Marionette (6 page)

When my mother found and read my stories, she blew up. She had a plan before I was old enough to speak: lawyer. Abbie would be a doctor. My mother had always wanted to study either one of those professions, but she never finished college. Abbie was actually pursuing medicine, even though I didn’t think she wanted to. My mom is persuasive. Abbie was strong in some areas, but not this one. She had no issues being herself around our parents, but she had no desire to walk away from them and stand on her own two feet. My mother controlled Abbie just like she was a puppet. I always wanted to run away, never wanted to be a part of the family. Abbie rebelled in safe ways, never pushing the boundaries too much so she could stay within the family fold.

Back to my journals: Mom threw them all into the fireplace. She made me watch them burn. I cried, and she backhanded me across the face. That day instilled a burning desire in me. I would become a writer, no matter what. I was either going to write, or I was going to die. I would never become a lawyer. Never! That day, my mom tried to banish who I wanted to be. Since then, I’ve been trying to reclaim myself.

Yes, I studied history, and my mom thought this was my first step in realizing her dreams. Fuck that. I loved studying history. But if she wanted to think that, she could go for it. I was glad she did. When she realizes I won’t pursue law, it will hurt her even more. Let her feel the pain. I rubbed my wrist.

I checked back in on the conversation of my dinner companions. Jewels was still talking about her writing ambitions. Minnie’s eyes had glazed over; ambition was not her forte.

Minnie then butted in and mentioned all of the cute boys in her class. I think she had a boyfriend back home. Oh, I wished his name was Mickey. I could settle for Mick or Mike. Please! Anyhoos, Minnie said having a boyfriend didn’t stop her from shopping around. I learned, during their conversation, that all of them had boyfriends back home. When they asked me, I said that I didn’t. I wasn’t lying; I don’t have a boyfriend. Jess is not a boy—‌so not a lie. But I did have someone.

I forced all of the pasta down and some of the salad. The ranch dressing was rancid. The others grabbed some ice cream, and I thought about it, but I already felt like a slug after eating all of the crappy pasta and gooey sauce.

After dinner, I went back to my room. Minnie joined the other two for a walk, since they all felt guilty about dessert and wanted to walk off the calories. I declined, and Minnie joked that I’d been wandering around for hours earlier. Not entirely true, but I didn’t correct her.

Karen and Jenna were still in my room watching a rerun of
Cheers
. At least they liked my favorite show. The two of them talked while I watched. All in all, it wasn’t too horrible a night, but I dreaded the next 200 nights. Maybe I should make a countdown, or scratches on the wall to keep track.

When you think about it, dorm life is odd. All of us, from all over, are thrown into one place to eat, sleep, shower, dress, and live. And this was a rite of passage for most American teens, one that you couldn’t skip. All freshmen had to live in the dorms for the first year. The only exception was to live at home, which wasn’t an option for me.

If I could have, I would have attended summer school, but my mother refused. Another thing to be angry about. I had plans. One was to finish college as soon as possible. I knew my parents would cut me off after I graduated. My father had said as much enough times. The sooner, the better. Abbie hoped they would set her up in her profession. And they probably would. She was the “good twin.” I hoped they would forget all about me, and vice versa.

It might be a harder task for me—‌the task of forgetting them. I can still see the reflection of the fire dancing in my mom’s eyes as she burned my stories. Did she know she was burning a piece of me? She enjoyed that task more than was necessary. That was when I really started to recognize that my mother was truly insane. There had been signs before, but at that moment, I knew. I didn’t want to go crazy. I had to get away from her. It scared me. I heard craziness ran in families. I had to escape before they sucked me into the lunatic realm. There were times I contemplated not going to college at all. Just disappearing. I could live with Jess and get a job. But I feared they would track me down. I would have to move far away. If I could finish college quickly, I’d have a better chance of succeeding. I was taking more credits than all of my roommates. Twenty-one credits. Only ninety-nine more to go. I opened up my French workbook and got to work.

Chapter Seven

We sat across from each other, just staring at each other, not talking. This was a different approach. Not wanting to move, I sat there frozen, like a gazelle hiding from a pack of hyenas. Was Liddy trying to make me feel psychotic?

It was working.

“What are you staring at?” I broke down.

“You. I’m trying to figure you out.”

Liddy looked stunning in a pair of jeans and a pink polo sweater. It takes confidence to look amazing in jeans and a sweater. I pushed the thought out of my mind.

“You’re creeping me out. What’s there to figure out?” I averted my gaze and studied the Dalmatian calendar behind her. It was still two months behind.

“Why do you come here?”

“Didn’t we cover this last time? I made a promise.”

She cocked her head, scrunched her mouth and examined me.

“Your charming personality,” I suggested. Sometimes, humor worked with people.

“I’m going to need more than that.” She tapped her pencil against the ubiquitous notepad.

Obviously, humor didn’t work with her.

“Have you ever heard the story of the dog who sat on a nail?” I queried.

She shook her head.

“A man goes to his neighbor’s house. While talking to his neighbor on the porch, he notices a dog lying on a nail. The guy asks why the dog doesn’t move. The neighbor responds by saying that when it hurts enough, he’ll move.”

Okay, I don’t really get the point of this story either, but Jess told it to me days after I tried to off myself, when she was doing her best to assure me that therapy would be great for me. Great! Yeah, I was having a fucking blast so far. Woohoo!

I spied a scuff mark on my shoe and wiped it with my thumb.

Liddy said, “Tell me about your childhood, Paige.”

“I was born at a very young age in a small town.”

“Why don’t we fast forward some?” She smiled. “What was your first bad memory?”

Really? My first bad memory. That seemed like a lame approach. How in the world was Liddy the best? Or should I ask, how awful were the rest?

“I fell off my bike and skinned my knee. It hurt like a sonofabitch.”

“Uh-huh, try a different one.”

Actually, if she probed that statement further, she may have learned something. No reason to push it, though. How many more sessions did I have to attend to meet my one-year commitment? Forty-nine. Maybe tonight I should come up with forty-nine bogus “bad memories” to share with the inept Liddy. How hard could that be?

“There was the Lego incident. That altered all of our lives, especially mine.”

She regarded me for a moment. “I’m going to bite on this one. Tell me about it.”

“But you won’t bite on the knee story. Your loss.” I winked at her.

Liddy hesitated, but she seemed like the type who, once her mind was made up, forged ahead, right or wrong. I wonder what her therapist thought about that.

“The short story: Mom walked through the front room and stepped on a Lego piece. She bent over quickly to remove the offending object from the bottom of her bare foot. Unfortunately, a disc in her back blew when she bent over. More than a decade later, I’m still paying for that incident.”

“Was it your Lego piece?” She leaned forward in her chair.

“Yes, but I didn’t leave it out.”

“Who did?”

“Abbie. My sister.”

She leaned back into her seat. “Let me guess, Abbie didn’t confess to it.”

“You got it, smarty pants.” My voice oozed resentment.

“Did you tell them the truth?”

“No. Abbie was always the favorite. I knew no one would believe me.”

“What happened after the Lego incident?” Her husky voice startled me.

“I’m not sure I remember it all. I was only six when it happened. I was blamed for ruining the entire family. When the disc exploded, it wrapped around her spinal cord. Doctors couldn’t figure out what happened for years. During those years, my mom was bedridden.”

“And what happened to you during that time?”

“I grew up fast.” I rested my arm on the chair’s armrest and cradled my chin with my palm.

“What does that mean?”

“My dad stayed away from home. He said he was too young and busy amassing his fortune to be tied down by an invalid. Abbie disappeared entirely. I really don’t have many memories of her during these years. She couldn’t handle the sickroom. There was no one else, so I took care of my mom.

“No one bothered to tell me what was going on. I knew my mom was injured. People would ask about her, and I would say that her back didn’t work. It was broken. They would give me an odd look. But that wasn’t all of it. I never told anyone, but I was convinced that she was dying, and that it was my Lego piece that killed her. I didn’t leave it out, but it was still mine.” I stood up, and paced in the small room, as if I were a tennis ball bouncing back and forth on a tiny court. Liddy watched me.

“At the time, I didn’t realize she was overmedicating. When I’d get home for school, I would always check in on her. She would be in a comatose state, and I couldn’t tell if she was breathing. Every day I would venture into her room, inching forward slowly, my heart beating wildly in my throat. I would inch closer to see whether the blanket was moving up and down.”

I stopped pacing and leaned against the wall behind Liddy, so she couldn’t watch me. She didn’t turn around.

“And, boy, did she stink. I think that was one of the reasons Abbie couldn’t handle the sickroom. There was a stench all of the time. It could choke a rat. I did my best to keep her showered and stuff, but it was difficult for me. I couldn’t carry her to the shower.

“My dad never bothered to hire any nurses. Maybe he hoped she would die, and he wouldn’t have to bother with the situation anymore. That’s how he views everything: can he profit or should he cut ties? We aren’t people. We’re things. Commodities. Emotions don’t factor into his line of thinking. He’s one cold bastard.”

Slowly, I dragged myself back to my chair and slumped down. “He likes order and logic. The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with her; ergo, there was nothing wrong with her. He didn’t bother to stop and notice the pain she was suffering. Occasionally, he would wander into the room and yell at her to get up. When she didn’t budge, he’d leave in exasperation. It’s funny; you’d think he was the military type, but he would never survive in the military. He works hard, and he cheats harder. That’s how he advanced in this world.

“I don’t know how much of this is true, but my mother told me once that he used to pay people to take his tests and complete his assignments in college. I can see him doing that. For him, that would be rational. He wanted to succeed, and in order to do that, he needed help. It wouldn’t be cheating; it would be solving a problem, being efficient.”

Liddy was still observing me. I felt rather embarrassed to have talked so long. And all of it was true. I had to get better at faking experiences. It all just bubbled out of me. I knew I had rambled. It felt as if I opened my mouth and random memories and thoughts had fallen right out. I couldn’t even remember everything that I said.

“Is that when your mother started drinking?”

“No. That didn’t start until after her surgery.”
How did she know that?
I thought back.
Yes, it was one of the questions on the form I filled out.
“I think she thought everything would go back to normal, but it didn’t. She could get out of bed, yes. The pain, though, that never went away. She had good days and bad. I think she started drinking when she realized that nothing would be like it was. Her husband resented her. Abbie abandoned her. She only had me to rely on, and she blamed me for everything. She fucking hated me.”

“Why did Abbie abandon her?”

“I never could figure that out. I think she’s a lot like my father. Order and logic. All of Abbie’s friends had normal parents, so why couldn’t she? From an early age, Abbie cared too much about what others thought of her. She had to have the coolest clothes, toys—‌things. She needed things. Abbie measures her self-worth by them. Having a nutty, smelly mother who was stuck in bed didn’t help her fit in. I can remember her friends telling me how sorry they were that Abbie and I lost our mom at such an early age. I didn’t say much when they said that, because it confused me. Lost? She wasn’t lost—‌just follow the stench. It was only years later that I realized that lost meant dead. Abbie had told many people our mom died. I wondered what she said when all of a sudden Mom reemerged from the sickroom. Zombie? Vampire? I think that, in a way, Abbie really wished it was true. She didn’t want her any more.”

“Did you ever wish that?”

“I never had time to wish it. I was busy doing everything at home. My father and Abbie had the luxury to hate; I didn’t. That’s what hurts the most. I was the only one who stayed, yet she hates me the most.” I started to laugh. “Now that’s what I call irony.”

I noticed our time was up and I started to collect my belongings.

“Does it hurt enough?”

I raised myself from my chair. “What?”

“To get off the nail?” She looked serious.

“I guess so. Or to stick it in deeper and finish the job.” I left the room.

I thought Liddy would stop me after that last comment and insist on putting me in a padded room. She didn’t. Perhaps she liked my honesty. Maybe she was earning my trust. And possibly, she didn’t care that much. No one else did. I was a commodity, and if that were the case, she would want to keep me around to collect my fee. Fifty bucks, though, isn’t much. Fifty times fifty-two was $2600. But the first five sessions were free. Only $2350—‌not much for a year. Then take into account the school year was not a full calendar year so it would be even less. Yeah, I probably wasn’t worth the effort.