Pushing Send

by Ally Derby

  Guilt over causing him pain washes over me, but in its wake is clarity.

  “You can’t do this. I won’t let you. You don’t get to tell me what to fight for.”

  “Don’t expect me to do any different,” he replies, as he stands and turns his back to me.

  “My father met Lana and her mom at his practice after my mother died. Lana was physically abused, and Dad convinced them to press charges. Her father was sent away. Sondra and he became close, but Lana and he became nearly inseparable. He was very protective of her. So was I. She needed us.

  “When they married, and we moved in together, I could see it, something different. She was so over the top, and then the next day, she was a bear. When we moved to Blue Valley, and Claire pulled her nonsense”—he turns and looks at me—“she became manic. She had said it many times, ‘I should just die.’ Of course, I thought it was just dramatic teen girl behavior until seven months ago. Don’t you see, Hadley, this isn’t your fault.”

  “I didn’t push send.” I stand so I can escape his skeptical looks in a room that is only slightly smaller than the cell I sleep in every night.

  “It doesn’t matter if you did. Don’t you see that she was sick? She—”

  “I. Didn’t. Push. Send.”

  “Okay, okay, but—”

  I hold my hand up. My emotions are everywhere. I’m mad at him, mad at me; I’m sad for him, sad for me. “I will not be anyone’s hero. I am just a girl who likes to blend in. I want to do my time and go home.”

  “It’s not your time to do, Hadley Asher! It’s not your goddamn time!”

  I jump when I hear the crack of his fist hitting the top of Mrs. Keller’s desk.

  “Paxton,” my mom says in a tone meant to calm.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Asher, but how the hell am I supposed to fight for someone who won’t fight for themself?”

  “It’s not your fight to have,” I say.

  “Like hell it’s not,” he snaps at me then walks to the door. “I won’t give up on you. You should try to join the fight, Hads.”

  When he leaves the room, emotions of all kinds come together inside of me like storm fronts crashing together, and I fall into my mother’s open arms and cry.

  “I can’t do this, Mom. I can’t.”

  “You don’t have a choice. We don’t have a choice.”

  Pax comes back in, his face hardened, his demeanor stiff, his eyes not so clear and not so calming. He sits and listens to the adults in the room and looks at me for a long time, saying nothing. Before he leaves, he walks up to me, his eyes shifting between my right and left. I am surprised when he grabs my shoulders and pulls me into a hug.

  “I am gonna get you out of this place.”

  Before I have a chance to say anything, he pulls away and storms out the door.

  “Love you, sweet girl.”

  “Love you, Mom.”

  ~*~

  That night, Seanna gets taken to the hospital. She is scared; I am scared. She begs the staff to let me come, but of course, it’s not allowed.

  I don’t sleep a minute, but I do pray. I pray for Seanna and the little boy she is so selflessly giving a better life to. For Pax, I pray he can just leave well enough alone because, sick or not, Lana survived the pain of her youth, the sadness in her life. We all have issues, but she was pushed by that video. I pray for my parents to see it isn’t a fight we can win. And I also pray for my soul, because I know what hell I am going to cause them all soon.

  ~*~

  I lie in bed at night with that stupid, old lady who swallowed the stupid fly still buzzing around in my head, and I swear to God, I wish fly swatters weren’t considered weapons and smacking myself silly as I tried to kill that pesky little bastard floating around in my head wouldn’t put me on another suicide watch. For now, I have to let it … fly.

  It won’t be long, though, before that fly gets what it has coming to it, and the old lady can just stop the madness of bringing everything in arm’s reach to its demise, scrambling to just undo the moment of stupidity for swallowing the fly.

  During the day, we follow the same schedule, day in and day out. At night, I drive myself half insane with fly catching strategies. I have even become angry at people I have no business being angry at: Pax, Lana, their parents, Skylar, and Bee.

  My father has a job now. This should make me happy, but secretly, I know that every penny he makes is being sunk into legal expenses.

  The holidays get closer without incident, just as I decided it would. I smile for Mom because she deserves it. I act like things are good here because she deserves that, too. I even send Christmas cards to JJ and Bee that I made in a silly crafting class. I send three to Bee: one for her, one for Skylar, and one for Pax.

  The day before Christmas, I get a letter from Paxton Jamison.

  Hadley,

  I got the card. Christmas is not Christmas. How can it be when I am living in this tangled web of death and destruction? Sondra is a mess. Dad is more of a mess. I can’t talk to him. I confronted him about Lana’s issues, and all I get is “not to speak of her in that way.”

  I hated seeing you there. I hated seeing what we have done to you: we as a society, a community, a family, and human beings.

  The most messed up thing is, I want to talk to you. You have become an obsession, and obsessions are not healthy.

  I have skipped school and driven to Jamestown. I have sat in front of the gates of Tryon more than once, trying to figure out how to get you out of there.

  I will find a way to get you out, even if it means I turn my back on my family, my community, society. I don’t care. I just don’t care anymore.

  Lana in her lucid mind would not want you there, either.

  Regardless of how you feel about me fighting for you, Hadley Asher, I will not stop. Regardless of how freaked out you are by my confession of obsession, Hadley Asher, I will not stop. Regardless of whether you ever speak to me again after this, Hadley Asher, I will not stop until I see you walking, uncuffed, unafraid, and unaffected by the hell we have caused you.

  I remind myself everyday what you said about breathing because now, sometimes, I forget to myself.

  One last thing, Hadley Asher, I BELIEVE you. I know the real you.

  Truly … regardless,

  Pax

  I don’t know how this letter got through the very watchful eyes of those in charge, but I have an idea who may have allowed it.

  I fold up the letter neatly and place it back in the pocket of my journal where I put it every night after I read it before chasing those damn flies.

  chapter fourteen

  Two months later …

  I sit in the visiting room, looking out the window at the bitter cold, desolate February sky. The days have gotten longer, even in its darkness.

  Seanna hasn’t returned. I was fearful something horrible had happened. However, Mrs. Keller told me she is healthy—it’s against policy to tell me any more—right before she pushed a picture to the edge of her desk. It was Seanna, holding a beautiful baby with two people sitting on each side of her.

  I see my mother walking up to the door before the visitor desk beyond the shatterproof glass on the other side of the room. Today, I get a special visit because it’s birthday number sixteen, although there’s nothing special about it. It is also the one year anniversary of the gift that landed me here—in hell.

  Her shoulders are slumped inward, and her hair is no longer perfectly long and wavy. She looks pale, and I see smudges of mascara under her eyes that she wipes away as she balances the large, cardboard box on the narrow ledge of the visitor window. I hate seeing her like this.

  I see Redder take her time getting to the window. The door is cracked, so I hear some of what is said.

  “I’d like to give this to Hadley. It’s her birthday today, you know.” Mom’s voice carries the cheer her eyes and posture do not.

  “Open it,” Redder says, peering through the glass.

  “It’s
her favorite cupcakes. I brought enough to share with her dorm mates.”

  “Not allowed,” Redder says. “Trash is behind you.”

  “She and I will share one then.”

  “Not. Allowed.” She enunciates each word, while glaring at my mom.

  “Could you ask Mrs. Keller?” Mom pleads. “I’m sure she would be all right with bending the rules for today.”

  “Not up to her. It’s in the rulebook. The bending rules mentality is what lands these kids here to begin with. You should really think on that.”

  “Do not tell me how to parent. I raised a good, sweet girl. She is—”

  “Trash is behind you. Put your bag in the drawer,” she cuts her off, rolling her eyes. “Your visit is half an hour.”

  “No, I have special permission for an hour.”

  “Not according to this log.”

  “Do you have any idea how hard this is for her, for us, for—”

  “I said bag in the drawer.”

  “You are a vile person, do you know that”—she pauses and leans in, staring at her name tag—“Ms. Redder? I will make sure you are reported—”

  “I don’t take kindly to threats, Mrs. Asher, so if you want your visits, I suggest you stop them right now.”

  I see my mother’s mouth snap shut, and she hesitates for a second. I wish she would tell the old hag to go to Hell. Then again, I have watched my mother morph from a ray of sunshine to a momma bear, and it’s not looking good on her. This is my fault, too.

  She walks in the room and gives me a genuine smile. “Happy birthday, sweet girl.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I hug her and then pull away quickly.

  “So”—she looks at me, trying to figure out why the short embrace, the short tone, the overall shortness—“how is your roommate, the pregnant one?”

  “She’s not a roommate, Mom, and ’she hasn’t returned, so I have no idea how she is.”

  “What do you mean she hasn’t returned?”

  “Girls come and go every day—well, except me.”

  “It’s your birthday; please let’s celebrate, not have this argument again.”

  “Okay, so since I can’t have cake, gifts, sleep in my own bed, or know what is going on in my life, I have a request.”

  “Hadley,” she whispers.

  “No, Mom. I mean it. I want the plea. For my birthday, I want to know when I can walk out of here and not wonder if I’m going to end up in Bedford Hills, the women’s prison. I hear it’s far worse than this place.”

  “We are working on it.”

  “No more, I swear, Mom. I will refuse visits. I will refuse calls. I will—”

  “You are my child, Hadley.”

  “I am not a child anymore, Mom. This place took that away from me.” I clear my throat. “I will never be a child again. I will never feel safe again. I will never believe a damn thing anyone tells me, because from the mouths of the people I trust, I have heard for nine months all the glitter your promises used to hold vanish.”

  “I promise you—”

  “When? Give me a date. Tell me when, Mom,” I demand.

  “I don’t know a date, Hadley.” She is being firm.

  “Then a month. For God’s sake, you’re psychic, aren’t you?”

  When she gasps and covers her mouth, I hold back the apology that plays on the tip of my tongue.

  “I-I—”

  “Isn’t that what you promise the people who hand over their money so you can read their damn futures, Mom?”

  “I give them promise and hope, Hadley. I watch them; I read them; and I give them promise and hope.”

  “And what good are promises and hopes if there is no truth behind them, Mom?” I force myself to stand, walk over, and kiss her head. “I will not be taking visitors in any form until the plea deal is sitting in front of me. And I swear, if they don’t give me the same thing as they offered with the nine months I have been in this hell, I am going to have a real hard time ever believing a promise or allowing myself to hope again.” I turn to the guard. “I’m done here.”

  “Hadley, don’t do this. Don’t do this, dammit! I just want what’s best for you. I just want—”

  “Then do as I asked. That’s what’s best for me, Mom.”

  After I am searched, baring my ass to yet another person, I head back to my unit.

  “How was your visit, birthday girl?” one of the YDAs asks.

  “Uneventful,” I respond, walking to my room.

  Over the next two weeks, I take no calls. I speak as little as I can. I tell Mrs. Keller I don’t want her advice, and I wait patiently for the day that my lawyer and mother walk in and hand me a piece of paper to sign with a date set in stone for when I can definitely walk out of these doors.

  chapter fifteen

  My Hell….

  I am escorted by two guards from my unit to Keller’s office at ten o’clock on a Sunday night. When we enter the hall her office is located in, there are three guards outside her door and the nurse who did my intake.

  When I walk in, I see my lawyer and my father.

  I look past them and at Keller. “I said no visitors.”

  “Hadley, have a seat.”

  “No, I know my rights. I don’t have to—”

  “Hadley, there has been an accident,” Mrs. Keller says as our eyes lock. “I want you to sit down.”

  I hear a muffled sob, and I look at my father, whose face is tear-stained, his eyes bloodshot, and he looks high.

  “Dad, where is Mom?” I feel my knees begin to shake. “Dad! Where is Mom?” I yell.

  His sob echoes through the room.

  I look around. “Someone tell me where my mother is, dammit!”

  “Hadley,” Mrs. Keller is beside me, “Sweetheart—”

  “Answer my damn question! Where is my mother?”

  She tries to grab me, and I push her away. “Get away from me, you bitch!”

  “Hadley, I want you to sit down so we can talk this through.”

  “And I want every one of you to burn in hell, including you!” I point to the lawyer. “Dad, was Mom in an accident? Is she in the hospital? Answer me, dammit!”

  “She’s gone!” he cries.

  I lunge at him, grab his collar, and shake him. “What do you mean? What do you mean she’s gone?”

  “Hadley,” Mrs. Keller says, as she grabs my hands.

  “Don’t touch me! Don’t you touch me!”

  Guards surround me.

  “Back off now!” Keller screams.

  They don’t move.

  “I said now!”

  I grab my chest as I feel it tighten. “It’s breaking. Oh, God, it’s breaking,” I cry out.

  My body feels heavy, and my lungs are sore as I try to breathe, but when I do, the pain in my chest intensifies. The room is spinning, but it’s all in slow motion. Then it’s all blurry, and I shake because I’m cold, so cold.

  As my knees buckle, I feel my body being lifted.

  “Hads.” My father sniffs. “Oh, God, Hads, you’re stuck with me now.” His voice is flat, monotone, almost unfeeling. I know he took something—a pill or ten. I don’t blame him, not one bit. I want something to dull the pain, too.

  He sits, and I hang on to him, knowing if I let go, we will both break into a million pieces. We are going to, anyway, but right now, for just right now, I need this, and I know he does, too.

  “Everyone out,” Mrs. Keller says.

  “She pushed you,” I hear one of the guards whisper.

  “Don’t question me. I am the administrator on duty. Now out. Mr. Preston, I am going to walk outside and give you all time—”

  “Don’t go.” My voice and body tremble in unison.

  I hear the door close, and I bury my head into my father’s chest. The tears come harder, faster, and completely uncontrollable. I cry loudly, unable to maintain any composure. I sob and so does my father. I become exhausted, and then he rubs small circles on my back until the darkened world becomes
pitch black.

  We stay this way for hours in the blackness, a sob escaping every so often, reminding the other to sob, too. It’s awful. It’s hell. I want to join Dad and take a pill or something to make the hurt go away, but it would only be temporary, just like it is for him. Then it comes back, and you have to take another and another and then …

  Fly chasing. It’s all fly chasing, and I hate flies.

  I decide for a moment that I want to join Lana and Mom. I just want it all to end, but then I realize he would be left here alone, so I hold on to him tighter, and he squeezes me back. When he gets fidgety, I know his meds are wearing off. I know he will have an excuse to leave. I need answers first. I need them so badly, but not as badly as I need her.

  “What happened?” I whisper.

  He takes in a breath, his chest rumbling and shaking.

  “Your mother slid through an intersection. Her car was struck by a truck. It was quick; she didn’t suffer,” Mr. Preston answers for him.

  “When?”

  “This morning,” he answers. “Services will be this weekend. Mrs. Keller—”

  “She wanted to be cremated, but I don’t want her to be cremated. I need to see her. Will they let me see her, touch her, just once more? Oh, God, I need her to know I am so sorry.” I begin shaking. Cold, so cold.

  “She knows, Hads. She knows,” Dad cries softly in my ear.

  “Mrs. Keller will transport you to the service,” Mr. Preston answers the question looming in my head.

  “You have to leave, don’t you?” I whisper to my dad.

  “Yeah, Hads.”

  “I need you to get better, Dad. I need you to get better.”

  “I will.”

  After many more minutes, many more tears, and many more hugs, Mr. Preston and my father walk out of Mrs. Keller’s office.

  “I am so sorry, Hadley.” She hugs me, and I fall apart again.

  Exhaustion? Need for comfort? Or is it that I believe she actually cares that my life that was cracking apart just shattered. Whatever it is, it makes me accept her kindness enough to actually cling to her as the tears rain down my face again. The silent sobs shake my body, and they don’t stop. It scares me. I feel like, for the rest of my life, they will continue.