face. I was so angry I wanted to explode out of my own skin, ripping it to shreds, destroying myself and everything around me. I drove without thinking back to the hotel. I clutched the steering wheel, strangling it between my purple and white knuckles. I fought against some of the random thoughts that invaded my mind. Just drive it into a tree, who gives a shit!

  I made it back to the hotel, but didn’t remember the route I’d taken to get there. The tears dried on my cheek and the lump had disappeared from my throat, but the contempt I had for the human race that filled my body was alive and ready to do some damage.

  I ran up to the room, and once inside took my purse and tossed it on the bed. “You ready. Let’s go...now.”

  Will looked at me with surprise. “Okay, um, just give me a second.”

  “I don’t have all day. I wanna get out of here.”

  “How did everything go?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I answered with disdain in my voice.

  “Astrid, come on, you need to get it off your chest.”

  “Would you just leave it...goddamnit! I’m so sick and tired of you, and your holier than thou attitude. You think you’re so frickin’ smart, don’t you. Poor little Astrid. You just feel sorry for me.” I had escalated from sarcasm into rage. “I’m so fuckin’ sick of you—of everyone.” Without thinking I picked up one of the glasses on the table and hurled it across the room at Will. He jumped out of the way as I grabbed my purse. “I ain’t goin’ back. Screw all of ya’ll.”

  Will lunged behind me and grabbed me by my purse, and my body lurched backward.

  “I’m not gonna let you go. You’re in no shape,” he said throwing both his hands around my body.

  “Let go of me now!” I demanded as I tried to stomp his foot with mine.

  “Astrid, enough,” he said, still restraining my body.

  “Just let me go,” I begged, my anger turning to tears. “Please.”

  “Shh, shhh, I’ve got you.” He loosened his grip as my body crumbled to the floor.

  “Please. I’m not worth it. Just let me—”

  “Never,” he insisted, his voice melodic and soothing.

  “I hate her. I hate her so much.” I continued to sob into my hands, and wondered how did Will have the capacity to understand me and my pain without casting judgment.

  I’d spent so much time being around people who’d made me feel bad about myself. It was a strange feeling to be around someone who made me feel good about who I was. Not ashamed, not angry, just able to be me, without shame.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The days during the month of July weren't exactly hot, but did provide a modicum of the summer warmth I’d been yearning for since April. The blue waters that brought in the tourists were still icy, but it didn’t seem to hinder their summer water activities.

  The town and marina that had doubled as a ghost town during the late winter and early spring months came alive with downstaters that traveled up north for the weekend. If it weren’t for the crispness that lingered in the air, you would have thought you were in a Florida beach town.

  The streets were now lined with decorative magenta flowers hanging from the curved retro streetlights that went up and down the curb. In the brightness of summer the buildings blazed in magnificent shades of azure, canary and red. I’d never noticed before how startlingly “southern” it all looked when it wasn’t buried under mountains of snow.

  I guess Will was technically my boyfriend, but I still referred to him as a friend. In a way, I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, with Audrey and Will. What I never saw coming in a million years was that the other shoe was about to not only drop, but shatter as it hit the ground, and it would have nothing to do with Audrey or Will.

  I was asleep, not a deep sleep but my usual light sleep where the subtle noises outside my window woke me up every three to four hours. The startling sound of the ringing phone brought me out of my slumber for good. I looked over to the clock, and it read one fifty-two a.m. I heard Audrey’s voice, but could only hear the muffled sounds of her speech. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, but the tone in her voice was reassuring.

  I wearily pulled myself out of bed and staggered with one eye open out into the living room. “What’s goin’ on?” I mumbled, my tongue dry and coated with what felt like paste.

  “Nothing, just go back to bed Astrid,” Audrey said as she grabbed the keys to Lucy’s house next door.

  “Where are you going?” I asked as I began to peel open the other eye.

  “I just have to run next door and pack some things for Lucy.”

  “Why, what’s going on?” I pleaded.

  Audrey finally relented. “Lucy’s at the hospital with Lilah. I—I’m not sure what’s wrong. It may be nothing, so don’t worry. Lucy called and wants me to pack her an overnight bag and bring it to her at the hospital.”

  I felt my eyes widen. My grogginess was replaced with anxiety. “Do you want me to go with you?” I offered.

  “No, no, that’s okay. Stay here. It’ll be faster if I can just run it over there. I’ll be back in about forty-five minutes. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” she assured me.

  I watched Audrey leave and moved wearily into the kitchen. There was a clean row of glasses lined up in the cabinet. I pulled one of the glasses out and set it on the counter. I pulled out a Diet Coke, which was actually a Diet Pepsi (down south all sodas were referred to as coke), and started to fill up the glass. As I tilted the bottle toward the glass the neck slipped and hit the edge of the glass. Diet Coke poured out everywhere, along the counter, down the sides of the cabinets, and on to the floor.

  I impatiently searched for the paper towels. I spun about fifteen towels off the roll, and wadded them up in my fist. As I cleaned up the sticky coke from the floor, I worried, worried about why Lucy and Lilah were in the hospital. Was it just a spiked fever, or was it something more serious? I quickly dismissed my fears, and thought that it was most likely a chest infection. Sometime last year, she’d come down with a respiratory infection before and went to the hospital to get a breathing treatment. I was sure Lucy had to take her to the emergency room because it was the middle of the night. I was sure they were just being cautious because of her limited physical ability. Once I’d convinced myself that I was sure, I took my Coke, and went back into my room where I crawled deep within the covers so that the comforter covered my ears. I laid my head on the soft-feathered pillow as I struggled against my drowsy eyelids so that I could continue to sift through my thoughts. I couldn’t combat my heavy eyelids, and soon submitted to the overwhelming desire to drift off to a more serene state of mind.

  The next morning I awoke to the slanted streaming of sunlight that was a harsh reminder that morning had arrived. I meandered out into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee, and slowly sipped the liquid tonic. I hadn’t heard Audrey come back last night, but assumed that the coffee hadn’t made itself. I took my mug and slumped into the couch as I flipped on the television. Talk show about women who abuse men, talk show about men who abuse women, and so on. I settled on one that was centered on a gold-digger man looking for a cougar to support him. Good luck with that.

  After finishing my third cup of coffee, I felt the rush of liquefied caffeine buzzing inside my veins making a line straight into my heart. I looked out the front window—Lucy’s car wasn’t there, and the house looked dark like no one was home. I stepped out into the backyard, and searched
for Audrey to provide some type of explanation.

  Audrey was in the back weeding the wild flower garden. The purples and reds were interrupted by the weed-like but friendly white daisies that sprouted recklessly through the soil.

  “Hey, good morning,” I said, kneeling down to pluck a weed that popped up between my toes. “Are Lilah and Lucy home?”

  Audrey continued to pull up the tiny green menaces that plagued her healthy flowers. “Lilah has a brain tumor,” Audrey stated without any cushion for the blow. I picked myself up off the ground and processed the information slowly. It’s funny how when you hear something so entirely awful most times you think it’s a joke, and you wait for the punch line, so that’s what I did. I waited. There was no punch line. I sat there in the grass with my legs crossed, joining Audrey in the frenetic pulling of weeds.

  “Will she be all-ri—. I mean will she d—die,” I stuttered out the unimaginable.

  “The doctors don’t know everything yet. They’re running tests. All they know right now is that there’s a mass is located in her brain, and that it’s inoperable. They’re going to take a biopsy Friday to see if it’s malignant. All they can really do is try radiation and chemotherapy. It’s not good Astrid.”

  I sat there stunned, unable to think, talk, understand. Audrey’s words were nonsensical and carried no meaning at first. Her words entered my psyche, and there they were concealed within the gray matter, until I could make sense of what she was telling me.

  “What can I do?” I asked, after what seemed like several minutes.

  “If you want, we can go for a visit up at the hospital. I think it would be a good idea,” Audrey said.

  Suddenly, all the awkwardness that was there when I first met Lilah had rushed back into my system, this time mixed with fear. I was scared, not scared in the way I used to be when I was younger, but scared that I had absolutely no control. No doors could be locked, no plans could be made to avoid punishment. I was scared and there was nothing I could do to help Lilah.