why. Birth moms who see their children
grow. Healthy. Cared for. Loved.
The Call Comes
Sooner than I expected.
Mrs. Trask—Marissa, she says
to call her—can barely hold in
all the questions. One by one,
out they pop, incrementally
harder to answer.
When are you due?
The baby is healthy, right?
Very important to her, of course.
“Everything looks perfect.”
What about the father? Will
he want to be involved?
That’s a good one. “I don’t think
so. In fact, I’m sure he won’t.”
Can we help out financially?
Could I be in the delivery room?
This is starting to feel very intimate.
How close will we become?
Now, the Ones
I don’t have answers to yet.
How often do you want to see her?
What if the father changes his mind?
How much do you want her to know about you?
And the biggest one of all.
Are you positive this is the right decision?
All I can say is, “I’ve struggled
with this for months. This is the surest
I’ve felt about anything. We can decide
the details as we go along.” Now she asks,
Do you have any questions for me?
I know a lot about her already.
Big house. Nice car. Her husband
has money. But is that enough?
“How is your marriage? Solid?”
She Prefaces Her Answer
With an audible sigh. Then says,
You know we lost Shelby after
a long illness. It’s hard to stay
close when each day brings
so much sadness. But the reality
is, Christian and I are tighter
now than we have been in years.
He asked his company to lighten
up on the travel and he just got a big
promotion that will keep him in Reno
most of the time. His income provides
nicely for all of us, so I don’t have
to work. The baby will have a stable
home, I promise you that. Plus, Shane
will be a wonderful older brother.
That’s a lot more than I can promise.
More than most people can.
She needs to talk to her husband.
I need to talk to Dad. We set up
a meeting for next week. And I call Ty.
Tyler
The Setup
She describes sounds
perfect. Maybe too perfect.
I
want to support her decision,
but the idea of a guilt-free giveaway
seems like pie in the sky. You
don’t
carry a baby for nine months
without a lot of bonding going on.
I could nod and go along, except I
care
about her way too much to see
her hurt again. Or maybe
my reaction is totally selfish.
What
if I encourage this move and it
goes badly? Would she ever blame
me? I’m not usually one of those
people
who looks for the downside. So
maybe the best thing I can do
is stay positive and try not to over-
think.
Share
Staying Positive
There’s Also the Not Small Issue
Of the semester ending in a couple
of weeks. With it goes Alex, who will
graduate near the top of his class.
He spent last week visiting
Catholic colleges in California,
all of which would be happy to have him.
Loyola Marymount. Santa Clara U.
Thomas Aquinas. University of San
Francisco. San Diego U. His parents
would have preferred an East Coast
school. He insisted on staying out
west. For me, he says. But even
though California isn’t all that far
away, it might as well be a thousand
miles from here. How often can I see
him? A few times a year? Our age
difference isn’t big. I never really
thought about how much it meant
when it was just about having fun
over the summer. If I hadn’t fallen
in love with him, it wouldn’t matter
the slightest bit. But he has become
an integral part of me. Who am I
if I lose him? How can I go back
to being the Shane I was before
I met him? That’s who I’d be. I’ve got
the rest of this year, plus my senior
year here. That’s a lot of time apart.
And, while I’ll be stuck hanging out
with Reno losers, he’ll be meeting
interesting people from all across
the country. What chance does our
relationship have of surviving that?
As If That Isn’t Enough
Mom has gone totally apeshit
delirious over the idea of another
baby. First, all these tests to see if
she could carry some Frankenstein
test tube creation to term. I breathed
a huge sigh of relief when the doctors
told her no, and I’m pretty sure Dad
did, too. He and Mom are struggling
to put their lives back together.
I’m enough of a distraction. A baby?
How about a job, Mom, or volunteer
work? Something that doesn’t require
stealing every ounce of your energy
away from your family? She might
even have gone there, except along
comes the perfect solution. For Mom.
For Mikayla and her family. Maybe
even for the baby. But what about
Dad? What about me? We’ve lived
with a hollowed-out you for five years.
This Evening, Mom Is Hosting Tea
For the prospective (over)extended
family. She cleaned—and spot-cleaned—
for days. Vacuumed and revacuumed
carpets and furniture. Will you please
keep that cat in your room? I can’t
get rid of all these little white hairs.
Washed windows to let sunlight
spill into even the darkest corners.
Set the table with Grandma’s fine
china. Including Thanksgiving, it’s only
the second time it has been used in
six or seven years. I’m pretty sure
the everyday stuff would do. Right
now, she’s showing them Shelby’s
room. Which, if everything goes as
expected, will soon be the nursery.
I’ve tried to keep out of it completely.
So I’m more than a little irritated
when Mom calls, Shane! Will you please
come here and meet the Carlisles?
Have I suddenly become a criterion?
Must I put my best foot forward?
Considering I haven’t showered
in a couple of days, I hope not.
I also hope she doesn’t expect me
to drink tea. Still, no use upsetting her.
Well, maybe just a little. I pick up Gaga,
cradle her in the V of my elbow, go to
play the dutiful son. They are gathered
at the table. Each sits stiffly behind a cup
puffing steam. It reminds me of Alice’s Adventures
in Wonderland, with Mi
kayla as Alice
and Mom as the March Hare. I stifle
a snort as Mom makes the introductions.
First Impressions
Mikayla:
Pretty, in a blond
bombshell sort of way.
Probably conceited
before life (or her boyfriend)
dealt her this hand.
But now, uncertain.
Mrs. Carlisle:
A knockout, for a woman
her age. Workout junkie,
and that’s obvious even
well-covered by a pricey
jogging suit. Anxious
to be anywhere but here.
Mr. Carlisle:
All business. Defines
the word attorney. Smart,
but no match for his wife,
and maybe not his daughter.
Prepared. Textbook answers
at the ready. Anger, in the flesh.
The baby:
Will be beautiful and smart.
And Mom will love her more
than these people’s hearts can.
And maybe more than she loves me.
Conspicuously Absent
Is Dad who, Mom explains,
got hung up in a meeting,
but should be home any time.
When he arrives, he will, no
doubt, be subjected to a similar
inquisition to the one I’m under-
going now. I try to answer each
question the way Mom wants me to.
Mr. Carlisle: How do you feel
about this situation, Shane?
I don’t think he wants me to say
I’m sorry his daughter got knocked
up, so I go for, “I think it’s gre—”
But wait. It’s not great. “Uh, good.”
Not what he was looking for.
I mean, about having a baby sister?
Mom looks at me with such
expectancy that what can I say
but, “Awesome, I guess. I mean,
it’s been a while since I had one.”
Okay, that wasn’t right, either.
But what do they want from
me? To hear that I’m not done
grieving the sister I lost?
Mrs. Carlisle says, Babies are a lot
of work. Your mom will need help.
This one’s easy. “I don’t mind
helping. I helped with Shelby,
so I’m okay with changing diapers.
Mom has to do the late-night feedings,
though.” I remember them well.
“Look. I want Mom to be happy,
and if a baby will do that, fabulous.
Anyway, I love little kids. It’s all good.”
I must have done okay, because
they let me go, just about the time
Dad comes bopping in. Gaga and I
retreat to our cat-hair-covered sanctum.
I Turn On My Music
To swallow their hum, reach under
my bed for the bottles that will drown
the questions jumbled inside my head.
I pop some anonymous pill—the pharm
dealers at school aren’t always so
savvy. I asked for antidepressants,
have collected them for a couple
of weeks. Sort of fun going for a ride
without knowing exactly where
you’ll end up. So I pop another.
Wash it down with big swigs
of Jägermeister. Goddamn it.
I should feel all warm and fuzzy.
Instead, I just want to cry. Can’t.
What if they hear me? They might
think I’ve gone all schizo. Change
their minds about giving Mom
the baby, who does not need
a crazy-ass big brother. I grab
the bottles, head for the travel
trailer. “You stay here, Gaga.”
She doesn’t need to see me cry,
either. It’s freezing inside, so I turn
on the heater. And while I wait
for it to get warm, I down
three or four pills. Maybe more.
Jäger and Downers
Make me feel great. Make me feel
like shit. Make me go ahead and cry.
I spiral down into a whirlpool of tears.
And I like how it feels and I hate how
it feels and right now I really just want
to keep going down and never come up for air.
I think this must be limbo. Too dark
to see and too heavy to move even
though it’s cold and you want to get
warm but really what difference does
it make because you’re going to be here
forever where it’s hard to breathe the air.
And I’m sort of scared and sort of happy
because I think pretty soon I won’t care
anymore but before that happens I need
to call someone. Alex. Yes, Alex, because
I love him. Speed dial number one. Good.
My eyes are blurry. Something about this air.
“Hey, ba. . .” No, not baby. “Hey, you,
I luhv ya. Jush wanna say that ’fore I shay
goo bye.” And he’s yelling something
but I can’t make it out because I’m falling.
And I like how it feels falling toward death.
Alex
I’m Yelling
No! You can’t leave me.
Not now. Not ever. Not
like this. Oh my God.
Any God. Tell me what to do.
I
hear him say he’s falling,
and there is no way for me
to catch him. I call his house.
No answer. Come on.
Can’t
you hear the phone? You
must be home. Finally,
his dad picks up. “Hurry.
It’s Shane. You’re going to
lose
him.” And suddenly I know,
“He’s in the travel trailer.
Please. You have to hurry.”
The phone drops. He’s gone for
him
and I get dressed. Slowly.
Go to my car. Slowly. Drive
to his house under the limit.
Afraid of what I’ll find.
Harley
Afraid, Angry, Ashamed
Violated. Altered. Changed
forever and I didn’t even get
the chance to say okay. I might
have, but Lucas never bothered
to ask. Instead, he stole it from me.
It’s supposed to be a memorable
experience. One you don’t enjoy
lightly. He didn’t let me enjoy it at all.
In fact, I barely remember anything
about it. Alcohol blackout, they call it.
Only it wasn’t quite black enough
to erase the entire memory. Weight.
There was his weight pushing down
on me. Stabbing. I felt him stab inside
of me. Breathing. Booze and weed
and onion-sweat stink. His hair,
like a spider creeping over my face.
The horrible shudder that meant
he was done. And still I couldn’t
move. Not even when he rolled
off me, skittered across the floor
and out the door. Leaving me there
like discarded trash. Something
used up and left behind to rot.
Your first time should be special.
Not something you can’t quite
scrub away, no matter how hard
you try. Something that sticks to you
like tree sap. Stubborn. Indelible.
Marring your finish until you rust.
I’m Not Even Sure
Ho
w I got home. Who drove,
or when I got in. Stumbled in
at my dad’s, made my way
to the couch and crashed there.
Good thing it was Dad’s. Mom
would have been up waiting,
knowing exactly what my messed-
up clothes and hair and alcohol
breath meant. I was so buzzed
I didn’t even wash until morning.
Waking up was the hardest thing
ever, sunlight assaulting my eyes
and something hammering on
my skull and a pool of acid swishing
around in my stomach. I barely
made the bathroom in time, though
it was mostly dry heaves.
Heaving what remained of me.
The Best Part of All?
He dumped me the same day.
Not only that, but he dumped me
secondhand, through Chloe.
I was waiting for Mom to pick me
up, still fighting the pounding
in my head, when she texted me.
THIS IS REALLY MESSED UP
SO I’M SORRY, ’K? LUCAS SAYS
TO TELL YOU HE DOESN’T THINK
YOU TWO ARE SIMPATICO. STUPID
WAY OF SAYING HE WANTS TO
BREAK UP WITH YOU. SORRY.
Two apologies, and both from
her. Just about then, Chad wandered
in and sat next to me on the sofa.
Heard you come in pretty late
last night and I noticed you slept
on the couch. Everything okay?
“Wonderful. Amazing. Really
great.” Then I showed him Chloe’s
text. But I didn’t tell him the rest.
I Mean, Who Could I Tell
Something like that to?
Dad?
Ha ha ha ha.
Cassie?
Too busy being positive about the wedding.
Tilt Page 29
