Book Three - A Codependent Love Story (Zelda's World 3)

by Paloma Meir

  I didn't want to sleep over at her house and would go back to my home in the late evenings. In her new state, I found her arousing but didn’t want to take advantage of her. I didn’t quite trust myself with her that way.

  So it was a pleasant surprise that on the day before Christmas, I arrived at her house to find her wearing a red floral dress, her hair washed and brushed and even wearing a little make-up. She hadn’t taken an interest in her appearance in months. I lost myself in her and forgot about the sadness of the previous months. I saw the perfect Celena, but then she opened her mouth.

  “I want everything to be normal again. I hate feeling as if everything were dim. It’s like you’re in a haze Serge. I want us to be like before.” A perfectly beautiful sentiment that I felt too. The problem was the monotone of her voice, and the trace of frustration. I took a good look at her. The red dress I was so happy to see her in was tight against her body when before it had been a loose frock. My idea of her adjusted in that moment. I liked her weight. It was as if she were a plump ripe fruit. The bloat was almost gone, and what was left had a fertile quality, a sensuality.

  “Excellent idea, Celena.” I took off the dress that had been a sign of her improving mental health. I saw the Venus De Milo standing before me, the western world’s idea of perfect feminine beauty. I liked her curves, and the feminine roundness. Of course, the appreciation of her was interrupted by a voice inside my head telling me I had always preferred the sculptures of Robert Graham, the dancer’s bodies more like Zelda’s than what stood before me.

  Ignoring the thoughts of Zelda I had never had with Celena before, I tore off my clothes with an urgency that made the flat Celena smile. I kissed her lips, her eyes, my tongue running down her neck, my fingers through her hair. I pulled her close to me but not wanting to rush, I kissed her breasts, enjoying the new fullness. I couldn’t stop myself. I moved my hand into the gentle folds of her, my finger inside I felt a very un-Celena like dryness. I pulled away to look at her face and saw the flatness in her expression.

  “Have you missed me going down on you Celena?”

  “That might work.” She said without much enthusiasm.

  “That might work? You’re going to be holding my head down not letting me up to breath.” We climbed on to her bed and I buried my mouth in her, my tongue licking all the bumps and folds of Celena. She lay still not really responding. I put my finger inside of her moving it slowly in and out of her. Her breathing grew heavy but not much of a response otherwise. I knew what she needed. I moved up and lay next to her.

  “I want to fuck you, Celena.” I whispered in her ear.

  “Okay,” she replied still with the breathiness but not the excitement she used to have when I spoke that way to her. I reached under her bed and took a condom out from the box we kept there.

  “Here we go.” I handed it to her and lay back on the bed.

  “Okay.” She sat up, opened the foil and unrolled it onto my hardness. She had never put it on before without first going down on me, not once, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I know that I love you and I know it feels good, but it’s hard to feel anything...”

  “I’ll make you feel good.” I said with more confidence than I felt.

  I flipped her back on to the bed hoping to wake her up or make her laugh, but she only looked into my eyes with an expression I couldn’t read.

  “I love you, Celena. I’ve missed you.” Slowly I went in and out of her, too excited by her I sped up though she didn’t do much beyond lay underneath me. “Is this okay?" I kissed her wanting to devour her, loving her body. I told her that I loved her again as I came.

  Finished, I rolled off her and stared up at the ceiling. I knew I hadn’t done much for her. I felt like I had taken advantage of her in some way. The feeling was unpleasant. I thought of all of our times together how we lie in her bed all day touching each other, her eagerness.

  I wondered if it had all been part of her illness. Who had the real Celena been and what had been her disease? Her bright mind had been her, but now the pills had taken that away, did that mean it hadn’t been real? What part of her was the frenzy she had for me?

  “I’m going to go home now.” I put my clothes back on. I felt shy, and didn’t look directly at her, “I’ll come back tomorrow with your gift.” I knew we would never touch each other again.

  “Okay” I hated all of her “Okays” and “I don’t knows”. I wanted to shake the real Celena out of her, the one who had thoughts and could voice them.

  …

  The sun was setting as I walked up to the front door of my house at the same time as my sister. Her hands were full of bags. She didn’t speak to me as she shuffled them around. I wondered why she hadn’t gotten a ride up the hill from Zelda’s parents or why Zelda didn’t help her.

  “Do you need some help?” I asked my uncommunicative sister.

  “No, I’ve got it. Okay, maybe I need help.” Her eyes watered as she spoke. After my day at Celena’s, I didn’t have time for her overly emotional behavior. I took the bags from her tangled hands.

  “Why did she get you so many presents?” There must have been a dozen boxes in her bags.

  “I don’t think she got me any. Her mom did her shopping. She went a little overboard… There’s one in the bag for you.”

  “Isn’t shopping a big part of her life? Is she okay? I’m going to run down to give her my gift.” I had found her an illustrated book of French fairytales with an edition date of 1928. The book was in delicate but readable condition.

  “She’s been at Theodora’s. I don’t know when she’s coming back.”

  “You’ve been staying at her house, and she hasn’t been there? She’s not coming home for Christmas? What going on with you two?” I dropped the bags out of frustration and took the phone out of my pocket to text her.

  “Don’t bother her Serge.” She took the phone from my hands. “She’s just sad about Danny. You know how she is...”

  “No, I don’t know “how she is”. Why would she break up with him if she were going to be so... I don’t even know the word to describe the weirdness you’re saying.”

  “Why do you always worry about her? Why are you always thinking about her?”

  “That’s cute, Carolina. You think you’re smarter than me? Trying to embarrass me so I won’t ask you questions? Not going to work. Tell me right now what’s going on with the two of you, or I will go to Theodora’s house and ask her myself. She would never lie to me the way that you do.” I grabbed my phone back from her to text Veronica because I didn’t actually have any of Theodora’s information.

  “Nothing Serge.” She put her hands on her hips and stomped her foot like a child, “I don’t know why she broke up with him. What she said didn’t make sense. She’s gotten a little carried away with her heartbrokenness. Is that even a word? She didn’t want to see him around so she went to Theodora’s. Her parents have always let her do whatever she wants, so they’re letting her stay there. I stayed at her house because of our mother. Is there anything else you want to know?”

  I opened my mouth to ask why she cries all the time but was distracted by the sight of our mother coming out of the kitchen dressed in actual clothes with her hair washed and blow dried and a little bit of make-up much like the way Celena had been not more than a few hours before.

  I knew from my earlier experience with Celena not to trust appearances, but for a moment I wanted to believe that our mother was as she appeared. Even before we moved to this house, she had never been the perfect mother that now stood before us. She looked so much like Carolina with her dark hair and sprite like features.

  “Kids don’t argue. It’s Christmas Eve.” She smiled with a warmth at both of us that she usually saved only for me. “I’ve made dinner. Come sit down. You still like duck, Carolina, don’t you?”

  We sat down at the table too stunned to speak. Carolina took my hand and squeezed it tightly. The soberness of our mother
frightened us more than her drunkenness ever did, I thought as I squeezed her hand back.

  “Well you two are quiet tonight,” she laughed. “Bernard, don’t worry about the pots. Come sit down.” He sat down next to my mother as he always did, but this time with a smile for us instead of his usual staring off. Carolina squeezed my hand harder if that were possible.

  “Bernard, should I tell them or should you?”

  I panicked over the thought that her wish for more babies had come true.

  “Kids, your mother has decided to quit drinking. We’ve thrown away all the bottles. Everything is going to be all right now, just as I told you, Serge,” my father said as if I were childish for making a big deal out of the lost years with my mother. I felt something close to hate for him.

  “That’s great, Mom.” I wanted to say more, but my mind emptied as I let go of Carolina’s hand and looked down at my plate. Carolina followed my lead as our parents laughed.

  “I thought this would make you two happy,” she laughed again making me feel sick. “This is the part where I make amends. I’m sorry, kids. Truly, I am.”

  Carolina and I opened our mouths to speak, but neither one of us we’re able to form a thought, let alone a sentence.

  “This wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.” She lifted the fork to her mouth, “We have all the time in the world to talk about it later, so we’ll talk about something else for now. How is Zelda, Carolina? I feel like she should be here tonight. I’ve always thought of her as my third child.”

  It was all too much. She had spent the last seven years doing everything possible to make her “third child” feel as small as possible. I threw down my fork and gave up all pretense of eating my dinner.

  “She’s fine,” Carolina said in a voice similar to Zelda’s at our “family” dinners.

  “She’s such a sweet girl. You’re a good friend to her, Carolina. I would always get a kick out of listening to the two of you play your games.” She turned to my father, “Don’t you miss that, Bernard? Our Carolina always had such a vivid imagination.”

  Carolina burst into tears, and I didn’t even question it. I put my arm around her.

  “Mom, it’s all a little overwhelming.” Astonishing would have been a better a description. “We want to support you, we do support you but maybe...”

  “A little less sentimental?” She laughed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Carolina. How about you each open one of your presents after dinner? It’s going to be okay kids.”

  “Merry Christmas, Serge.” My mother picked up a tiny box from under our scantly decorated tree after dinner. Carolina and Zelda had always trimmed it before, but neither of them had been around for the holidays. The tree was as depressing as the atmosphere of our home.

  I took the box from my mother and noticed her hand shaking. I saw for the first time the forced smile, the tight lines around her eyes. My mother was suffering for her decision, and her decision was for us. I allowed myself to feel hope as I hugged her and whispered in her ear that everything was going to be okay.

  “Serge, we have to go outside for your gift,” she pulled away from me and wiped a tear away from her eye.

  “Okay.” We walked across to the street to a black Volvo. I opened up the box in my hands hoping that it would contain a key and it did. It wasn’t brand new, and it wasn’t top of the line like Brendan or Danny’s cars, but it was mine. No more having to borrow my father’s late model Mercedes that always made me feel like an old man when I drove it around town.

  “Thank you,” I was suddenly exhausted from the long and surreal day.

  “Can you take us for a drive?” Carolina asked, “Can I sit in the front?” It was a relief to see her happy, but I didn’t think I could stand up for another moment. I glanced at my parents to see them holding hands, another change from our day-to-day lives. I felt as if I were already in bed dreaming.

  “Can we do it tomorrow?” I walked away not waiting for an answer.

  …

  I woke at noon the next day feeling refreshed. I threw on my jeans and sweatshirt from the day before and went downstairs to find Carolina. She sat on the sofa watching television and texting with a slight smile on her face.

  “Merry Christmas.” She looked up from her phone to me.

  “Merry Christmas. Where is everybody?” I rubbed my eyes from the brightness of the day that was streaming through the windows.

  “Mom’s upstairs and Dad’s in his office. Nobody wanted to wake you up. Are you ready to open the gifts?” She looked back down at her phone, “John is officially my boyfriend now.”

  “Great” I said, gross I thought. “I’ll go upstairs and get Mom. Is she still not drinking?” I knew that was a stupid question as soon as I asked it. Our mother drinking would have been the first words out of her mouth instead of the holiday greeting.

  “No drinking, she looks a little fluish though... Even if it doesn’t last it seems like a good first step, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” I replied unused to Carolina taking the positive view.

  “Mom,” I knocked on her bedroom door. No response, I knocked again. Nothing. I opened the door to the dark room to see her lying on her bed. The smell of vomit overwhelmed me. “Mom, are you okay?” I approached her bed.

  She lay with her eyes open wide, covered in vomit, hands trembling, and her body quaking. “Mom,” I screamed and reached for my cell phone that was still in my bedroom. “Dad, Carolina” I picked up the phone on her bedside table and punched in 911.

  “Dad,” I yelled again while talking to the operator who gave me instructions I couldn’t follow. I told them to hurry, put the phone down, and tried to figure out how to best help my mother.

  I thought of holding her tongue down, but she didn’t seem to be having a seizure just a lot of jerky movements. “Mom, talk to me.” I grabbed the throw off the foot of her bed to wipe the vomit off of her ,but it only smeared it.

  “What’s wrong Serge?” Carolina asked as she came into the room.

  “I don’t know. Go into our bathroom and get me some wet warm towels.” She stood frozen in the doorway. “Do it now, Carolina.”

  I held my mother’s hands, and tried to stop her shaking. “It’s going to be okay, Mom.” I said over and over again, “Dad” I yelled out again hating him for letting her try to do this on her own.

  “Here,” Carolina ran back into the room with the towels. I took a smaller one and cleaned my mother’s face.

  “Get me something easy to change her into and then go downstairs and let the paramedics in. Where’s Dad?”

  “Here,” She handed me a white caftan like nightgown. I sat my mother up and propped the pillows behind her to take off her soiled floral bathrobe. I looked forward to throwing it away and never seeing it again.

  “Thanks, Carolina. Go downstairs and wait by the door,” I said as calmly as possible. I didn't want to alarm her or have her see anymore than she already had, “Yell out for Dad too, okay?” I forced a smile and hoped she would perceive the situation as routine.

  “I want to stay with you.”

  “Please Carolina, downstairs.” I tried not to look at my mother's body as I removed her robe. I grew angrier with my father with every passing second. I spoke to my mother as I wiped the vomit away, joking about trying to make it to the bathroom next time. Cleaned up I put the dressing gown over her head and her arms through the armholes, not an easy task even in her floppy condition.

  I laid her back on the pillows as the paramedics came through the door, followed by Carolina and my father. I kissed my mothers cheek and whispered that I loved her.

  “Could you tell us about what happened, Mr. Richmond?” They asked my father who had been the very last person to enter the room. Carolina pulled me away as the paramedics took my mother’s vital signs.

  “Come on, Serge,” she led me into our bathroom. “Now you’re dirty too,” She spoke in the same calming tone I had used with her not moments before. “I’ll be
right back. I’m going to get you a clean shirt.” I waited in a dream state as she ran to my room.

  “Here Serge. Do you need help to get it off?” She lifted my arms. Her touch brought me back to my body. I took off my sweatshirt and put on the long sleeve grey MIT t-shirt. “Maybe you should take a shower?” She asked as she used a washcloth to wipe my mother’s sickness off of me.

  In the mirror I saw the reflection of my mother being carried out on a stretcher, and my father following closely behind. I followed him down the stairs with Carolina closely behind.

  “Kids, I’ll follow them to the hospital in my car. You two stay here. I’ll call you when I know what’s going on.”

  “I’m coming. We’ll follow you in my car.” Driving with him wasn’t something I could do.