The Unbalancing Act

by Lynn, Kristen

  My plan is to get this over with so I can get back to some quiet time. His smile is literally from ear to ear and he welcomes me and offers me something to drink. I choose iced tea and he seems all excited that I accepted his offer. I’d rather have a vodka&7, but I don’t think that’s on the menu. He tells me to get comfortable and his smile fades only when I ask if the pillow case on the pillow is clean. He grabs a cup of ice from his mini-fridge and pours me some tea.

  “I can assure you Mrs. Bower, may I call you Vada?” I nod. “I can assure you that it is clean. The staff always changes the pillowcases after each session. It says here in your chart that this type of thing may be a problem for you, is that correct?”

  Well, if you think it’s a problem for me that I don’t want to get head lice or to touch some other person’s drool…or hairs… or flakes of their dead skin cells, and that I don’t want to put my head on a spot where some nasty person’s snot may have gotten wiped on, then yes it’s a problem for me.

  “Umm…I was just checking. I’m a mother and laundry is part of my life,” I say, trying to ease myself out of that topic.

  “Alright, Miss Vada, today I want to jump right into this. Don’t hold back. You are in a place of no judgments. I want you to think of this room as a box, okay? Try with me to imagine this room is a little box and you safely place your thoughts and secrets into this box. You can lock it up when you leave. Only you have the key. Are you imagining this, Miss Vada?”

  What the hell is he rambling on about? What a silly little man.

  “Yes, Dr. Ames. I totally get it.”

  “Good. Now remember, you hold the key, you turn the key, so open your box now.”

  Did he really just ask me to open my box? I want to burst out laughing. I try to be serious.

  “It’s open,” I say, holding back a giggle, but in my mind I wonder what he’d do if I dropped my drawers and spread my legs. I wonder if he’d stop using this ridiculous metaphor, but who knows...maybe he’s really a pervert and is thinking the same thing.

  “Okay, I want to go back to the night when you were on the roof, do you recall that night, Miss Vada? It was the night you wanted things to end. I know this may be difficult, so take your time.”

  I’d like this to end right now so I can go watch The Golden Girls marathon in the T.V. room. I know what he is referring to and I knew this was going to come up at one point or another. I guess I better get this over with so I can get back to my rest and relaxation.

  He starts reading from his clipboard, “The incident occurred this past winter, Christmas Eve. Your husband was very concerned about this. Tell me what led to you being up on the roof. What was going through your mind?”

  “I just wanted the noise to stop. I had a headache. I just wanted to find some peace. That’s all...some peace. Some quiet. Some calm.”

  He looks at me concerned and writes down some notes.

  I think back... Christmas had been an absolute freak show. I was so stressed about how much money we were spending trying to buy gifts for what I felt like was a million people. I had the kids’ Christmas parties at school, plus their programs to go to. I had my husband’s company party where you have to look like one of the Real Housewives in order to step in the door. Let me tell you, being a stay-at-home mom at a company party is super fun. Not really. Everyone dresses like they are something special and everyone’s got these big bad jobs and their stupid business jokes which make me want to lick a mousetrap every time I hear one. But it wasn’t just the parties; it was actually Christmas…making the rounds to see all the family so that no one gets offended. I always have to cook crap that I don’t even like, like casseroles. Just the word casserole makes think of dirty dishes. I’m always baking cookies and burning cookies. I have to explain to the family why everything I bring to Christmas dinner sucks, and it sucks even worse knowing my mother-in-law wishes I could feed her son better food. It stresses me out watching the kids open presents from relatives and then I cringe when they toss them to the side. At least they try to be polite sometimes. Max actually opened a little toy phone that would have been more age appropriate if he were a two year-old and he looked up with big sweet eyes at his great uncle and said, “I don’t really like that, but thank you anyways.” Of course I pretended not to hear and bolted my ass out of the room. It was Eric’s side of the family, therefore I felt like he needed to smooth that over. Of course, I still stressed about it. Just the overwhelming feeling of too much to do with too little time, all while trying to teach the kids the real meaning of Christmas, and also making their Santa experience magical and memorable.

  “Whenever you are ready, Vada. Remember your box.”

  Hahahahaha!

  “Okay Dr. Ames, I remember being overwhelmed. There was just so much going on. I had some trouble getting the gifts together and making everything perfect. I wanted to make everything special for my kids, you know?”

  I’m not going to tell Dr. Ames this, but I do remember. Christmas Eve after my little lovies finally fell asleep, I was putting together a race track with my eyes halfway open when I realized the 4 D batteries were not included. I remember my eyes burning with tears and I felt like getting a kitchen knife and stabbing the damn box. Why the fuck couldn’t it say “batteries not included” in BIG letters on the box? They should be included anyway! I paid seventy-five bucks for this piece of shit plastic track and you want to tell me that I have to pay an additional ten bucks and leave the house in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve when its sixteen degrees and snowing outside! Why doesn’t Santa Claus get off his big fat lazy ass and get them himself? I was so pissed and I am embarrassed to admit this, but I did smack it around a bit. I threw one of the cars and kicked the shit out of the empty box and then I laid down on the floor by the Christmas tree and cried. I cried and cried and cried. Eric came down to see if I needed any help. I bet he wishes he wouldn’t have. I remember saying something along the lines of, “If you don’t find a 24-hour store and come back with 4 D batteries and a large Diet Coke with extra ice and some Milk Duds in fifteen minutes, I will literally test out this motherfucking race track with my minivan.” I think it was thirty minutes, but he made it happen. He also stayed up and helped me get everything else ready for Christmas morning. Unfortunately, it took me almost having a nervous breakdown to get any help.

  “So you were feeling stressed and overwhelmed by the season, this is very common Miss Vada, go on...”

  I wish he’d quit calling me Miss Vada, I’m not a damn preschool teacher!

  “Okay, umm...I had some trouble getting the gifts ready and umm...my family came. My family is dysfunctional. They have a lot of problems and I guess I am just not very good at dealing with them.”

  I’m remembering what really happened on Christmas morning. My family always comes to watch the kids open presents. My mother always brings an insane amount of gifts for the kids. My mother is a sweet lady. She is one of those ladies who would literally give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. She has short gray hair, because she doesn’t want to mess with coloring it even though she’s only fifty-three. She wears glasses and is a cute little grandma. You can’t help but like her even though she can be bossy at times. Her intentions are always good.

  My father and my brother, Heath, showed up and they were at each other’s throats. Heath and dad have a love-hate relationship. Heath still has issues with my parents getting divorced. He was always so sensitive. Although my parents have been divorced for many years, they too have a love-hate relationship. My dad walked in and grabbed the baby and I could see my mother’s eyes dilate and focus and I knew she was pissed that he got to him first. It’s always a competition.

  My dad is kind of immature. Don’t get me wrong, I love him with all my heart, but he’s like a six year-old in a fifty-four year-old body. He is always telling jokes, which are quite funny actually. But, he is always getting into some kind of trouble. He’s constantly trying to win sweepstakes and get on game sh
ows. He’s the kind of guy who will bet it all on red, literally. He loses money as fast as he makes it. I can’t tell if he’s a compulsive gambler or if he just really likes to play games. He always exceeds the limits at the casino, but you should see him at a state fair. The man will literally spend hundreds of dollars playing carnival games, like popping balloons with darts and bouncing frogs with a hammer and getting them to land on a lily pad. My kids love it because they come home with bags full of stuffed animals and bouncy balls. He’s a kind-hearted man, but really, he is still a child.

  Heath is five years older than me and divorced with no children. He’s a good guy who loves weed by day and bourbon by night and needs to find a good gal who wants to marry a guy who loves weed by day and bourbon by night. His ex-wife was one of those patchouli oil chicks, very beautiful in a hippie kind of way. She always wore long skirts and tight shirts. She always had some new remarkable thing she had discovered, like a new hookah, or a piece of jewelry that could read your mind. They were a good couple, but quite honestly, I think they didn’t work because Heath drank too much. The pot didn’t bother her. She was always smiling, if you know what I mean. He hasn’t done too badly though since the divorce. He started a moving company and him and my dad and two of his buddies bought some moving trucks. They actually run a pretty good business and it helps to keep them out of trouble. The only problem is that business and family don’t always mix well, as they are slowly learning.

  Heath and Dad were off whispering in the corner, probably something to do with money, and Mom came out and told them both to just leave and that they weren’t going to ruin Christmas for everyone by telling secrets. It always starts off this way. I had to calm everyone down and convince everyone to stay. I was exhausted before I could even finish the greeting part!

  “Dysfunctional can mean many things, Vada. Can you explain?”

  “Well, Dr. Ames, I guess everyone has issues and I’m usually too involved in trying to sort out other people’s lives than to focus on my own.”

  I lay there remembering how that day came and went and the baby cried and the kids laughed and then fought and everyone had too many cocktails. Except for me because I was too busy taking care of the kids and cleaning up. My mom helped a lot, of course, by wiping shit down and doing dishes, but then she started doing laundry. I remember telling her, “No no no...there is no laundry on Christmas. I’m not doing this today.” She retorted by telling me, “I was just trying to help, but if you don’t want my help then maybe I should just leave.” That made me cry and then I joined her in folding clothes. After that was done, she came up and put her little arm around my shoulder and said, “Now, aren’t you glad that’s done?” But I wasn’t glad. I wanted to go throw the laundry basket upside down in the snow. I wanted to do something other than chores on one freaking day of the year. So no, I was not glad. I was pissed. But I just smiled and thanked her and told her yes. Why is it that on holidays everyone else gets to relax and have a good time except for the moms? The men all go off and lay down because they are “so full” from the meal that they were just cooked and served. I swear one day I am going to make a mommy’s only Christmas party and me and my mommy friends are ordering in and hiring a cleaning service (of men) to clean up after us. Men shouldn’t even be invited to Christmas as far as I’m concerned. Once a guy turns eighteen, I say we just send them a card and wish them a Happy New Year.

  “Well, Miss Vada, when we neglect ourselves it can lead to serious problems, which we may not realize until it’s too late. Let’s talk about the roof, shall we?”

  “Dr. Ames, it was a moment of weakness. When I went up on the roof that night, I may have wanted to kill myself, but then I thought of all the reasons I needed to live, my children, my husband. I may have had suicidal thoughts, but almost dying that night has changed me forever. I cherish every day now. I’m in a new stage in my life and it’s called living!” My pants are on fire from these lies. Jiminy Cricket needs to step in and tell me it is wrong, but he must be choking on the smoke.

  “Vada, I can see you are getting emotional about this, let’s lock up your box for the day and you can go and have some free time. I think you learned a lot that night about life and death and I’m confident that you are not at a high-risk for repeating that behavior. Here are some pamphlets and phone numbers should you ever find yourself back in that type of situation.”

  I take the junk mail, I lock my box, and I thank Dr. Ames. I quickly leave the room and scurry outside for a walk on the trail, remembering the true event of the roof. I toss the papers in the trash on my way outside.

  That Christmas night amidst the chaos of the food and family, Eric pulled me aside and wanted to see me. I knew it was because he wanted to do our little gift exchange. I was excited because it was a moment that we could just spend together and talk. I had gotten him some new boots that I knew he would love. They were cowboy boots, but not the cheesy kind. The kind he could wear with jeans and a t-shirt and look perfectly himself. That is so his style. He’s a scruffy but handsome guy. The kind of guy who doesn’t know he’s good looking.

  He opened his gift and kissed me and smiled. It was a sweet moment and then my turn came. I opened a plastic bag, not a gift bag, a plastic bag. Inside I found a box with a blue phone in it. “I already had all of your contacts and everything switched,” he said. “I thought you needed a new phone.”

  I stared blankly at the new blue phone. My contract was up for renewal and it dawned on me that this was the free phone that came with the plan. I didn’t know what to say. I was going to go up this week and renew my contract. Was this really my gift, a free fucking phone? That’s not a gift. It wasn’t even wrapped. All it was really good for was that it saved me a trip to the store, which by the way, I would have liked because I really needed to get out for a minute! Oh hell...no. Please don’t bother to wrap my free gift because I’ve only searched for, bought, and wrapped 100,000 goddam gifts for you and your freaking family, and the family we adopted, and even the mailman! I even wrapped the gift for your mom’s fucking Jack Russell terrier!

  I looked up at Eric and smiled, trying my best to hold back tears. “Thank you honey, that was so sweet.” I wished him a Merry Christmas. He said Merry Christmas back. In his eyes, I was thrilled. In my eyes, I wanted to hurt him...not badly, just maybe chuck a phone at his mouth and possibly chip a tooth.

  We went back to the ruckus which was our family Christmas. The house was loud and company kept stopping by. New video games were blaring and I felt like I had taken a hit of acid or eaten a mushroom and so many things were happening all around me and I had this blue fucking free phone in my hand. I went to Eric and told him I needed to get away for a minute, so to please keep an eye on the kids.

  The truth is that after I excused myself, I went up to the master bathroom and sat on the lid-closed stall. Knock knock…it was Ben and he had to go really bad. Okay, I gave that room up. I went and sat in the rocking chair in the baby’s room, but was found by my pregnant cousin who wanted to check out our crib. I went to the sub-basement, but my father-in-law found me when he came down to look for some tools we “must have borrowed and never returned, like usual.” I could have gotten pissy, but we never return anything we borrow, so I can’t fault the man for telling the truth. The smokers were in the garage, and since I hadn’t had the opportunity to have an alcoholic beverage, I couldn’t join them. I went and grabbed my coat out of the hall closet and walked out the back door. With all the windows, I knew someone would see me and want something. “Where’s your Kleenex, Vada? Do you have a dish I can put this in, Vada? Are there any clean cups left, Vada?” I wished they’d all just shut the hell up! Find it yourselves, you donkeys!! I just needed to find a place where no one could find me. And just like that I saw a ladder, like a Christmas angel placed it there from out of the sky. Actually, I think my neighbor must have left it out when hanging his Christmas lights. The roof! I was going to hide on the roof! I stepped through the crunching s
now and stole the ladder as quietly as I could. I leaned it up against the house and just started climbing. The back yard looks down to a drop off, and it would be a pretty big fall so I was extremely careful. I made my way up and realized that it was more dangerous than I had originally thought. The snow sat on top of ice and I knew that with one wrong move, this could end up in a bad way. I stepped off the ladder while grabbing on to the point of the roof. I found a safe and quiet spot and took a deep cold breath of air. It was quiet. All I could hear was the wind. I was actually savoring the moment. I love Christmas, and my family, and most of all, my kids. But I needed a minute, and I thought no one would look for me up there. I didn’t think about chores, my calendar, meals, or anything. I was just listening to the wind and having my moment. It was peace. It was exactly what I was looking for. I could almost hear the night wind singing that song to the little lamb. I said a prayer while I was up on that roof. I closed my eyes and realized how thankful I was for those little boys I had underneath me in that house. Despite the danger, the freezing cold air, my frostbitten fingers, and my runny nose, that roof was exactly where I wanted to be at that moment.