The Anesthesia Game

by Rea Nolan Martin

  Syd looks out the window at the turbulent river, thinking. “They’re traitors is all,” she says. “I’m not in the mood to put their names in a sentence right now.”

  Hannah nods. “You don’t have to. Just as long as you’re ok.”

  “I’m ok,” Syd says, even though she isn’t. She bites into her BLT and stares out the window wondering if she’ll ever get over any of this.

  “Anything can happen, you know,” says her aunt. “Jonah and I, for instance. We’re getting back together.”

  Syd doesn’t want to say how much this disappoints her, since she thinks of Hannah as being hers. “What about my parents?” she says. “Do you think they’ll break up?”

  Hannah looks shocked. “What?!”

  “Well, you know. He’s never home. They barely talk.” She shakes her head. “It just seems like everything’s falling apart.”

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that conversation in the car,” says Hannah. “I really am. But your dad needed a swift kick in the ass, so I gave it to him. That’s all it was. Your parents are fine.”

  “I know you don’t think I did this to them, but I did,” says Syd. “They were ok before I got sick.”

  Hannah reaches for Syd’s hands and holds them tight. “It’s not over yet. You’ll see. He’ll head home and they’ll work it out. Best thing ever is that you’re with me and we’re taking a break from them. And they’ll have time alone.”

  “Promise?” says Syd.

  “Promise.” Hannah winks.

  They finish up, pay, and climb back into the truck with a few fries for Godiva. She gobbles them up and before long they’re an escape party heading south on the Palisades Parkway blasting “Moves like Jagger” on the radio and singing along. And then just like that the sky opens up like a monster pinata, emptying every frozen thing it can think of at the car and the road. They can barely hear the radio for the ice and snow and balls of hail, ping ping ping! Syd puts her hands over her ears and says, “If only they hadn’t gone to Virginia…” but she doubts Hannah even heard her. It’s all she can do to drive.

  Eight hours later, including four pee stops and twenty minutes of parking under a highway bridge waiting out the storm, they arrive at the farm. It’s dark. Syd climbs in the back to retrieve her phone. Not that she’s curious, but she might as well check out any pathetic messages the guilty might have left on VM or text. Not that she cares.

  There’s a message from Mom, but she’ll check it out later. About a million texts from Zelda saying she’s sorry and she really wanted to tell me, but whatever, blah blah blah. Only one text from Dane saying he’ll call her tonight, as if she’ll answer. Who cares, anyway, he’s only the one dude she ever completely fell for. The one dude she completely connected with. Fuck him! And fuck this fucking condition that makes him think of her ‘not in that way’, or whatever. Whatever excuse he comes up with; we’ll see.

  Godiva’s all yip yip yip at the horses down in the paddock, which is comical since she has no idea what they even are. Dinosaurs for all she knows. Life through the eyes of a puppy is real life. No one interpreting things for you; just pure seeing. She squeezes Godiva like crazy, getting all grooved out on puppy love, which might be the only real love there is. Puppies are reliable. They’re there for you when they’re not running away.

  Hannah’s out of the truck and all giddy, jumping and waving to someone barely visible in the barn lights down the hill, Jonah maybe. “Hey!” she says, jumping. “How’s everybody?!”

  And even with her high-heeled boots on, she tears off for the barn. The paddock is lit, and Syd can make out a little horsie head between the four-board fence—little ears straight up, pointy. The legs are bent and wobbly as she tries them out, even galloping a little. Syd wants to go down there, but she’s a little weak and really tired from the trip. She doesn’t want her aunt to know exactly how tired she is, though, in case Hannah regrets bringing her down in the first place. Plus her stomach’s upset.

  She roots through her backpack for her anti-nausea pills. Zofran, where are you? Her limbs go cold when all at once she remembers that she forgot them. And not only them but everything. Oh my God. What now? She can’t go four complete days without her oral meds, can she? Not to mention all the supplements? She grits her teeth. Well, screw it. Yes she can. She can go more than four days. She can go a month. A year. Whatever. She’ll probably feel better than she’s ever felt taking a little break from that shit. Who says it even works?

  “Syd!” calls Hannah from the barn. “Come on down, cookie! Jonah’s here! And look…”

  Hannah points with both arms to the foal. Syd hobbles down with Godiva on the leash, trying her best not to make a big production of it. Trying to look chill, like she’s any normal kid. A kid with a full head of hair. A kid without body aches and joints that work. She tries to act like the meds don’t matter, either—whether she has them or she doesn’t.

  When she gets down to the barn, Hannah’s dancing a jig. Syd would give anything to have that much energy, but whatever. She’ll have it eventually.

  “Syd! Look!” says Hannah, practically singing. “A filly! A beautiful new filly!”

  Syd loops Godiva’s leash on the fence post, grinning; she can’t help it. No matter how bad you feel, you feel good in front of a baby anything. “So I guess she was right,” Syd says.

  “What?” says Hannah. “Who?”

  “You know, Mom’s friend? Pandora?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your newborn baby,” says Syd pointing.

  Hannah frowns as she drinks this in. But before she can talk, a super handsome dude with curly black hair struts out of the barn without even a jacket on. Just a leather vest over careless denim, like a cool woodsman. Hannah nearly jumps him. “I’m so happy to be home!” she says, hugging him.

  Jonah gives her aunt a sort of hug, but not like he’s totally into her, which makes Syd sad for Hannah. She obviously still digs him. But this way maybe he’ll leave tonight and Syd can have Hannah to herself.

  Jonah comes over and gives Syd a gentle hug. “Hey kiddo,” he says. “Haven’t seen you in a few years, eh? Look at you all grown up. How you been?”

  Syd shrugs, leaning against the gate. “Better now that I’m here,” she says.

  Jonah’s face lights up. “And who’s this?” he says, headed for Godiva. This makes Syd like him more.

  “Godiva,” she says.

  “Godiva,” he repeats, and leans down to pick her up. “Aren’t you cute!” Godiva licks his chin, and they all laugh.

  “What’ll you name the filly?” Syd asks him.

  “That’s up to Hannah,” he says. “It’s all hers.”

  Syd walks over and offers the back of her hand to the filly’s mouth, or muzzle as Hannah informs her. She strokes the white blaze that runs all the way from her nose to her black ears. She’s so awkward and yet, so beautiful.

  “I’m good at names,” Syd says.

  “Then name her,” says Hannah. “Go ahead.”

  Syd grins. “Yeah?” she says. “Really?”

  “Really,” says Hannah, nodding. “Whatever you want.”

  Syd considers this, arms crossed. “Okay. Ireland,” she says, not sure why. She turns around. “Is that okay?”

  “Well, isn’t that a slick name,” Jonah says.

  “Interesting,” says Hannah approvingly. “Why Ireland?”

  Syd shrugs. “No reason. Just came to me. I’ve never been there, but…” She tilts her head up. “I had a dream about it once, I think.”

  “Ireland it is,” says her aunt. “We have to register it, so the name will be a mile long by the time we finish. “But that’s what we’ll call her—Ireland.”

  They wander back up the hill to the car. Jonah unloads their suitcases, and when they get inside, Hannah invites him to dinner.

  He shakes his head. “No can do, Han. Abandoned everything today for that little Irish filly down there. Have to get back to it.” He grins. “But she wa
s worth it. Jimmy’s gonna check on her later and I’ll be back in the morning. Got some real estate to sell tonight.”

  Hannah walks him out and Syd can hear her begging. “Come on, Jonah; let me treat you to dinner after all you’ve done. Please?”

  Syd just chuckles because Hannah can’t really cook, but Jonah must know that. And even though Syd picked up a million cooking tips from her dad, she’s too nauseous and exhausted to eat dinner anyway. She’ll take a nap, maybe. Just for a few minutes and be better after that. She sits on the edge of the beautiful bright yellow couch by the window. This must be new. Just the color of it alone cheers her up. Leave it to Aunt Hannah to buy a daffodil yellow couch. She pulls off her sheepskin boots and cuddles into the corner. The next thing she knows, she’s back on the cliffs, walking on the long path into a cottage with a big fireplace, and in front of it—a bunch of ladies in robes. It’s weird, but in a way, familiar. They catch her when she falls.

  Mitsy

  Mitsy stares blankly into the darkened room. Everyone has abandoned her—her husband, her sister, her own daughter. Even Pandora doesn’t answer the phone. She’s completely and utterly alone in a vortex of disaster. She sits with this for a moment the way Pandora has taught her. “Sit with your discomfort, Mitsy. Feel it! Be okay with it. Learn what it has to teach you.” But a thought interrupts this reverie and she cocks her head upward. Did everyone abandon her, she thinks suddenly. Or was it she who abandoned them?

  The truth descends like an anvil. Where did it come from? The truth says, “Mitsy Michaels is a fraud.” It says Mitsy Michaels has been a fraud her entire life. Even her name is fake. Her real name is ‘Mildred’ after her paternal grandmother. Who would name a child Mildred? Mil-dread! And then nickname her Mitsy? The name Mildred conjures images of an old buxom matron; the name Mitsy—a perennial toddler. Her life has been spent magnetically driven to one pole or the other. Matron or child; child or matron. Which is she today? She’s been playing these roles so long she doesn’t know anymore. She’s a shape-shifter, constantly adjusting herself to suit the needs of others. The only true thing she’s ever done is give birth to Sydney Grace.

  Thoughts of this child, this powerfully strong, desperately sick child, causes Mitsy’s lungs to collapse, her chest to heave, her eyes to blur with grief. Sydney was right; she’s been a terrible mother. She knows this. Sydney deserved more. Somehow this magical child has been gifted anyway. She’s been gifted with grit and force beyond anything Mitsy’s weak DNA could have ever endowed. Or Aaron’s. She came from somewhere else, some far off planet in a distant galaxy. A place of strength and courage. Her very matter is foreign to Mitsy. Any attempt to mother her was an act. And it didn’t help that Aaron was hardly around.

  Mitsy’s not sure exactly when it happened, the unclenching of this fist of a life, the release of all responsibility to others, to anyone but herself. At first she thought it was a good thing—a brief break from her devastating reality—all those day trips to the clinic, night trips to the ER. The constant pretending that everything was fine; that she was fine, when she was not fine. When she was a head-on collision with a tractor-trailer expected to get up, dust herself off, and walk away smiling. Just the utter sham of an idea that she could actually assert herself against Sydney’s disease; that she could draw a line the disease couldn’t cross. The sham that she is now or ever was in control of anything, including herself. She’s nothing but a grenade of compressed emotions, a danger to herself and everyone around her.

  Mitsy rubs her temples hard. It doesn’t help; nothing helps. She drags herself to the edge of the rumpled mess of a bed. The unraveling began with Aaron, she thinks. When he convinced her to let Hannah help out while he traveled, though Mitsy honestly never thought her sister would actually come. And even if she came, Mitsy never thought she would be much help, just benign company. Someone to talk to, even though they weren’t especially close.

  But Mitsy did need company. Her heart ached with a loneliness she couldn’t name, never mind overcome. When Syd got sick, Mitsy abandoned most of the friendships she’d had in Darien, not that there were many, and not that they were deep. All of her friendships were based on Syd—PTO committees, for instance; class mothers; scout leaders. Aaron was always good at making friends, but not Mitsy. At least not since college.

  She gazes slowly around the room, details obscured by the blinds and drapes she’d drawn when Syd left with Hannah earlier today. Another great excuse to bury herself in blankets and pillows. Whether it’s a good thing or not for Syd to be gone, Mitsy doesn’t know. Once she told Pandora that she didn’t know how much longer she could hang on—that there appeared to be no end to the pressure. Mitsy only knew how to be in control. Or rather, how to pretend to be in control. But there was no control here, real or pretend. That’s when she gave herself to God, or at least to her idea of God. Whether he’s actually listening or not, she doesn’t know. But Pandora listens. Pandora is her gateway to God. That’s why she’s got Pandora.

  Mitsy drags herself across the room, and forces herself to open the blinds. She needs some light in her cave. Of course there isn’t much light outside either. The skies are already dark; storms threaten. Hannah and Syd have been gone for hours now, and no one’s even bothered to call her back to let her know they’re safe. So maybe they didn’t arrive; maybe they aren’t safe. But so what? It isn’t safe here either. Both ends and everything in between are a death trap. They are all dangling off the roof of a skyscraper in gale force winds. And she’s the only one who seems to know it. Her newly revived belief in God aside, she is hopeless, despairing. She falls to her knees and weeps.

  However much later it is when she comes up for air, she remembers that she called Aaron earlier, but will he come home? Probably not. And anyway, what good would it do? If she knows one thing it’s that Aaron isn’t in love with her anymore. Whether he had that affair or not doesn’t really matter in the end. He’s a good enough man, and he loved her once. When people promise to love each other in good times and bad, they have no idea what they’re saying. Can you really promise to love someone who is so depressed they can give you nothing in return? Can you promise to live in an emotional desert forever just to keep someone company, someone who barely knows you’re there? That’s not love; it’s duty. Anyway, the truth is she doesn’t love Aaron either. She never did.

  She raises herself from her knees against the frame of the antique Biedermeier chair and walks to the gilded full-length mirror on the back wall. She flicks the switch that turns on the overheads, shielding her eyes from the glare. What she sees in the mirror startles her. Her dull, steel gray hair is matted. When did she last shower? Her washed-out sweat pants hang loosely and she can barely find herself under the baggy sweatshirt. Her eyes are red, the skin on her face blotchy. She must be a newt or a frog squirming out from under a rock. She feels slimy.

  She resolves to get something to eat, until she realizes it would involve leaving the bedroom. Since Aaron left and Hannah took over, Mitsy’s been walking steadily backwards from the great outdoors, to the yard, to the house, to the piano in the conservatory, to the kitchen and up the back stairs to her room. All in reverse. She’s been hiding in this room for days, if not a week, maybe longer. How would she know? She’s been surviving on valium. Something about Hannah’s reckless cheer made Mitsy retreat into full alienation. Not that it’s Hannah’s fault. And anyway, it was Mitsy who invited her in the first place, even if it was Aaron’s idea.

  A sour odor wafts over her, and she realizes it’s coming from her skin. And probably her hair. Not to mention her clothes. She’ll force herself to shower; she must. Whether her husband or her daughter returns or not, whether one or the other decides to stay with her or not—she will have to shower eventually. Even if she dies from rot, they will clean her up in the morgue. They will clean her up, dress her in nice clothes, arrange her hair and apply makeup to her face. Death would only improve matters. She sheds her clothes and walks into the shower.


  In the shower she remembers an exercise Pandora gave her once. She told Mitsy to close her eyes and imagine herself in the penthouse elevator of a skyscraper. This elevator represents Mitsy in her present life, Pandora said. “Go down very slowly, one floor at a time, stopping at each floor. Each floor represents a life you’ve lived. Each time you press the button for the next floor down, release the persona of the floor you’re on. See yourself. See who you were. Then release it.”

  Mitsy finds this helpful now as the hot water rushes over her. Shed it! Shed this lifetime altogether and keep going down “until you reach the truth” is what Pandora had said. “Somewhere along the way you lost it. Somewhere along the way you became someone else.”

  Mitsy knows she was right.

  As she showers, she gains strength of some kind, or maybe it’s just the scouring off of the life she’s been leading. She scrubs hard with the loofah, scrubs her forearms, legs, her shrunken breasts, her bony hips. She barely recognizes herself so thin. She must have lost ten pounds in the last week alone. She’s got to eat! But eating will take courage. Eating is a sign of life. And if there’s one thing Mitsy is terrified of, it’s that.

  Afterwards, she towels off and applies lotion to her scaling skin. She deodorizes and sprays, going through all the motions of caring for herself. Of caring about herself. All the while in her mind, she descends one floor at a time, searching for herself in the elevator. Searching for a seed of truth.

  Down ten or so floors she’s reminded of a dream she once had of herself on an island in a cold place somewhere north. On the ocean. Maybe Block Island or somewhere off the coast of Maine. She and other women held hands, formed a ring and danced joyfully around, giving praise to something or other. Or someone. No way to know. Witches or sorcerers, perhaps. It didn’t matter. Just the sorority of it all, the friendship, is what gripped her. Even in the dream. There was love among them. She hasn’t known intimacy like that in this lifetime at least, maybe more.