by Rose, Willow
The psychiatrist wrote on her notepad. She looked up and handed Dagmar the prescription. Dagmar took it and held it tightly in her hands.
Finally. Finally. Oh boy.
"You do know that Zolpidem, taken in too high a dose, can cause amnesia," the doctor said. "It can also be fatal taken with other medications that cause drowsiness…and don't drink alcohol. Never take any more than it says on the bottle, okay? An overdose could kill you."
"Oh, I know," Dagmar said with a smile. Her hands were shaking in withdrawal. She hadn't had anything today at all since all her bottles were empty and her usual doctor refused to prescribe more. Dagmar got up from her chair, then shook the doctor's hand.
"Thank you, thank you," she said, then rushed out the doctor's office.
29
February 2014
IT WAS LATE IN the afternoon and getting dark as Dagmar took the ferry back to Fanoe Island and went to the pharmacy, before she hurried home to her small apartment in Nordby that was located in an old building right above a hairdresser.
She opened the door and rushed inside. She took off her jacket and her boots, then pulled out the bottles from the small plastic bag. The lady at the pharmacy had looked at her like she was crazy when she had handed her the prescription.
"Didn't you just get a new dose last week?" she asked.
Sometimes Dagmar really hated living on a small island. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that she had to find doctors on the mainland to help her get her prescriptions, but maybe it was about time she started using their pharmacies as well. She didn't like the way the lady behind the counter had looked at her. No, it was time to change her pharmacy as well.
"Next time," she mumbled, and looked at the many bottles on her kitchen table. There was enough for at least a couple of weeks. It made her feel calm. She would probably have to go all the way to Vejle next time to find a psychiatrist who would give her more medication, but she'd cross that bridge when she got to it.
She didn't understand all their concerns, though. Dagmar knew everything she needed to know about her medicine. She knew exactly how much she could take without it being dangerous. She knew which kind of pills went well with others and which didn't. She was an expert, one that had actually tried it all on her own body. She was very controlled and made sure all she did was to get sedated enough to forget all those thoughts she couldn't get rid of. But she had never taken too much. And she never would. She was way too experienced for that.
Dagmar grabbed a glass and filled it with tap water. Then, she took her bottle of pills and took out three. Yes, it was three times as many as prescribed, but she knew she could take it. If she took four, it would be bad, but she didn't.
Dagmar placed the pills on the table in front of her in a row and sat down with her glass of water. She felt sad for a second, thinking about her twin brother, who had been killed when they were just fourteen. Their stepdad had beaten him to death while Dagmar was watching. The stepdad had done his time, ten years in jail, and now he was out and had started a new family with another woman. Meanwhile, Dagmar's mother had killed herself after her brother's death and now Dagmar had no one left. It saddened her deeply, but the pills helped her to not get too sad. Sometimes, they even made her forget completely. She needed that. She needed to forget. She needed to remain sedated in order to make it through the day. Otherwise, she could only think about her brother and how unfair it all was and how alone she was in this forsaken world.
Dagmar felt the heavy sadness weigh her down and picked up a pill with the intention of taking it, when there was a knock on her door. She put the pill in her mouth and swallowed it. There was another knock. Dagmar didn't know what to do. She never had guests. She had no friends and no family.
Another knock.
This time it sounded urgent. She got up. Someone probably had the wrong address or something. She walked to the door and opened it. Outside stood a man whose face she knew very well.
The man smiled diabolically, then pulled a knife and placed it on her throat while pushing her backwards into the apartment. He slammed the door with his foot behind him. Dagmar was stunned. Perplexed. She had no idea what was going on.
"What…?"
She tried to speak, but he pressed the knife towards her skin.
"Shh," he said.
"I don't understand."
The man smashed his fist into her face and she felt an excruciating pain. Dagmar screamed and fell to the ground. The man hit her again and again, plunging his fist into her face and body, till she was so beaten, she couldn't scream anymore. Then he pulled her by the hair and sat her in a chair. Dagmar moaned and tried to focus, but everything remained a blur.
The man then took all of her pill bottles and placed them on the table in front of her, one after another. She heard the well-known sound of them being opened, then felt how he opened her mouth forcefully and started pouring pills on her tongue. She wanted to protest; she wanted to stop him, but she couldn't. Everything was so unreal and so blurry now, she had no idea how to stop him or for what reason she would. He would only hit her again. Dagmar felt water in her mouth and started to swallow in order to not get suffocated. She gasped for air and coughed. The water stopped and she caught her breath again. She opened her eyes and saw the man empty the bottle of Zolpidem into his hand.
"Please, don't," she mumbled between coughs. "That many pills will kill me."
The man laughed and pulled out a brown bottle of whiskey from his long black coat.
"No, they won't. But this might."
30
February 2014
I WAS LISTENING TO my mother getting ready upstairs, playing eighties music and trying to out sing Diana Ross on Upside Down. I wasn't angry; I mean, how could I be? It was her life and if she wanted to date my mailman, then there wasn't much I could do about it, was there?
Still, I felt awful.
Why? Well, I just didn't enjoy the idea of my mother with another man. She belonged with my dad and I realized as I sat there in the kitchen staring at a blank page on my computer trying to write my next book while the kids did their homework, that I had somehow thought that was why she had come back. To get my father back.
I sighed and typed a couple of words, then deleted them again. I couldn't believe myself. Was this really true? Was I dreaming of my parents getting back together again after all these years?
Maya was struggling with her math and asked for my help. I showed her how to solve the problem. It was just my luck that I had always been excellent at math.
"I still don't get it," Maya said.
I explained it to her again. She looked at me like I was crazy. Guess I hadn't been able to pass down my good math genes to her. I looked at Victor, who was reading a book about the French Revolution. He seemed to be dwelling on the pictures that I found extremely gross. It had been a bad day for him at school. I had received a call from his principal telling me that Victor had made a report with highly inappropriate details, which he had presented for the class today. He had a slideshow and everything, showing mostly decapitated heads. When the teacher told him to stop, Victor started arguing that this was an important event in history and continued. In the end, the teacher pulled the plug on the slideshow and asked Victor to sit down. That was when Victor had started screaming hysterically. The teacher had then grabbed his shoulder and that had only made things worse. Victor didn't like to be touched, so he had screamed even louder and started hitting. The teacher claimed Victor hit him deliberately in the face, but Victor explained he had just pushed him away to get his hands off of him. Now, the principal thought Victor might be too much for the school to handle and recommended that we start looking for another school, one that maybe knew how to deal with his kind of mental problems.
I had no idea where to look for a school like that. I wasn't even sure it existed. I had worked on it all afternoon, checking the web and calling the school, which referred me to City Hall.
"It really isn't ou
r problem," the school's secretary had said. "If the child is too difficult, then we leave it to the county to find another place for him or her."
Too difficult? Who are you calling too difficult?
"The county will appoint a social worker for you to handle the case."
I had hung up feeling like screaming. My son needed a social worker? Was that what it had come to?
"What about the next one?" Maya asked now and showed me another problem she couldn't solve.
"I'm not going to do all of your homework for you," I said. "Try it and see if you can solve it on your own, then I'll help."
Maya exhaled, annoyed. "It's like you don't even want to help me."
"I am helping you by not solving everything for you. You're supposed to be able to do this on your own in class. If I do all your homework, how are you going to handle a test in school?"
Maya rolled her eyes at me. "It's so easy for you to say," she grumbled.
"Maya. I'm not doing it for you!" I said, a little harsher than I meant to.
"Geez. There is no reason to scream," she said, and got up from her chair. She took her math book. "If you don't want to help me. Just say so."
Before I could answer, she had stormed out the door while the tones of the Captain and Tennille singing Do That to Me One More Time along with my mother hit me from upstairs.
31
February 2014
"SO WHAT DO WE do, huh buddy?" I asked Victor.
As usual, he didn't answer. He flipped a page in his book. I felt a sadness inside. It was just so difficult. I had no idea how to help him. Like any mother, I only wanted what was best for my boy, but since he had no straight diagnosis, there was simply no help to get. I had been to every doctor and specialist and they all had different opinions. Some said Asperger's, others said he was slightly bipolar, but I didn't believe any of it. I had tried everything anyway, but no medication had helped and no therapy. It was simply frustrating. Moving to the island had definitely helped him improve. He was happier and he went longer between his seizures and tantrums. But, it was like it wasn't quite enough.
I drew in a deep breath and wondered what was supposed to become of him. How was he supposed to get by in this world? They were going to crush him. Putting him in an institution made no sense, since he could do everything himself. He was just so absentminded. He lived in a world of his own. A world I believed was filled with magic and wonders none of us would ever have the imagination or even the intelligence to understand.
But the kids in school were beginning to realize that he was different and I was afraid of him being bullied. I had no idea if he himself realized that he was different, but at some point, he had to know.
"Do you like your school Victor?" I asked.
He nodded.
"Why? What do you like about it?"
"I like that I get to read books while the other kids have to listen to the teacher," he said, without looking up from the book.
"They let you do that, huh?"
"Yes. It’s nice. I know everything the teacher is saying and, that way, I won't interrupt him, he says."
I bit my lip wondering if the teacher was just placing Victor in the corner with a book so he didn't have to deal with him, or if it was so he wouldn't be bored because he already knew everything.
"Maybe we should find you a new school, huh buddy? Would you like that?" I asked.
"No," he answered. "I like my school."
"Okay," I said. "But then you'll have to go by their rules, do you understand? You can't show the class bloody pictures of decapitated heads."
"Why not? It's history?"
"Because it's inappropriate."
"I don't understand."
"I know you don't. But when a teacher asks you to stop, you stop. You can't fight with them, okay? If you promise to behave, then I'll see what I can do to help you stay. You might have to see a therapist or something for a little while if the county asks you to."
Victor didn't answer. He flipped another page and continued reading. "No more bringing these books to school, alright? We keep them at home."
I got up from my chair and started on the lasagna I was planning on serving for dinner. I had invited my dad over since my mom was going out. I chopped onions and made the meat sauce, then I put it all together with my secret ingredient, a cheesy Morney sauce and put it in the oven. I wondered if I should make a salad as well when I heard the doorbell and went to open it. Outside stood the mailman. He was nicely dressed and looked very different from how I usually saw him. Almost handsome.
"I'm coming," my mother chirped from upstairs. She made her entrance the way I was certain she had planned it in her head and walked slowly down the stairs in her blue dress.
She looked amazing.
"Wow, Mom. You…you look really great," I said, when she came closer.
"Thank you, darling," she said, and touched my cheek gently.
"I concur," the mailman said and grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. "You look absolutely stunning."
My mother giggled like a schoolgirl. It was all a little absurd, I thought to myself. My mother with her weird face that was constantly smiling and now this guy who was my mailman looking like a George Clooney clone. I couldn't really grasp it. But, as if that wasn’t strange enough, suddenly I spotted my dad coming up the driveway towards the house. He paused when he saw her.
"Ulla?"
32
February 2014
"ULLA?"
My dad looked at my mom like he couldn't believe his own eyes. He was early. At least half an hour too early.
"Bengt?" my mother said. For the first time since she got there, I saw her facial expression change slightly. Her eyes looked sad. "I didn't expect to see you here?"
"I invited him since you were going out," I said. "He usually comes here several times a week."
My father couldn't take his eyes off of my mother. "You look…You look really great Ulla. Emma did tell me you were in town, but I didn't expect to see you here…like this." His eyes then turned to glance at the handsome mailman. "Oh…You're…You're going out?"
My mother nodded. Arne held his hand out. "Arne," he said when my dad took it. "I…We were just…"
"Sure," my dad said, half choked. "Go have fun. By all means, have a great time."
Arne took my mom's hand and they started walking. My mother threw my dad a guilty look.
"See you later, Bengt."
"Yeah. Yes, of course. See you another time."
It was heartbreaking to watch. I put my arm around my dad's shoulder while we watched my mom and Arne take off in his small Toyota. Not exactly the kind of car my mother was used to.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," I said. "I thought they would be out of the house by the time you got here."
We walked back into the house.
"It's my own fault for being early. I know you told me your mother was going out. I just missed you guys so much I thought…well, I thought she had left long ago and I certainly didn't know that she was going out with someone. Well to be completely honest, maybe I was hoping to run into her. She looked really great, don't you think? Really great…"
I found a bottle of red wine on the counter when we entered the kitchen and opened it. I poured my dad a glass. "Here."
"Thanks, honey." He sipped it while I looked at him with my heart broken. I couldn't believe he had to see this. It was awful.
"Where are the kids?" he asked.
"Victor was just here. Maya got mad about her homework and is probably in her room, rolling her eyes at me."
"Well it's nice to know that some things stay the same."
I chuckled. "I guess so. Well, there are still twenty minutes till dinner if you want to go up and talk to them. They've missed you."
My dad got up from his chair. "I bet they have," he said with a forced smile. I could still see the hurt in his eyes.
He left and I poured myself a glass of wine and sat down at my computer. I
called Morten to hear if we were still on for dinner and he told me he was on his way. I closed my document that I had tried to work on all day, but didn’t succeed in writing as much as a sentence. Then I went on Facebook and scrolled through my newsfeed. As usual…nothing new. I watched a video of cats hiding in funny places then another about dogs wearing hats, then decided it was a waste of my time and closed the tab. I noticed I had a few new e-mails and opened my mailbox to check what they were. Mostly spam, but there was one that made my heart stop.
No. No. Not again!
It was another one without a sender or subject. My hand started shaking as I moved the mouse and clicked to open it.
33
February 2014
DEAR EMMA, YOU DIDN'T really think it was over, did you? I don't think you did. You did great on your first assignment, so now it’s time for your next. See the picture at the bottom of this e-mail? This shows a woman. She is in trouble and only you can save her. She has taken way too many pills and swallowed them with alcohol. Not good, right? I know. It's really bad. The mixture in her stomach will kill her if you don't find her as soon as possible. But where is she hiding, Emma? Where is she? It's time for another round of Hide and Go Seek.
I scrolled frantically down the e-mail and found the picture. Then, I gasped. It showed a badly-bruised woman who was lying on what looked like a wooden floor with her eyes closed. Next to her were five bottles of pills. All empty.
