Read Online Lucid by Adrienne Stoltz, Ron Bass - Free Book Online
Authors: Adrienne Stoltz, Ron Bass
Ads: Link
(considering the way she behaves, I suppose a reminder is in order), as well as being Jade’s mother (right), and that she doesn’t appreciate my choice of language or tone of voice.
Thus unappreciated, I take my words and my voice and Jerome’s popcorn and storm out the door. Unwilling to be under the same roof with that woman, I call a few friends from class and wind up crashing at Jason’s because he sleeps at his boyfriend’s most nights and needs someone to feed his kitten anyway. Dorothy (named after Bea Arthur’s character on
The Golden Girls
, Jason’s favorite TV show, which he only started watching when the reruns became cool) listens intently as I explain the situation. She responds with purring and cuddling. I could easily start coming to talk to Dorothy instead of Emma.
I ignore my mother’s calls. Dorothy and I do, however, listen to her voicemails. My favorite, the one I actually saved instead of angrily deleting in case I ever need to petition for full custody, wonders if I could bring Jade to the hospital at the appointed time so that she can meet us there and not miss a staff meeting. This from the woman who wasn’t going to tell me about it at all. For anyone seeking an example of cognitive dissonance, I’d like to present my mother.
She can miss her damn meeting.
Suddenly, I glance at Jason’s bedside table and notice the second book of the Innuendo series sitting there, like a sign from heaven. With a nudge from my fuzzy new friend, drunk with the anger I feel toward Nicole, I dial Thomas. Relieved when he doesn’t answer, I leave a message telling him I’d love to get together to discuss the opportunities he was mentioning. I fumble the end of the message, saying, “This is Maggie Jameson, we met at the Mona Kuhn opening,” realizing too late that’s what I said as my opener. I press 3, expecting the AT&T lady to interrupt and ask me if I want to delete and rerecord my message, but he apparently uses a different carrier. So now he has a bunch of beeps and a soft “shit” from me to wrap up the voicemail. Won’t hold my breath to hear from Hair Guy.
I show up at the hospital an hour before they are supposed to arrive. When they do, I scoop up Jade and take her off for a chat without acknowledging Nicole’s existence. She tells me she’s frightened of being stuck in the tunnel but hasn’t mentioned this to Nicole because you know how she worries. This is what happens when parents ask seven-year-olds to keep secrets from adults. I tell her that we will solve it by my going in with her and holding on to her foot whileshe is in the tube so that we can be secretly talking to each other between her toes and my fingers. She likes this idea, though preferring I could actually be in the tunnel with her.
She does great. Her sweet toes and my fingers have a Morse code conversation and listen to the pounding of the machine, just barely louder than the pounding of my worried heart.
Jade is, of course, fine. The test was just protocol but gives me peace of mind to know that there isn’t any reason for concern. We put the MRI image of her brain on the refrigerator and I scrawl on it with a Sharpie:
Nothing going on in here
. Jade thinks it’s funny. I forgive Nicole. Snickers become my sister’s fifth food group. And everything returns to normal. Except that I now think about the mortality of all of us a lot more than I ever did.
“What do you mean by that?” Emma asks at our next session.
“Well, it isn’t just a question of whether Sloane or I will disappear one day. Jade is at risk too.”
“If you give Sloane up, let her go, then you won’t have to worry about Jade anymore.” She sits back in her chair and tells me, “This is a pricey fantasy you’re indulging in. You’re starting to learn the true costs, and there will be more to come.”
Which just sounds cryptic and foreboding. But what if she’s right?
I take my petulance and depression to the Washington Square dog
Thus unappreciated, I take my words and my voice and Jerome’s popcorn and storm out the door. Unwilling to be under the same roof with that woman, I call a few friends from class and wind up crashing at Jason’s because he sleeps at his boyfriend’s most nights and needs someone to feed his kitten anyway. Dorothy (named after Bea Arthur’s character on
The Golden Girls
, Jason’s favorite TV show, which he only started watching when the reruns became cool) listens intently as I explain the situation. She responds with purring and cuddling. I could easily start coming to talk to Dorothy instead of Emma.
I ignore my mother’s calls. Dorothy and I do, however, listen to her voicemails. My favorite, the one I actually saved instead of angrily deleting in case I ever need to petition for full custody, wonders if I could bring Jade to the hospital at the appointed time so that she can meet us there and not miss a staff meeting. This from the woman who wasn’t going to tell me about it at all. For anyone seeking an example of cognitive dissonance, I’d like to present my mother.
She can miss her damn meeting.
Suddenly, I glance at Jason’s bedside table and notice the second book of the Innuendo series sitting there, like a sign from heaven. With a nudge from my fuzzy new friend, drunk with the anger I feel toward Nicole, I dial Thomas. Relieved when he doesn’t answer, I leave a message telling him I’d love to get together to discuss the opportunities he was mentioning. I fumble the end of the message, saying, “This is Maggie Jameson, we met at the Mona Kuhn opening,” realizing too late that’s what I said as my opener. I press 3, expecting the AT&T lady to interrupt and ask me if I want to delete and rerecord my message, but he apparently uses a different carrier. So now he has a bunch of beeps and a soft “shit” from me to wrap up the voicemail. Won’t hold my breath to hear from Hair Guy.
I show up at the hospital an hour before they are supposed to arrive. When they do, I scoop up Jade and take her off for a chat without acknowledging Nicole’s existence. She tells me she’s frightened of being stuck in the tunnel but hasn’t mentioned this to Nicole because you know how she worries. This is what happens when parents ask seven-year-olds to keep secrets from adults. I tell her that we will solve it by my going in with her and holding on to her foot whileshe is in the tube so that we can be secretly talking to each other between her toes and my fingers. She likes this idea, though preferring I could actually be in the tunnel with her.
She does great. Her sweet toes and my fingers have a Morse code conversation and listen to the pounding of the machine, just barely louder than the pounding of my worried heart.
Jade is, of course, fine. The test was just protocol but gives me peace of mind to know that there isn’t any reason for concern. We put the MRI image of her brain on the refrigerator and I scrawl on it with a Sharpie:
Nothing going on in here
. Jade thinks it’s funny. I forgive Nicole. Snickers become my sister’s fifth food group. And everything returns to normal. Except that I now think about the mortality of all of us a lot more than I ever did.
“What do you mean by that?” Emma asks at our next session.
“Well, it isn’t just a question of whether Sloane or I will disappear one day. Jade is at risk too.”
“If you give Sloane up, let her go, then you won’t have to worry about Jade anymore.” She sits back in her chair and tells me, “This is a pricey fantasy you’re indulging in. You’re starting to learn the true costs, and there will be more to come.”
Which just sounds cryptic and foreboding. But what if she’s right?
I take my petulance and depression to the Washington Square dog
Similar Books
