know my story?” Hayley sobers and I nod. “It’s a tale of tragedy and despair,” she makes fun of herself as she places the back of her hand dramatically to her forehead.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Truth is, Dee, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t have a sad story, just a screwed up brain. My parents love me, I have friends, I get good grades. I’ve got it made.”
“But your brain doesn’t agree?”
“Not one damn bit.”
“Must suck to be certifiably insane without a real reason,” I tease, and she throws her pillow in my face once again.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a girlfriend, and while I’m not sure Hayley and I are actually friends, whatever this is, it’s nice. For however long it lasts.
Adam
I did this to her. I pushed too hard, too fast, so she pretended to be fine and I wanted it to be true badly, so I believed her. I only meant to help her, but all I did was hurt her further. I gave her that final little shove over the edge and crippled her soul.
I lie down in my bed with Josie’s bassinet beside me and I wonder how we got here. I’d give anything to go back to that fateful day and drag Josh off the stage with me. Or I’d look for him in the rubble faster. I wouldn’t let him die.
I can’t do this. He was always the better man. I knew it the minute I met him, which is why Dee deserved him while I deserved to live in his shadows.
Six years old
Dad taught me how to make spaghetti and ham and cheese sandwiches before he went to heaven, so I’m cooking Mom the best spaghetti I can make. I put butter on her toast the way she used to do it for me so she can have a spaghetti sandwich if she wants, and then I slowly carry her plate to her room.
The room is dark with the lights off and the windows closed, but I know where her bed is even if I had my eyes closed. I put the plate on the side of the bed and climb in bed with her so I can wake her up.
She doesn’t eat a lot since Dad and Tommy left us, but I’m trying to take care of her the way Dad would want me to. That’s why I let her sleep when I get home from school. She must be really tired, because she sleeps so much.
“Mommy,” I whisper, knowing how much she loves being called Mommy instead of Mom. “I made you some spaghetti,” I tell her when she opens her eyes.
“My sweet boy.” She sits up and kisses the top of my head before taking the plate of spaghetti. “It’s delicious¸” she tells me after she takes a bite, and I’m so proud to have made her happy.
“There’s toast too.” I smile at her. “You can make a spaghetti sandwich.”
She puts the spaghetti in the middle of the toast and folds the bread into a sandwich. I watch her when she lifts it to her mouth, but my stomach growls and she laughs.
“Here, you have it.” Mom hands me the sandwich and I take a big bite.
The spaghetti is a little bit hard, but I’m too hungry to care. Mom watches me eat, hardly touching her own food anymore.
“Mommy has a headache, sweetie,” she says. I hear the sadness in her voice and I wonder if she’ll ever stop being sad. I’ve tried to make her happy. I’ve tried to take care of her. But what if everything I try isn’t enough? What if I’m not enough?
“Do you mind if I lie down a little longer?” Mom gives me her plate back and lies back down before I can reply.
I was making progress. I could feel it. My weaknesses were becoming strengths and my instabilities a bit more predictable. My despair was dissipating. I was laughing, joking around, making friends. Adam was visiting me three times daily, twice with Josie and the third time it’d be just him for the family therapy sessions. I was getting to know my daughter, learning how to be a mom. I was changing diapers, getting puked and crapped on. You know, all the things that make you feel like you’re part of the secret cult called parenthood. I relished in the private moments I spent with Adam, reliving
“You’re an idiot.”
“Truth is, Dee, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t have a sad story, just a screwed up brain. My parents love me, I have friends, I get good grades. I’ve got it made.”
“But your brain doesn’t agree?”
“Not one damn bit.”
“Must suck to be certifiably insane without a real reason,” I tease, and she throws her pillow in my face once again.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had a girlfriend, and while I’m not sure Hayley and I are actually friends, whatever this is, it’s nice. For however long it lasts.
Adam
I did this to her. I pushed too hard, too fast, so she pretended to be fine and I wanted it to be true badly, so I believed her. I only meant to help her, but all I did was hurt her further. I gave her that final little shove over the edge and crippled her soul.
I lie down in my bed with Josie’s bassinet beside me and I wonder how we got here. I’d give anything to go back to that fateful day and drag Josh off the stage with me. Or I’d look for him in the rubble faster. I wouldn’t let him die.
I can’t do this. He was always the better man. I knew it the minute I met him, which is why Dee deserved him while I deserved to live in his shadows.
Six years old
Dad taught me how to make spaghetti and ham and cheese sandwiches before he went to heaven, so I’m cooking Mom the best spaghetti I can make. I put butter on her toast the way she used to do it for me so she can have a spaghetti sandwich if she wants, and then I slowly carry her plate to her room.
The room is dark with the lights off and the windows closed, but I know where her bed is even if I had my eyes closed. I put the plate on the side of the bed and climb in bed with her so I can wake her up.
She doesn’t eat a lot since Dad and Tommy left us, but I’m trying to take care of her the way Dad would want me to. That’s why I let her sleep when I get home from school. She must be really tired, because she sleeps so much.
“Mommy,” I whisper, knowing how much she loves being called Mommy instead of Mom. “I made you some spaghetti,” I tell her when she opens her eyes.
“My sweet boy.” She sits up and kisses the top of my head before taking the plate of spaghetti. “It’s delicious¸” she tells me after she takes a bite, and I’m so proud to have made her happy.
“There’s toast too.” I smile at her. “You can make a spaghetti sandwich.”
She puts the spaghetti in the middle of the toast and folds the bread into a sandwich. I watch her when she lifts it to her mouth, but my stomach growls and she laughs.
“Here, you have it.” Mom hands me the sandwich and I take a big bite.
The spaghetti is a little bit hard, but I’m too hungry to care. Mom watches me eat, hardly touching her own food anymore.
“Mommy has a headache, sweetie,” she says. I hear the sadness in her voice and I wonder if she’ll ever stop being sad. I’ve tried to make her happy. I’ve tried to take care of her. But what if everything I try isn’t enough? What if I’m not enough?
“Do you mind if I lie down a little longer?” Mom gives me her plate back and lies back down before I can reply.
I was making progress. I could feel it. My weaknesses were becoming strengths and my instabilities a bit more predictable. My despair was dissipating. I was laughing, joking around, making friends. Adam was visiting me three times daily, twice with Josie and the third time it’d be just him for the family therapy sessions. I was getting to know my daughter, learning how to be a mom. I was changing diapers, getting puked and crapped on. You know, all the things that make you feel like you’re part of the secret cult called parenthood. I relished in the private moments I spent with Adam, reliving
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