Dear Jamie,
I'm fifteen and have a part-time job and feel that I'm pretty responsible when it comes to money. I think I'm old enough to have my own credit card, but my parents said “forget it.” I told them that it would help me to learn about finances, but they just don't get it. They say I'm too young and that I'll mess up. What do you think?
No Credit
Okay, here's what I really think.
Dear No Credit,
Get real. Your parents are right You are too young. Get over it.
Just Jamie
Okay, I won't write that. In fact, I won't write anything today. I just can't.
Twelve
Thursday, June 6
I feel like I'm losing it. Like I can feel life or time or something important just slipping through my fingers, like I can't really hang on. It's hard to describe, and I can't even wrap my head around it, except that it feels totally out of character—its not like me to be like this.
I think I first started feeling seriously whacked on that day I took Nat to Haven and assumed she was getting an abortion. But I guess I sort of brushed it aside when I realized she hadn't actually done it (yet), telling myself I would deal with it later. Then I fell apart when I heard from Matthew the next day on Tuesday
“Sorry, I didn't call yesterday,” he told me. “I went with my grandpa to play golf, and it kind of turned into an all-day thing.”
“That's okay.” Of course, I don't mention that he could've called me later that evening.
“We had a really great time, and we were just finishing up the sixteenth hole when Grandpa got this idea about taking me to Europe as a graduation present. He was talking about all the galleries and museums and how it would be good for my art.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, that's what I was thinking. So anyway, we finished up golf and went to his house and got online, and he started looking for good travel deals. And you're not going to believe this, Km; he actually booked a trip.”
“That's cool.”
“We leave on Thursday. Can you believe it?”
“Seriously? You're leaving this Thursday?”
“Yeah. Grandpa got a great deal because we were able to just pick up and go.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“We're not really sure. I mean, the round-trip ticket isn't booked until early August, but Grandpa said we could change our plans if we wanted.”
“That's like two months,” I said, surprised that I could actually do the math since I've been feeling so brain-dead.
“Yeah. But Grandpa thinks it'll take that long to really see what we need to see. It'll be hard being away from you that long, Kim, but this is such a great opportunity for me—and for my art, you know? I couldn't say no.”
“Of course not, Matthew. This is incredible. I'm so happy for you.” But even as I said this, I felt tears building up and I could hear the gruffness in my throat. “I, uh, I have to go right now. I promised Nat that I'd help her with something.” Okay, that was a lie, but I had to get off the phone.
“I've got a bunch of stuff to do too, Lucky for me, I already have a passport. Grandpa's picking me up in few minutes to take care of some of the other details.” So we said good-bye and hung up, and I began to cry again.
It seems like I've been crying for days now—almost as much as I did right after Mom died. And while I know I'm crying for missing her, I'm also crying for something else too. I'm just not sure what exactly. It's probably a bunch of things—like knowing I'll miss Matthew this summer, plus this whole nasty thing with Natalie.
Get a grip, Kim. Just chill. But it's like I can't. I just pace around the house or else sleep. I've been sleeping a lot during the day. Then I end up awake at night, and I walk around the dark, quiet house and just cry. And when I try to pray, the words get stuck. I feel like everything in me is all stopped up.
Matthew came by last night to say good-bye. He didn't have time for much more than that. And I suppose that was a good thing since I was pretty much falling apart.
“I'm sorry,” he told me as we hugged. “Don't take it so hard, Kim. I'll be back before you know it. And I'll write every day.”
“I'm sorry.” I tried to hold back the tears. “I think I'm just extra emotional right now. There's a lot of stuff going on in my life. I'm really glad for you—glad for this opportunity. Its so cool, Matthew. I hope you have a great time.”
He smiled down at me. “Thanks, Kim. Maybe we can do this trip together someday. I'll know my way around, and I can show you all the best places.”
I nodded, but somehow I knew this was never going to happen. Still, I pretended as if I believed it would, as if I believed that life was really going to get better for me.
Today, as Matthew was flying to Frankfurt, I was sleeping. I think I slept most of the day. Now it's nighttime, and Fm guessing he's in Germany by now. So far away. I feel so far away. So lost.
Friday, June 7
I get up this morning and tell myself that Fm going to snap out of this—whatever cloud of gloom and doom that's hanging over my head. I tell myself that Fm going to go outside and look at the flowers and trees, that Fm going to smell the air and listen to the birds-^just like Mom told me to do in that letter. But it is nearly noon by the time I get up, and I don't feel like doing anything. I don't even shower or get dressed. And I don't feel like eating.
Instead I plop myself down on the couch, turn on the TV, and make myself into a vegetable as I watch one soap opera after another. I remind myself of Aunt Shannon. Although I don't think Fm actually listening or focusing much, but finally there is this one scene where a young woman is talking about losing a baby and how she's been depressed. I think about Natalie, and I just want to scream.
How can she seriously want to do this? What has happened to her? I turn off the TV, toss down the remote, and start pacing again. Okay, I know it's not my decision and not really my business, but it just gets me that she can change like this. Like one day its a horrible sin to kill an unborn baby, and the next day it's okay.
Before I really know what I'm doing, I have walked down to her house in my pajamas (which are actually boxer shorts and a tank top), and I am knocking on her door—ready for a confrontation.
Fortunately Krissy and Micah are at day camp so Natalie is alone. And before I have time to really think this thing out or plan my words, I am staging an all-out assault on Natalie. Throwing the same kind of pro-life words at her that she once threw at me.
“Its not the baby's fault.” I continue my sermon, not letting her get a word in edgewise as she sits on the edge of the couch, her hands in tight fists, as if she'd like to punch me. “He or she has no choice in this matter. And yet you're willing to just snuff that life out so you'll look good and can preserve your pride, your good little Christian girl image. But how are you going to feel,” I say, “when the day comes and you have to stand before God and account for killing that innocent baby? How are you going to feel when the whole world knows what you've done, Natalie? Sure, you might be able to sweep this under the carpet now, but one day it s going to be shouted from the rooftops, and how will you feel then?”
Okay, now I know I've gone too far. I've reduced my friend to tears, and I know that I've said way too much, and none of it in love. Its like I'm just venting to make myself feel better. But the problem is, I now feel horrible. I feel like a failure and the worst friend on the planet. I can't imagine what Jamie would say to someone as heartless and selfish as I have just been. God, what is wrong with me?
My legs are shaking as I stand there watching Natalie crying. I know I should go over and hug her and tell her I'm sorry and that I'm so stupid and I just happen to be having a personal meltdown myself, but instead I turn away and walk out. I just leave her like that—a pile of pain I helped to create. I make myself sick. In fact, I feel physically sick as I walk toward my house. I'm getting that same weird tingling and numbing sensation I got on Monday, after we came home from the wome
n's clinic.
By the time I get into the house, my hands and feet are completely numb. Even my nose and lips are numb. And now my ears are ringing really loudly, and my heart is racing and I'm sure that I'm about to die. Probably God's judgment on me for being such a jerk. I deserve it. But I sit down and wait, hoping that this crud will pass. But it doesn't. I only feel worse.
I stand up and walk around now, still numb and tingly, and my heart is racing and pounding like I've just finished a marathon. I am getting seriously freaked. Something is really wrong with me, and I don't know what to do.
I consider going online to see if there's some explanation for these weird symptoms, and I vaguely remember hearing about allergic reactions that cause numbness and eventually block your airways. And maybe I'm being obsessive or even a hypochondriac, but I am really, really worried. Finally, I don't know what to do. I consider calling Natalie, but after my tongue-lashing, how can I? Matthew is gone. And so, in final desperation, I call my dad.
I quickly describe my frightening symptoms, and he tells me to call 9-1-1.
“No way, Dad,” I tell him, trying to calm myself, trying to just breathe. “It's not that bad. I don't want an ambulance. It's just very weird, and I don't know what to do. But I can't call—”
“Okay, I'm going to hang up and call you right back on my cell phone. Then I'm driving home, and I want you to stay on the line until I get there, understand? If you don't, I will call 9-1-1.”
I agree, and feeling even more freaked at his reaction, I follow his directions, keeping the phone with me as I get a glass of water and take a few sips. Then I go lie down on the couch and wait. My dad's voice is so soothing and calming I actually feel better by the time he gets home. Maybe this whole thing was just my imagination.
“I'm sorry,” I tell him, sitting up. “It's probably nothing.”
“Get in the car,” he commands as he helps me to my feet. “My secretary called ahead to Dr. Grier, and they'll be expecting you.”
So it is that I find myself being examined by our family doctor, and there in his office, trusting his confidentiality, I break down and tell him everything— everything from how much I miss my mom and my boyfriend, to how my best friend is pregnant and how I just laid into her about her choice to get an abortion.
As I'm going on and on about this, he is checking all my vital signs and listening and nodding and commenting when it's appropriate. Finally, it seems the exam is over.
“Am I gonna make it, Doc?” I ask, hoping to sound much lighter than I feel.
“You're under a lot of stress, Km.”
I nod, blinking back more tears.
“That's a huge load for anyone to carry…”
“I know.”
“So, what can you do to change anything?” he asks as he writes some things down on a chart. I'm thinking he's prescribing some form of psychiatric care for me. Maybe they'll lock me up.
“I don't know…” I try to think of an answer. “Usually, I try to pray about stuff like this, but lately it hasn't worked. It's like I've been so stressed that I can't even pray. It's like I'm stuck.”
“Maybe God is trying to tell you something.”
I study him for a moment. To be honest, I didn't even know that Dr. Grier believed in God. “What?” I finally ask.
“I'm not sure. But maybe He's trying to get your attention. Maybe He wants you to see that you're taking on too much. For instance, with your friend who's pregnant, doesn't she have anyone else she can lean on?”
I sadly shake my head. “No. She won't even tell her mom.”
“Too bad.” He presses his lips together, as if thinking, then tells me that he's going to talk to my dad while I get dressed.
I consider asking him about patient-doctor privilege since I don't want Dad to know about Nat's pregnancy. But why bother? Why must I keep Natalie's secret from my own dad? It's not like he'll tell anyone.
By the time I leave the examining room, the doctor has a prescription waiting for me, some kind of antianxiety medication I'm not sure I even want to take. And according to the nurse, he and Dad are still “in conference.”
Finally, they come out and Dr. Grier pats me on the back. “You have an extraordinary daughter, Allen.”
Dad nods. “I know that.”
Then we leave, but we're barely in the car when I start grilling Dad for details.
“Dr. Grier and I both agree you are under too much stress, Km.”
I nod. “Yeah, I guess that's true.”
“And so I've made a decision.”
I turn and look at my dad. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I'm sending you on a vacation.”
“Huh?”
So he explains how he'd called his mother last weekend, worried that I might possibly be pregnant. “But she was off playing bingo,” he continues. “So she called me back on Monday, and I explained that things were under control now. But she really wanted me to send you out for a visit. At the time it seemed unnecessary, and I told her as much. But now, after this little breakdown—”
“Breakdown?”
“Well, that's not exactly right. Dr. Grier said it was most likely a panic or anxiety attack. Too much stress probably ignited the whole thing, and as a result you started having physical symptoms. It's your body's way of telling you that you're putting yourself through too much. Anyway, I think it would be good for you to stay with your grandma—”
“And the alligators?”
Dad sort of chuckles. “Oh, I'm sure you'll keep a safe distance from the gators, Kim. But being at her place, where life is quiet and slow and easy, I think it might be good for you. And it's just what the doctor ordered.”
“Grandma and the alligators?” I say again, dumbfounded. “You gotta be kidding.”
“Just think about it.”
So that's what I've been doing all night long—just thinking about it. And this is only making me feel worse. I think I'm having a serious meltdown here. It's like I'm unable to reason, I can't think straight, and I can't get my feelings under control. Even my prayers are pathetic, just hopeless cries for help, with no faith involved. I'm a mess.
Finally, it's nearly midnight, and I decide that maybe Dr. Grier is right, so I will take one of those little pills. I don't like the idea of using chemicals to “feel better,” but I don't like the idea of losing my mind either. And right now it feels as if it could be one or the other. God, help me. That's about the only prayer I can pray at the moment. I hope He's listening.
Thirteen
Monday, June 10
Despite my mental stability, or lack of it, I did go to church yesterday. Although I didn't go to youth group on Saturday. I didn't want to see Ben and end up lashing out at him for getting Nat pregnant and disrupting our lives. And I knew I couldn't trust myself, or my out-of-control emotions, not to do that. But going to church did make me feel slightly better, at least during the worship time.
Then I happened to notice Ben O'Conner sitting up front, and I got to thinking about this whole unborn baby dilemma again. Was it fair for Natalie to make this life-or-death decision without Ben even knowing he could be a father? I mean, don't dads have any rights?
Then Pastor Tony got up to speak, and I realized that he and Steph would be relatives of this unborn baby as well—and yet they would never know—they would never have a chance to express an opinion. It just seems so wrong that one person is allowed to snuff out a life like that—without consulting anyone. It just gets me.
I mean, I realize that Nat's got a lot on the line here. I know that going through a full-term pregnancy will be extremely hard on her. But in the long run, it might be just as hard on her to abort her baby. Especially as I consider how Natalie has struggled with huge guilt over losing her virginity. That threw her into a total tailspin. What will happen to her if she aborts her baby and then regrets it and feels guilty?
So even though I didn't focus too much on Pastor Tony's sermon, I did come home with a plan. And t
hat was to talk to Natalie. First of all, I would apologize for acting like such a jerk on Friday. Then I would ask her to consider these things.
I called first to make sure she was home. And I wasn't surprised when she hung up on me. As I walked to her house, I could tell by the car in the driveway that her mom was there, and that was probably a good thing because Natalie would be forced to act civilized and she'd have to listen to me.
“Nat's in her room,” Mrs. McCabe tells me after she opens the door. She's still dressed in “church” clothes and appears to have her hands full with Krissy and Micah, who are both whining about not getting to go to McDonald's for lunch.
I don't bother knocking on the door since I know Natalie will only tell me to go away.
“Look,” I say as I slip into her room. “I come in peace, okay? I just want to tell you I'm really, really sorry for the way I acted on Friday I don't blame you if you don't forgive me, but I want you to know that I totally blew it, and I'm really sorry.”
She is sitting like a stone on her bed, just staring at me with the angriest expression I've ever seen across her face.
I pull out a chair and sit down. “If it makes you feel any better, I went home and had this, well, sort of like a breakdown or meltdown or anxiety attack. My dad had to come home and take me to the doctor.”
Now her anger seems to lift a bit, and she looks slightly curious.
“He said it's because of stress, and he prescribed some pills, and he and my dad cooked up this plan to get me away—for a mental-health break.”
“No way.”
“It's true. Dad is ready to ship me off to my grandma's.”
She frowns now. “Are you serious?”
I nod. I don't tell her that I actually agreed to this lame plan. I'll save that for later.
“Your crazy grandma in Florida?”
I nod again. “She's been feeding the alligators lately.”
Falling Up Page 10
