As is no doubt obvious, The Mother has become a problem. But, clearly we disagree on that. Which is also a problem. See? She IS a problem! Connor thinks that because she’s here now we should let the past lie in the past… blah, blahdity, blah… and move forward from where we stand today. It’s a lovely thought, dimwitted and bird-brained, but lovely nonetheless. Problem is, I’m a realist and - more importantly - I trust my dad. Always have, always will.
Poor Connor is so enamored with the idea of having his adorable, doe-eyed little mom back that he’s lost sight of the big picture, the picture that says: SHE LEFT US. Well, until she can somehow prove to me that my dad ditched her in the ugly way in which she claimed he did or she can somehow prove she’s innocent of sucking at life, I’m not interested.
Connor speaks first because I’m still unable. I’m too worked up over how him and his good manners are being taken advantage of.
“Cee, I really don’t know what to do here. I’m sorry. This is just too much for me to handle right now.”
“What’s this? Do you mean me? I’m too much for you to handle right now?” I can’t believe this is happening.
“Well, yes. What I mean is that I need some time to figure things out with mom, okay?”
“Mm, hmm.” My eyes are rolled so far back in my head I can see my brain. It’s grey and gross.
“She’s doing well. She’s going to group every day. She’s adjusting to life on the outside and it’s hard. I’m not quitting on her. Not yet.”
“But you’ll quit on me?” I can tell he’s rolling his eyes at me now like I’m the idiot.
“Are you going to tell me that you really don’t ever want to get to know her?” He’s relentless, but I love that about him
“That’s not what I said. I’m dealing with a lot of my own stuff right now and I don’t have any extra trust lying around to throw her way. Maybe after I’m in a better place? I don’t know.”
“Me neither Cee.”
“But listen, you do what you need to do for you. I don’t want us to fight. If you’re good with keeping her out of our relationship then we’ll be fine. I’ll drop it and not say another word. Pinky promise.”
He laughs at my suggestion. “Pinky promise? What are we? Five? I don’t need a pinky promise, I believe you and as long as you know that, we’re good.”
“Good.”
“Eventually you know I’m going to try to get the two of you back together. But for now, I’ll leave it. Promise accepted.”
“You’re impossible.” I laugh trying to ease the tension.
“Tell Liddy we can work through emails for now. I’ll keep scanning and sending my stuff and I want to see pictures of what she’s creating, okay?”
“I’ll tell her as soon as we hang up. All right, talk soon then?”
“Talk soon then. I love you,” he’s all the family I have. This has to be okay.
“I love you more. Talk soon.”
It’ll be okay. It has to be…
***
Several weeks go by and my life is starting to change at a frantic, rapid and often times unnerving pace. Things are a little weird with Connor but I know it will pass and in the meantime I’ve been leaning heavily on good ol’ Dr. Chris. Ever since the night I learned about him helping my dad, I’ve been seeing him on a professional basis only (boo-hiss), and lucky for me he’s agreed to make house calls for a bit. If I’ve been a good girl, journaled well, and done all my ‘feelings’ homework he brings me food as a treat (oh my goodness, I’m a puppy).
For the time being we’re meeting at my place. Chris’s office is at the cancer center where my dad took his final breath, and though I’m recovering I’m still very much in the infant stages and not yet ready for the intensity of that particular step. Anytime we move too fast or Chris pushes me too hard I involuntarily and reflexively shut down. How the hell Ashton ever put up with me is a miracle. Especially considering the only doctorate he’s ever held is the one for sexual therapy (I wonder if that’s a thing?). Chris promises that in time he’ll get me to his office but I say HA to that! Keep dreaming Dr. King.
Today is a big day thanks to my dear Doctor and current fav guy. He’s taking me out and I’m going to attempt to do two things that I haven’t done in the last three years (cue big movie moment soundtrack - your pick), I’m going to drive IN a car (not my dad’s, I’m nowhere near that fixed) and then I’m going to… GO… TO… THE… HOME… DEPOT! Sounds boring right? NOPE! There’s a couple important facts to note here: first, this is one of my very favorite stores on the planet. I die for great finishes… that sounds perverted. I mean hardware finishes… OH MY GOODNESS, so did that! One more time, I enjoy my home finishing’s to be clean and lovely… now it sounds boring. I GIVE UP. I just really like to decorate things nicely and with really awesome hard finishes. Giggle.
Moving on, the second, critical, fact to note is that The Depot is the place that triggered some of my worst panic attacks after my father’s passing. Doc’s guess is because dad and I spent so much time together there, I tend to agree. Unfortunately not being able to go there has cramped my ability to finish things in my home… Oh Jesus, enough already with the finishes. Eventually I have faith that I will “finish” things just fine in my home (I’ll finish the HELL out of things!). Focus. The finishes don’t matter. What’s relevant is that the last attack I had at Home Depot was so bad that it marks the last day I left my home and the day that I first noticed Ashton was beginning to let me go.
***
As me and my trusty helper Burt are looking over my hardware choices my fingers began to tingle. In the short history of my life this has never been a good sign, but I choose to ignore the simple signal and continue my shopping. Not a good idea.
Burt is in the middle of handing me a package when suddenly he starts to sound a bit like Charlie Brown’s school teacher, “waaa... wa... wa... whaa… wha... wa.” My eyesight begins to zoom in and out like a camera trying to auto-focus and I have the very real sensation of being choked around the neck like a chicken that’s been caught unaware in the coop. My hands fly to my neck and Burt immediately notices the international symbol for choking, so he does as anyone would in his situation and immediately calls for help.
Now, if you’ve ever had a panic attack you may be familiar with the symptoms to which I speak. I too have an advanced knowledge of these symptoms, the problem is this; In the middle of an anxiety attack your ability to reason through problems flies right out the door, leaving you absolutely positively sure that today is the day you will finally succumb to its bullying and be carried off to meet your maker.
My fight or flight instincts are at high alert so I try to get the hell out of there before I either pass out or puke. Sweet ol’ Burt has emergency services on the phone and there is a small group of concerned finishing-shoppers circled around trying their best to help, which incidentally has the exact opposite effect.
Caught up in the moment I do the first thing that comes to me and look for a place to escape. A-HA! Got it. Looking over my shoulder I notice that the bottom shelving unit beside me has a thin opening between a couple of stacked boxes, and as luck would have it, this opening is perfectly people sized. I quickly slip through the slim space and climb on top of a pallet and scurry between several stacks of tall cardboard boxes. Hopefully I’m safe here and can hide my distress from as many onlookers as possible.
As soon as I get comfortable in my warm, brown, boxy space I try incredibly hard to calm my racing heartbeat and stop the many nightmare scenarios I’m creating in my overactive imagination. Nothing works though and I’m confident that a life ending disaster is upon me; a stroke, a heart attack, internal bleeding, a cancer flare up, an appendicitis rupture that will cause death, a bowel perforation, or a heinous gallbladder attack that will blow me open and undoubtedly lead me to an untimely yet certain death.
“Ma’am. Ma’am? Can you hear me?” This question is repeated several times before I possess the muscular fu
nctions necessary to look around the safety of my enclosed box structure.
“Yes.” That’s all I have to offer without engaging my sensitive puke reflexes.
“I’d like to help you out of there and check to see if you’re okay? Can you climb out for me?” This gentleman, no… fireman, has lost his marbles. He’s going to have to go and fetch those handy Jaws of Life thing’s because sister aint’ goin’ nowhere!
“Nope.” I feel the barf looming, just waiting for me to make the disastrous decision to move or perhaps say more than a single syllable word. The barf is heckling me.
“Is there someone I can call for you that could get you out of there?” He’s a genius. YES!
“Ashton.”
“I’m going to need more than that ma’am. Can you give me a number?” I rattle it off before cocooning back into the safety of my box pavilion where I will wait for the help and comfort that only Ashton can give in times like these. I start counting softly, “one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand…”
Coming too, I feel something wet tickle my nose and immediately swat at it only to find nothing there. Disorientated I sit up and see I’m still surrounded by boxes, only now I have company. Ashton and Master Chief are both here to rescue me.
“Are the fireman still out there?” Please say no, please say no. Was I asleep?
“Nope, all I had to do was explain to them that you were just released from Crazy-Town and that you’re having a difficult time re-assimilating back into normal society. Obviously they bought it and we agreed I’d bring you right back where you came from.” I use all my might and feebly smack him in his solid, trustworthy chest.
“Hey! Not cool! I’ve come running to your rescue and you try and beat me up for it. Nah-ah.” Oh no, now he’s the one with crazy eyes.
“Ashton, wait. Whatever you’re about to do, don’t do it. I’m not well.” I’m only moments away from a straight jacket and that’s for real.
“You’re fine.” He picks up my hand, kisses it, and looks me in the eye. Instantly I’m struck with a fluttering in my belly that I’m unaccustomed to coming by way of Ashton’s touch. We sit and stare at each other for what feels like hours but can only be measured by seconds before he makes a calculated decision to do me dirty. From behind his back he pulls out a water gun. I say water gun but what I mean to say is some kind of diabolical Super Soaker that looks to be capable of taking down at least a dozen toddlers in less than twenty seconds.
“Ashton. Let’s be reasonable here. We’re at a store. You cannot shoot that in here. Put it away.” He’s not going to and we both know it. Maybe if I do what he wants he’ll be reasonable.
“Look, I’m getting up. See?” Without turning my back on him like some kind of idiot, I slide butt first out from the other side of the shelving unit and land unceremoniously onto the dusty concrete floor. He still has the shotgun trained on me. Damnit.
“Please.” We hold eye contact for another couple seconds before he slowly lowers the gun, without ever once dropping his loving eyes from mine.
“Let’s get you home now. Come on, I’ll drive. Connor and I will come back later to get your car. That okay?”
“Yes, to all of those things I say, yes.” Master and Ash stand on either side of me like a couple centurions and walk me out through the side doors, hoping to hide me from all my earlier gawkers.
“Thanks for this Ashton, you too big guy.” Master lights up from the recognition he receives and huffs his approval of my compliment.
“We need to get you some help, Cee. I know you don’t want to talk about this right now but you have to see that things are getting worse.” I do.
“Later, okay? I just want to go home and sleep. I’ll be able to think after I’ve had a nap, I promise.” Also, for some reason his hand on my lower back has me feeling really tingly in my nether regions and in turn I’m having a tremendous problem thinking straight.
As we walk out into the sunshine I see his 1967 Shelby Mustang parked diagonally in the side lot so that no one else has the opportunity to park within scratching distance of his brand new ebony paint job. He opens the passenger door for me and before I make the move to get in Master crawls across the front and through to the back to get comfortable in his usual spot. Ashton takes the opportunity to turn me around to face him. He places his hands on either side of the open door frame trapping me where I can’t escape his worried eyes.
“Please Cee. Get help. If not for you then for me?” Before I have the chance to deny him his reasonable request he does something he’s never done before, he kisses me. It’s gentle and full of pleading. A moment later it’s as if he only ever blew a breath across my lips as his retreating kiss leave me feeling breathless and dazed.
Well hell.
The drive home is spent in silence. Not an awkward silence but a heavy one. It’s as if he’s declared some hidden secret to me and I’m terrified to ask where we go from here. I know that I’m incapable of giving him what he may want so I need to do the right thing by him and shut this down before his possible wants and my definite crazy come in between our friendship. I can live without the kissing but I cannot live without him.
We pull up to my place and I turn to, “You coming in?”
“No, you look like you need a nap and I’ve got a gig to go set up for.” He then looks down at his lap and adds with sincerity and gentleness, “Think about what I said okay? Just try. For me. Just try…” I nod my head and give him a half, closed-lip smile before stepping out of the car with Master dutifully following behind.
“Thanks for today. Talk soon okay.”
As he pulls away I wave a weak goodbye to my best friend and knight in rocking armor. As much as I love him I already know I won’t be thinking about going to therapy. I’ve already decided that nothing can help me, that this is my new norm and from here on out I have a feeling things will only get worse… little did I know how much worse.
***
Yesterday was pretty ridiculous. The good doc made me practice for today’s big outing by sitting in his car until I was completely at ease and bored to tears. To be fair, it was a great plan. The first few times I got in the car I had to throw my head between my knees to keep from passing out or barfing but, just like Chris predicted, by round five I started to possess the ability to sit up straight. By about the seventh try I could speak, and by the tenth and eleventh I was humming along to the radio’s top forty hits as they pumped out through his awesome system. Magic…
Now, here we are driving toward The Depot and, other than the cold-sweats and the hyperventilating thing I’ve got going on, I’d venture to say I’m doing… medium to medium well. Let’s hope that the store will be as easy, because unfortunately I didn’t have the luxury of practicing there yesterday. Hopefully Burt doesn’t work there anymore. He’d for sure remember the girl who hid in the boxes after looking at beautiful door finishing’s for half an hour.
It’s not until the car slows to a stop ten minutes later that I realize I haven’t spoken a single word aloud the entire ride here. I look over at Chris and he’s smiling like a little boy on Christmas morning. He clearly lives for this shit! Fixing people is his thang!
“Alright, I know you can do this. Just remember to keep breathing (I know this should be self explanatory, but honestly, with me it just isn’t) and don’t over analyze your feelings. If the tingling sensation starts, just stop, take some deep breaths - in through your nose and out through your mouth - and then remember, I’ll be right here beside you, patiently waiting, holding no judgment. Now… let’s do this.”
He comes around to my side of his immaculate Audi and helps me out, holding tightly onto my outstretched hand for support. His other hand comes to rest on my lower back, giving me the silent encouragement we both know I need in order to move forward. Neither of us speaks a word as we walk in unison towards the big black sliding doors that are now only seven or eight paces ahead. I see my reflection staring back at me in the tinted
doors. If reflections could speak mine would be saying, “Sweet baby Jesus what are you doing here?”
“I can’t. Stop! Chris, I can’t.” I try to stop mid step but Chris never breaks from his strong and focused stride and continues walking while gently pulling my defiant body along beside him.
“We don’t say I can’t anymore, remember? You can and you will. You’re ready for this and I’m about to prove it to you. After today, when you’ve proven to yourself what you’re capable of, your life is going to change in a very big and very real way.” We’re still walking. “I know this, I can feel it. Now keep moving, St. May. We’ve got work to do.” Oh, now he wants to go all tough guy drill sergeant on me, I see. Actually, if I’m being honest, it’s kind of sexy and my female bits have taken notice and follow along like the traitors they’re turning into.
“Bully.”
I don’t really mean that. I’m actually happy he’s pushing me as hard as he is because what I need right now is some good ol’ fashion tough love. My dad never let me hide from life. He used to say ‘when life gets tough, the tough get tougher’. He always told me that St. May’s were made of strong stuff and that even though I was sensitive, I always did what had to be done and furthermore, I never complained. That, he said, is what strong people do and I should always remember that about myself, when things get hard, I should always fight back harder. If he could see what I’d become he’d be beyond disappointed for sure. Today, however, that all changes.
The giant reflective doors slide open and the cold air from inside whooshes through my long, dark locks as I take my first, tentative steps back through into the playground of my worst nightmare. In my mind, this moment is comparable to Neil Armstrong’s first steps on that big crater-blown planet in the sky, and the relevance is not lost on either Chris or I. This will be the day in my own personal history story that I’ll learn to conquer my fears and take one big step for all Cecilia’s kind.
Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl... Page 22
