the r0z garden

by r0z

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Scar Tissue was originally written several years ago, as a semi-autobiographical retelling of the events immediately following my psychiatric hospitalization. It was a strange, scary experience that I wanted to remember, as painful as it might be. In lieu of something more akin to a memoir I instead chose to focus more on how those initial days and weeks felt.

Though initially written several years ago I have edited it substantially several times, with this being the latest (and of course, my favorite) iteration. I hope you find it interesting.

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EXIT

“So, what do you want to do now that you’re out?”

“I’m not sure, Erin.  . .Everything is so busy out here, there’s so many colors, everything is so colorful. . .My eyes hurt.”

“Can I buy you dinner?”

“I guess, if you want. If you’re hungry. . .I should probably eat something. I look a little stringy.” Marian paused and looked down at her cigarette, frowning, “Can we get takeout? I don’t want anyone seeing me right now.”

Erin laughed.

“Chinese food okay?”

“I’d like that, thank you. . .Thanks.”

	The pair ate largely in silence, huddled together in the dusty backseat of Erin’s car with the radio on, raindrops carrying the beat on the water-stained moonroof. Marian carefully and compulsively dabbed her face with paper napkins after each apprehensive bite; a greasy mass of flavorless, sticky chunks. Marian prodded endlessly at her neon red sweet & sour chicken like a disinterested toddler, eyes hollow and sullen.

“Are you okay?”

	Marian jumped up in her seat as if she’d been shaken from a nap.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Erin shyly apologized, “you were just kinda, uh, staring.”

“Ah, it’s okay. I just drifted away for a second. ‘Dissociating’ or something. It’s really fine.” Marian shot back frantically.

	The pair returned to silence. The rain became increasingly violent over the faint sounds of the buzzing FM radio. Marian’s eyes slowly blurred as she watched the water on the windshield trace the glass in translucent streams and deltas.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Do you need help carrying your bags in?”

“No, but thank you Erin, for everything. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

“Aw, don’t say that. I care about you Mary! I’m always going to be here, whether you like it or not.”

	Pale white sunshine flickered through the wispy clouds as the rain continued to fall. Marian stood beside the car, a wet lock of black hair sticking to her forehead. She stared at the ground, hopelessly looking for something to say hidden in the cracks of the pavement.

“Figure out what you want to do yet?”

“I think. . .I think I’d just like to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes & go to bed.” Marian’s voice cracked as she spoke.

“I guess there are plenty of worse things you could be doing,” Erin laughed.

	Marian smiled nervously underneath a damp curtain of hair, a pallid shred of light leaking through a darkroom of a girl.

“Please, text me if you need something, anything at all. Even if you just need someone to listen, I’m here. Always.”

“I’ll try, I really will. . .Thank you.”

	Mary stood silently as Erin’s Subaru lurched away toward the main road. She was home, again, where she always was. Nothing had changed here at all. Strings of flickering Christmas lights lined the eaves of the aging single-story house, rhododendrons and dead roses flanking the mossy cobblestone path to the creaking front door. The empty driveway was cracked with weeds, and the mailbox hung open. Tears & rain trailed down her face, careless & heavy.
	She threw her bags to the ground and dashed towards Erin’s car, sobbing. Erin seized to a stop as she glanced into her rearviewmirror & flung open her door. She stood up from her seat and Marian fell into her arms, heaving & crying.

“Erin, I love you. Thank you for staying with me, for not leaving. I’m sorry I scared you like that. I’m so sorry, Erin, I really. . .I’ll be okay, you know? Everything is better now.”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright Marian. I love you too. I’m never going to leave, I promise.” Erin stood pinned to the side of her idling car, holding Marian up as she cried into her sweater. Mary took a sharp breath and pulled away suddenly.

“I’ll text you, okay? I will. . .I want to be there for you too, Erin.” Marian smiled into Erin’s eyes, tears lining her sunken face.

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about you. I’ll be okay. . .okay?”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you too, you little weirdo.” Erin laughed.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” Mary giggled.

“So will I,” Erin smirked, “now get inside before your stuff gets soaked.”

Marian nodded, smiled, and disappeared into the empty house.


HOME

	The living room was distant and cramped. Hollow, cavernous, it laid before Marian like an empty theater; she stepped onto the stage before an audience of family photographs & glaring yearbook portraits. Everyone was staring. Her stepmother’s dog passed away seven months ago but she still expected her to rush the door, and for once she wished it was there. The only rhythm in the air was her own pointed, shallow breathing ringing in her ears.
	Something was missing in the kitchen. Among the foreboding, angular cabinets, blinding white, there was something lost. Marian couldn’t put a finger on it but it made her sad. Faded elementary school drawings lined the refrigerator, along with Christmas cards and cheap souvenir magnets. The pantry was half-empty. Fruit sat on the faux-marble counter rotting away in a wicker casket. Marian stared into the fridge, so much dirtier than she remembered, dirty and buzzing like a housefly. Everything looked plastic through her puffy, weighted eyes. The coffee machine hummed to life as she sat atop the counter, patiently kicking her feet. It would be the first taste of caffeine she’d had in weeks, and she cradled her coffee cup in both hands, breathing deeply as she held it to her face. She leapt from the counter and her heart began pounding against her breastbone as she anxiously crept into her bedroom. It had been cleaned while she was away, and the tidiness of her formerly private space left her confused. She dropped her bags at her feet and tread nervously into the damp, abandoned room.
	The calculated messes of her vanity and nightstand remained untouched, but the floor was now spotless. Her creaky bed was neatly made, all her dishes washed, notes and notebooks stacked with care. Her hamper was gone entirely, and her eyes widened in horror as she remembered the blood–soaked towels shoved to the bottom. It was far from the only sad memento hidden in plain sight, and she shuddered thinking about whatever else her parents may have stumbled across. Marian got rid of some things before she left, but couldn’t remember what they were. It was as if a poltergeist had shuffled her possessions behind her back, a frightening, uncanny valley remodeling. She felt violated personally, as if her chair being moved 36 inches to the right was a direct attack on her autonomy. 
	Marian sat on the edge of the bed and kicked her wet, faded canvas shoes onto the floor. She stared at them for a while, lost in thought. It felt good to wear shoes with laces again. Her brain swirled with ideas of what to do with herself now. She had made a terrible mistake, and now it was time to make up for it, but she wasn’t sure how. It seemed there were millions of options for her brain to sort through, simulating all of them like a computer learning chess. They quickly began to blur as her mind surpassed its processing capability. Her gaze became fixated, empty, her head spinning like a turbine, thoughts spiraling and cycling so quickly she was unable to grasp anything at all. Marian’s breathing sped up to match the pace of her cramped mind, shallow, grasping breaths, as she was pulled under by the rapids swirling in her brain. Thoughts became incomprehensible and irrelevant, only serving as fuel for a panicking machine. Marian rocked back and forth in place, drifting away in the riptide. She curled up on her eerily made bed, in her eerily tidy room, and cried, quiet and exhausted, until the world steadied its pace again.

RELEASE

	After 15 days without access to razorblades the hair sprawling across her body felt like insects crawling on her skin. Marian felt a new appreciation for the cramped, angular bathtub of her childhood. Hot, floral-perfumed water lulled her half to sleep. Despite all her precautions she inevitably nicked herself shaving & was doomed to her designated pair of formerly white panties stained with flecks of ruddy, faded blood. The clock struck 4:35pm, and Marian had decided it was time to leave. In exactly forty minutes her father would return from work, prepared with a lengthy speech on the value of human life and an awkward, obligatory hug. She stepped out of the bathroom wearing only her underwear, needlessly looking both directions before walking into the winding, narrow hallway, texting as she went.

“hey Max.”

“what’s up?” 

“can I come over later?”

“yeah. everything OK?”

“I dunno, I just need to be with someone. you know? I’ll tell you about it later.”

“don’t worry about it. when should I pick you up?”

“idk, give me 30 minutes.”

“sounds like a plan.”

	Marian rushed through her makeup, shakily tracing black liner across her eyelids, becoming increasingly dramatic as she smoothed out the lines over and over. She took an Ativan, threw on a loose dress shirt and a pair of ripped up shorts, wrapping her outfit together with a pair of tattered fishnet tights. She was vaguely concerned it was overly revealing, but didn’t have the heart nor time to piece together anything better. She hurriedly packed an overnight bag and brushed her teeth for eight minutes as she anxiously waited for her friend to rescue her from the upcoming confrontation with her father. 
	Max arrived 32 minutes later, knocking shyly at the stained glass window on the front door. Marian opened it nervously and he quickly pulled her in for a hug without saying a word. Her eyebrows shot up in inky, wide-eyed shock, arms still at her sides. She wondered if he already knew what happened. He was always affectionate but his lack of words was surprising. She slowly wrapped her leaden arms around him and after a long, tired embrace, she slowly pulled away and spoke in a hushed, flat tone.

“Hi,” she breathed, holding onto his shoulders.

“Shall we go?”

“Yes, please.”

	Max’s car was warm and loud. Marian hated the growl of cars as a pedestrian, but hearing it from the inside and feeling the rumble of the engine in her seat was somehow different. She missed this car. Cigarette smoke, cheap men’s deodorant, and the faint smell of exhaust blended into an intoxicating scent, empty cans of energy drinks rattling listlessly around the floor. There was something grossly boyish about this car that she hated to admit she liked. Marian watched through cold glass as they vanished from the cul de sac and her father, without noticing her departure, passed them by. She’d successfully avoided the dreaded parental intervention for another day. Like clockwork he’d peek into her empty cavern of a room and send a text asking where she was. Hours later she’d respond with a curt, vague, “out with a friend.”

“Erin told me what happened. . .” Max blurted out over the whir of the highway.

	Marian felt a sour mix of frustration & relief that she wouldn’t have to explain herself entirely but was left confused, unsure of what needed to be said. She watched the cans roll around the floor for several minutes as they drove in silence.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” she chimed up.

“You could never ‘scare me,’ Marian. I was worried, yeah, but that’s what friends do. I care about you, y’know?”

“I know,” Marian choked up, her voice thick with remorse. “I’m okay though, really, I’m fine,” she sputtered.

“Hey, hey,” Max glanced over and placed a hand on hers, “. . .you don’t have to be fine all the time. It’s okay to be not-fine. Nobody is always alright, nobody is happy 24/7. That’s just life. You don’t have to hide from me,” he paused, “. . .and besides, you’re not good at it anyway.”

Marian giggled quietly through red-faced sniffles.

“I just don’t want anyone to worry about me; I don’t want to bring anybody down or be some sort of burden.”

Max sighed. “Am I a burden when I go to you for advice because I have no idea how to interact with other human beings?”

“No. . .” Marian giggled.

“Exactly. You’re not a burden either. Not to me, Erin, or anybody else. We love you, okay? We just want you to be safe, that’s all.”

“I think I understand. . .Thank you, Max.”

“Anytime.”
	
	She returned her gaze to the dirty rubber floor mat and her smile disappeared behind a screen of hair falling across her face. Max turned to the black-clad mophead in his passenger seat and smiled as passing streetlights illuminated her timid frame like flashbulbs in the dark.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Max asked.

“No, but I’m not super hungry. Erin bought me food earlier and my appetite is pretty dead.”

“Would you drink a milkshake though?”

“I probably would,” Marian giggled.

	A thick steel underbrush of cranes and scaffolding crept into the sky above as they lazily pulled into the city’s last remaining drive-in, its neon facade tossed aside by the crush of 21st century progress. The menu loomed over the dashboard, and Max patiently waited while Marian pored over the options.

“Did I ever tell you about the date my mom had here when she was our age?” Marian suddenly piped up as their food arrived via roller-skating high school senior.

“I don’t believe so.”

“Well, so. . .” she paused to take a sip of her Green River milkshake, “. . .there was this guy she worked with, right? He wanted to show her a nice time but he was broke as fuck; neither of them had any money. So instead, he just took her here and they sat in the backseat with a couple candles & porcelain plates he brought from home. I think it’s kind of romantic, don’t you? There’s something sweet about it. It’s trashy, in a nice way.”

Max laughed. “Fuck, we should do that for a holiday or something. Thanksgiving or Christmas. I’ll bring candles, silverware, plates, even a tablecloth. It’ll be a proper holiday feast, here in my beautiful automobile,” Max beamed over the idea.

“Oh, that’d be so fun!” Marian’s face turned pink & she buried a smile in her palms. So romantic. She was relieved to be on their way again.

	The elevator ride to Max’s third floor apartment was yellow and quiet; it felt like a venue meant only for polite coughs and comments on the weather. She was relieved to see his apartment hadn’t changed at all. The entryway was still littered with dry leaves, its walls lined with heavy jackets and empty shoe racks abandoned in favor of a pile in the corner. Max kicked off his boots while Marian gingerly untied her laces and let her bag slump from her shoulder.
	Everything was so massive and emotive in the city. The sidewalks twinkled with light and streetcars glided past like slinking, carbon fiber eels. Marian found herself hypnotized by the endless, glittering movement outside the window & stood fixated on the ground below while Max half-heartedly tidied the living room.

“Everything okay?”

Marian jumped and at the interruption.

“Oh, sorry,” Max stifled a laugh.

“It’s alright, everyone surprises me like that. I’m easily startled I guess. . .” she paused and looked around the unkempt room, “. . .your kitchen annoys me.”

“What did my fuckin’ kitchen ever do to you?” Max burst into laughter

“It’s a mess,” she affirmed stubbornly, “. . .you’re such a boy. You people have no idea how to take care of yourselves.”

“‘You people’ is a bit harsh,” Max continued to laugh.

“Well, it’s too late to take back now,” Marian sighed and started putting dishes away, stacking them in tidy piles.

“What are you doing?” Max stood absolutely transfixed.

“Cleaning,” she shot back plainly, “I like doing it, and it’s the least I can do to pay you back.” Marian continued to fill the barren kitchen cabinets.

“Pay me back?”

“Yes.” Everything clean had been shuffled away, and Marian turned her attention to the mountain of dishes in the sink.

“Pay me back for what?”

“Like, picking me up, buying me food, letting me stay here, et cetera,” Marian raised her voice over the hiss of the faucet.

“That’s ridiculous,” Max sighed, “I did those things because I wanted to–you didn’t force me or something, it wasn’t transactional. You don’t ‘owe’ me anything.”

“You’ve really got to start rinsing these, you know,” she chimed in as she furiously scrubbed at an Ikea stockpot, fruitlessly trying to redirect the conversation.

“Hey, don’t ignore me like that.”

	Marian quietly turned off the sink & swiveled to face him.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, defeated. 

“It’s okay, Mary.”  He stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders. “Just know you don’t have to apologize, and you don’t have to pay me back. That’s goofy. My actions are my actions–I do what I do because I care about you and I want to, not because I feel some bizarre obligation. . .I know you’ll listen to this and still feel undeserving, but try your hardest to accept it, that’s all I ask. Just try, okay? I love you, Mary-Anne.”

	Her gaze rocketed towards the floor, pulling with it the smoke-screen of her jet-black hair.

“I love you too,” she eeked out between sniffles, “. . .thank you.”

“Can I help you clean?”

“You can dry the dishes and put them away, but that’s it. I don’t trust you.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

	Marian smiled and turned back to her work.

“It’s nice to hold real silverware again,” her gaze fixed on the dull edge of a used, mail-order chef’s knife as she felt the steel blade glide against her palm. Marian could smell the unforgiving cold of isopropyl alcohol and see red in her eyes as she held the knife in her hands--cold, unthinking steel. “All we had in the hospital were these horrible plastic sporks,” she spoke as she surrendered the knife to Max, “I get it, you don’t want people getting stabbed, or stabbing themselves, whatever, but some things just weren’t meant to be eaten with a spork. Some things are just unsporkable.”

“I dunno,” Max quipped, “I think I could spork most anything. Anything is sporkable, really, if you try hard enough.”

“What about steak?” Marian scoffed.

“Easy.”

	She laughed in disbelief. Suddenly the pair fell out of rhythm, clumsily turning into each other as Max turned to grab a dish from Marian and she turned to give him one. Their collision sent Marian stumbling backwards, letting out an awkward, pathetic squeak as she fell away from the counter, dropping a mug on the floor and shattering it into pieces. Max quickly turned to catch her, hands landing firmly on Marian’s hips and pulling her upright like garden twine lashed around an overgrown sunflower.

“Are you okay?” Max asked, pointed with concern.

	Marian stood silently with her lips peeled into a slanted frown, staring blankly at his shirt, his words sounding like garbled music far above the surface of a swimming pool. Max’s hands came to rest on her waist as he searched for signs of life in her vacant eyes.

“Uh, hello. . .” she stuttered.

“Well hi,” Max blushed with relief. Only then did he realize he was still clutching her waist as if she might crumple onto the floor at any moment, and he awkwardly, quickly pulled his hands away.

“Hey, Max,” she paused, “. . .I’ll be right back.”

“Of course,” his hands shot to his pockets as Marian slipped away to the cold outside.

	Marian held a cigarette in her fingertips and watched the smoke linger in the Autumn air. She took deep breaths, counting the length of each exhale and inhale. Raindrops marched in formation on the wooden overhang above, pounding in her ears. A hot, churning tension swirled in her abdomen with each trembling breath. What was that? She felt conflicted picturing them together, his hands on her waist, her wrists hanging limply over his broad shoulders. How embarrassing, that a momentary touch could fill her with such miserable longing. She questioned whether or not she was overthinking the situation, if the spark she felt was all in her head. Is that all infatuation is? A beautiful obsession, a sacred, saccharine neurosis. Marian could still feel the weight of his hands pressed firmly against her waist when she closed her eyes.
	Her brain was abuzz with nicotine and insecurity. Max loved her, and she loved him too, but their love was different now. Was it not? Things had changed in the four years since they met and started dating, since their fiery breakup. They were “just friends,” no? Was it healthy to be thinking in this way? What would her therapist say? Max would never hurt her, not on purpose, but men are klutzy; throwing you across the kitchen floor or adding heartache to your daily regimen of benzodiazepines & antipsychotics. It was a relapse of adoration, feelings that she thought had died away. Marian stood curled over the balcony trying not to vomit.  She couldn’t bear the risk of a friendship torn to shreds by intimacy--a liability, a candlelit gamble.
	Marian flicked the ember from her cigarette, watching it explode into shards like a firework as it fell to the ground below. She crept back inside with the whoosh of a sliding door behind her. She forced her lips into a nervous smile and crept up beside Max, still tidying the kitchen.

“Maxy. . .can I have some water?”

“No,” Max quipped as he handed her a frosted blue glass.

“You’re hilarious,” Marian deadpanned as she turned towards the tap. “. . .Max, you’d never hurt me, right?”

“What kind of a question is that?” He reeled.

“I’m sorry, uh, I just need to hear you say it. I didn’t mean to offend you, I guess I’m just insecure. . .but then, you probably know that. . .” Marian’s words slowly trailed off.

	Max’s investigatory gaze softened as he spoke, “Believe me, I am unfortunately well-aware,” he sighed, “. . .I would never hurt you, Marian. I want you to be happy more than anything in the world, and I’d never do anything to get in the way of that. I love you, you know? You know that. I’d rather walk across hot coals than hurt you. I’d rather quit smoking, even. . .Maybe.”

	Marian laughed. “I love you too,” she confessed. For the first time all night, Marian looked straight into his eyes, piercing his frontal cortex, reading his mind, frantically searching for some confirmation in his face. She reached out, grabbed his hands, and set them on her hips.

“Is there something you’re trying to tell me?” Max chuckled.

“Don’t be stupid.”

	He tasted like water. She felt her skin prickle and shiver as his hand slipped carefully underneath her top, letting out an airy sigh as it glided across the small of her back. Marian stepped back onto the yellowing, plasticine marble countertop, wrapping her legs around his waist. Her breathing was quick and labored as he moved, unclasping her bra beneath her stifling black shirt.

“Max,” she quivered nervously, “. . .can we go somewhere more comfortable?”

	She laid her head on his shoulder as he picked her up and carried her to bed. Maxy gently set her limp frame onto a patchwork of unmade bedspread and brushed the hair out of her nervous face. Her tissue paper skin glowed in the amber streetlight, covered in random opalescent bruises. Marian looked up into his patient smile.

“Please, be careful.”

“I will. Promise.”

Marian’s eyes trembled as she whispered, “I trust you.”

	Minutes passed like excruciating hours, every breath alight and flecked with sound. Marian’s dilated pupils spun in a heavy cycle, tension churned inside the hollow of her core. Marian rocked back and forth, plates under a murky seabed shifting in cyclic bursts, cracks in the bedrock racing like streaks of lightning across the sky. Careless talk slipped through quaking lips as the pair gasped weighted, wreckful words. Is making love equal to sex? What does it mean to fuck?
	Streaks of shadow bled across her face, running black eyeliner burning in her eyes. Marian felt his palms guiding her hips, a million tiny fingers running up and down her skin as she sunk down into the warm abyss swelling around her. She closed her eyes and watched as pointed bursts of light scattered across her eyelids. Floating underneath the tide, waterlogged by hormones and endorphins punching her in the stomach. Marian’s eyes shot open and met his as the waves broke upon the shore. Her lip trembled, stricken as the look on her face turned to shock and enrapturement, to a frozen glare of beautiful, catastrophic helplessness. Her nails tore into his back as her eyelids slammed shut. She stuttered out a desperate “I love you” before screaming into the humid, suffocating night.


AFTERGLOW

	Marian awoke to the sound of bacon shrieking in hot oil. She stumbled into the kitchen, eyes half-open and clouded with makeup.

“Good morning sunshine,” Maxy beamed as he sipped his coffee and pointed to a mug waiting at the coffee table, “yours is over there.”

	Marian slumped down onto the couch. “Thank you, Maxy,” she sighed, taking her coffee cup with both hands

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Better than I have in weeks. Having someone with me makes it easier.”

“Glad I can be of use. Breakfast is ready. . .do you want a spork?”

“Fuck off,” she laughed as he took two sets of mismatched silverware from a creaky drawer, “. . .thank you.”

“Of course, of course.” He sat down beside her & she fell against his shoulder with a sigh. 

	The pair ate in contented silence, accompanied only by the soundtrack of an ever-present Autumn rain. Warm, comforting silence.

LEAVING EDEN

“I’ll text you later, alright?”

“Not if I beat you to it,” Maxy grinned.

“Regardless. . .” Marian smiled as she sighed, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I’ll talk to you soon,” Max repeated, pulling her into his embrace.

“I love you so much,” Marian breathed into his chest.

“I love you too, Mary-Anne. I’ll be around all day if you need anything. Anything at all, just let me know.”

“I will, thank you,” Marian spoke directly into his sweater before taking a deep breath and pulling herself away, “. . .wish me luck.”

“You’ve got this.”

“I’m glad one of us is confident.”

	Marian walked unsteadily to the front of her parents’ house and waved with a heavy heart as Maxwell drove back to the hum of the city. After fighting with the deadbolt she stumbled to her bedroom, throwing her backpack onto her bed and immediately heading to the shower, anxious to wash away the remnants of yesterday’s face. The shower sputtered to life as she turned on the hot water & stepped through the curtain. She felt strange and refreshed as the water ran down her body, across the pearly bruises that lined her neck & collarbones. Her legs were like jello, sore & unsteady. Marian leaned against the cold shower wall and fretted over the day ahead. Soon her father would be home, bringing a familiar lecture about the selfishness of the dead and the obligations of the living. Marian was too tired to panic and crept to her bedroom wearing only a pink, hair dye-stained towel.
	She threw her lifeless body into bed and laid a hand across her stomach, feeling the beating of her heart pounding at her hand. Marian closed her eyes and gripped a stuffed animal against her chest. 

“Do you think he really loves me, Fuzzy?” She held a pale, oversized rabbit above her head and looked into its silent glass eyes.

“I think he does, but I’m not sure. Why do boys have to be so confusing?” Fuzzy stared back with a meager felt-lined smile.

“I worry that this all is a mistake, but it doesn’t feel like one. . .you know? You know.” The chubby white rabbit remained still, its oversized ears falling in front of its unmoving face. Marian combed her hair into her eyes, mimicking the animal & holding it against her chest once again. “You’re such a good listener, Fuzzy.”

“Uh, is somebody here with you?” her father peered through the doorway & asked in confusion.

“What the fuck Dad, close the door!” Marian startled and clutched an unconsenting Fuzzy against her chest.

“I didn’t see anything!” her dad replied plainly.

“I don’t care if you did! Don’t just barge in here like that.”

“I didn’t ‘barge in!’ Just cracked the door is all.” This dreaded family reunion was off to a promising start.

“Whatever. Give me a second,” Marian snapped back and hurried to get dressed.

“We were really worried about you, you know. . .Your stepmother was crying,” her father spoke through the now-closed bedroom door.

“Dad, can this please wait until I’m dressed.”

“We all love you, you know that Marian, don’t you? I know you think I’m tough on you sometimes, but it’s just because I know the person you can be.” Her father ignored her wishes and continued to talk. 

	Marian sighed, strode across the room and opened up the door. She was greeted by her father, freshly home from work, his 20 year old plastic lunchpail still in his hand. He gingerly set the lunchbox on her dresser and, without warning, gave her a tight hug. Marian froze up, her mouth fixed in crooked shock. Her father was not a very affectionate man. Excruciatingly paternal, he showed his affection through labor and economic might, a proud, unionized provider. He was a fifty-something blue collar man lacking any modern sense of empathy, but he was not cold-hearted. He wanted to go to work, hear his favorite Beatles songs on the radio, beat traffic, come home to a preheated dinner, and save up for retirement. He was the type of stern, distant father who seemed only to express pride or affirmation as a result of his children’s accomplishments, always pushing them to strive for a new goal just out of reach. A picturesque representation of aging Gen X discontent, twisted into a single focus on individual productivity and an apathy towards grandiose, unrealistic goals; a blunt, unmoving monolith of a father.

“Hi, dad,” she eked out.

“Kiddo,” he paused and pulled away, planting his hands firmly on her shoulders, “. . .what are you doing?

“I have no idea”

“That much is clear. . .Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

“Okay,” she complied meekly, “give me a second.” Marian hurriedly laced up her shoes and tailed him to the waiting car. An old, white Chevy Blazer with vibrant green moss carpeting the rear bumper.

“Kidd Valley okay?” Her father groaned as he slumped into his ashy seat.

“Of course.” Marian did her best to sound unenthused.

	The pair rode silently for a few minutes as Marian rested her head against the window and watched the neighborhood go by. The Fred Meyer she’d walked a million times and the empty school playground where she scraped her knees on the wood chips, screaming as if it were the end of the world. She remembered that day, warm, bright August sun, trails of crimson running down into her shoes as she lay dumbfounded on the ground, howling in agonizing shock at the sight of her own blood, viscous and lukewarm.

“So,” her father began.

“So,” she repeated.

“What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think you were thinking at all, that’s the thing,” he went on, “. . .because if you were we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Dad.”

“I just want to understand what’s going through that brain of yours. This isn’t you, you know?

“‘Isn’t me?’ What exactly am I, huh? What do you even know about me?”

“You’re smart, creative, empathetic. You care too much about other people to do something so selfish.”

“Maybe I don’t care anymore.”

“No, I think you do care, otherwise you wouldn’t have chosen something so silly. You could’ve bought a gun, or jumped off an overpass, but you chose some cocktail of medications. Again. If you really wanted to die, we wouldn’t be here talking.”

	Marian cut into the side of his graying face with a pointed look of betrayal and disgust, but she was silent. Furious, but meek.

“I don’t think you understand,” she trailed off into stunned silence and turned to face the floor.

“You’re right, I don’t understand, Marian. Not at all. Don’t you know how much everyone would hurt if you were gone? Me, Caroline, your siblings, your mom. Fuck, everyone you know would be mourning for the rest of their lives, wondering what they could or should’ve done. We need you around Marian. I know we don’t always get along, but nothing would be the same without you. You’re my baby, you know? No parent wants to outlive their babies,” he paused, “do you want Hailey to grow up without her Aunt Mary?”

“No, Dad,” Marian spoke just above a whisper.

“You’re not some sort of sociopath. I know you think about these things, about the people around you. I know how much you love them. That’s what I can’t wrap my brain around. You’re not one to hurt people, Marian, but this would hurt the people around you more than anything in the world.”

	Marian steadily grew frustrated, angst bubbling to the surface of her breath, thick, syrupy and suffocating. 

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, dad, I’m listening.”

“What am I saying?”

“I think,” she hesitated, “. . .you neglect the seriousness of the situation. You don’t understand mental illness, you don’t understand mine. You pretend to, you think you do, but I don’t think it’s possible for you to comprehend just how sick a person can be. Of course I thought about you, of course I thought about the fucking baby, but eventually, all those worries melt away. You cease to care, you cease to exist. You come to the probably selfish realization that dying might hurt the ones around you, but it’s also an inevitability. Some might even call it fate. I might not’ve died that night by my own hand, but I could’ve died in an accident on the way to the hospital. Some drunken idiot could swerve into traffic and kill the both of us right now. I could die at any moment, and regardless of the circumstances, the world turns. Everyone is heartbroken. It tears them apart. They’re dysfunctional for weeks, maybe even months, but in the end, it goes away. They’ll cry again that Christmas, they’ll cry on that year’s birthday. They might even cry at next year’s holidays. After that, though? They’ll be silent. They’ll move on. The world keeps turning as your ashes turn to soil, and in ten years you’ll be walking on the grass that used to be me without saying a word. Death happens, dad, and it’s so, so forgettable.” For the first time in her entire life she left her father silent. He looked her up and down, taking a puff of his electronic cigarette, and kept driving.

“You need serious help, Marian,”

“Believe me, I am well aware of that fact,” she interjected, sticking a cigarette in her lips and flicking her lighter with enough force to cut into her thumb.

“Caroline and I can’t take care of you anymore. . .We’ve been thinking about this for some time, and we think it might be best for you to live with your mother. We know she works from home, so she’d be there to watch you, and you could spend more time with your sister. . .We love you, Marian, but we worry about you all the time. I know you’re drinking in that room constantly, you know. It hurts us to know you’re down the hall wasting away, but you wouldn’t let us in if we tried.”

Marian took a deep, heavy pull of her cigarette and tapped the ash out the window. “I know. . .I’m sorry. I don’t exactly love it there, either.”

“We just want you to get over this, Mary-Anne. We know you can, we’ve seen you do it before. We want you to get better, but we don’t think you can do it here. You need a change of pace.”

“I know. I’m sorry, dad, I’m sorry for scaring you and blowing up like that. . .I’ll go.”

SERIOUS HELP

“It’s so good to see you!”

“Thank you, thank you,” Marian confirmed tiredly as she sunk into her usual seat on the couch in her therapist’s office.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure, really. . .It’s nice being out, but I’m not sure what to do with myself now.”

“What was the facility like?”

“Awful,” she stated plainly and looked into her therapist’s eyes before darting back away like startled minnows, “. . .but I’m alive!” Marian shrugged.

“You are! I’m really glad you came in today.”

“I am too. It’s not that I can’t talk to any of my friends or loved ones about it, but I’m not sure they’d understand. None of them have had a similar experience. It’s kind of cool, in a way, I’m the only person I know who’s ever been committed against their will. It’s a good fact for two truths & a lie.”

	Her therapist laughed and hastily apologized, but as inappropriate as it was, making her laugh at horrible things was something Marian did on purpose. Diane was her first therapist in nearly two years, and though they’d only been working together for 4 months Marian really felt she knew her better than anyone in the world. Her cramped, downtown office was like a second bedroom. It was a place that was always there at the end of the day, waiting to receive her at her best and at her worst. She grabbed something from Diane’s shoebox full of fidget toys and held it parallel to her face. A little hand-sewn chicken made of fabric scraps, stitched together with lavender and rice. Marian sat quietly for a moment, breathing and thinking, looking down her nose at this strange, fragrant creature. Without realizing it Marian had tilted her head 90 degrees in listless thought.

“I love that thing,” her therapist broke the silence.

“I think he’s my favorite of the box.” Marian briefly returned to silent contemplation before speaking up, “. . .I’m kind of being kicked out of the house, I think.”

“By your dad?”

“Stepmom is more accurate,” she hesitated, “. . .I’m not upset or anything, not mad, just a little melancholy. It’s hard to feel anything at all, these days.”

“Do you need any housing resources?”

“You’re too good at your job,” Marian laughed, “I’ll be okay. Gonna go stay with mom, I guess. I appreciate that, though.”

“Wow, that’s big news. Do you think moving there will be a good thing?”

“I’m not sure. It’ll be different. I like it over there, it’s really beautiful, but I’ve never lived in such a small town. I guess there isn’t much tying me down here anyway. I know Erin and Maxy will still see me, and we don’t hang out all the time anyway. They’re the only people I care about. . .I dunno. It does feel like a big change, but, maybe that’s what I need.”

“Changes can be good, sometimes. I know you weren’t exactly happy at your dad’s–you get along better with your mom, right? Do you think she’d be helpful right now?”

“I do, admittedly. I think we understand each other better, and because of that she’s better at supporting me while still holding me accountable. Really, I’m kind of looking forward to that. I know the way I live isn’t healthy. I don’t know where I’m going, or how I’ll get there, but I want things to be different. I don’t want to die, I don’t think,” her face briefly soured as she tried to gather her thoughts, “. . .Returning to the same sad room where I’ve withered away for years feels depressing, suffocating. I feel like if I stay there I might lose the tiny bit of momentum I’ve somehow managed to develop over the past three weeks. It isn’t much, but I do have a shred of optimism.” Marian went silent as her head tilted again, staring into the carpeted floor as thoughts swirled around her brain. 

“I’ll still be coming in. This place is too important to me, and I’d probably die if I didn’t.”

“Then I’ll plan on seeing you around,’ Diane smiled, “I think this change might be good for you. You’ve talked a lot about how anxious living with your dad & stepmom makes you feel, how stagnating it is to be in the same place for so long. I think this is a really great opportunity to shake things up and try new things in a safe place.”

“I have to agree. I’m a bit nervous, though. . .It’ll be much harder to engage in any unhealthy habits, and while that is a good thing, it feels scary to be giving up so much at once. Everything is so scary. . .I want to be alive, I really do, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to be normal.”

“I wish I could tell you,” Diane laughed, “I’ve been trying to figure that out for 30 years with no success.”

“That’s horrifying,” Marian giggled, “I’d think if anyone in the world knew what it meant to be ‘normal,’ it would be a psychologist. . .but then again, you’ve willingly chosen to spend your life around people like me.”

“I like you!” Diane beamed, “you’re smart, funny. I look forward to our meetings,” she reassured her.

“Glad I’m not the only one,” Marian quipped.

“It’s so great to see you being positive about these changes, Marian. I’m really proud of you for being so open-minded. What changed while you were in the hospital?”

“Ah, I have no other choice. I really have to force myself to be more optimistic. Always looking on the bright side, you know? Stupid shit like that,” Marian hesitated, “. . .I think I’m a very sad sort of person. I don’t really know what happiness feels like anymore. I can’t relate to people who feel happy, I can’t comprehend it. I’ve lost so many friends, I’m so alone. I pushed them all away so I could put my heart into self-destruction, so I could spare them from grief. I created a quiet, deep grave for myself and slept there every night. It’s all I really know,” Marian paused and drew a deep breath, “. . .but that doesn’t mean it’s all there is. I’m lucky in some ways. Somehow Erin and Max are still with me. I don’t talk to them about any of this, but I know my family cares too. I feel alone, constantly, but I’m not really. . .I don’t really understand life, its purpose or why it’s at all meaningful. I know it is, though. It might not make sense, but I have to give it a try. God, I wish I could explain how corny this all feels. . .I hope you know this hurts my brain to say. I feel like a motivational speaker or something. I know I’m capable, though. I can have a better, more ‘normal’ life. That’s all I really want, you know? To work for a living, make mediocre money, come home to a shitty apartment tired and pissy, then let my boyfriend fuck it out of me and do it all over again the next day. An endless, contented cycle. This is what I think regular people are like. They’re boring; I want to be boring.”

Diane laughed. “That sounds like a solid little life.”

“Doesn’t it?”

SHELTER

	Marian threw herself face-down onto the bed and sunk into her Ativan. Bloated garbage bags filled with clothes and carefully sealed cardboard boxes lined her mother’s former guestroom. It was a strange thing, to see her entire life laid out on a hardwood floor, so casually packed away. Twenty three years, all carefully arranged into just a handful of boxes. It made her feel small, insignificant, how easy it was to categorize and contain a human life.
	Pale sunlight shone through dark, ominous clouds. Thunderstorm yellow, hazy and foreboding. Soft white noise filtered through the evergreens that towered over her new home. Outside the door she could hear muffled voices, condensed like television dialogue. Something about dinner. Something about boxes. Marian breathed into her pillow and lifted her chest up off the mattress, staring down at the hollow her head left behind. Her neck creaked as she looked up through the window to the curtain of quivering trees, twigs and needles floated like stray hairs to the ground. The hail would start, soon, then the thunder, then the rain. She plugged in her phone to build up a charge before the power had a chance to go out, noticing an unread message from Maxy.

“how’s it going over there?”

“I think there’s going to be a thunderstorm.”

“don’t get struck by lightning.”

“I’ll try my best.”

	Marian giggled and set her phone aside before clambering to the edge of the bed and sitting up, her legs dangling limply off the side.

“Marian?” Her mother called out, gently tapping on the door.

“What is it Mom?”

“Can I come in?” 

“Of course.” Her mother crept through the door and scanned around the room.

“I think we could move some of these boxes downstairs, anything you don’t think you’ll be using much. I know there’s not much space in here, but we could get some shelving to give you some more storage.”

“I like it. I like how small it is, it feels comforting. Like a little cocoon.” Her mother laughed.

“Well, I’m glad you like it. There’s different bedsheets in the hall closet, too, I know you’re not the biggest fan of pink.”

“I don’t mind it, really. . .I like pink, just not wearing it. It’s a pretty color.”

“Well, they’re there if you change your mind,” she smiled.

“Thanks for letting me stay here, mom”

“Of course, baby. You know you’re always welcome here. Part of me wishes you moved a long time ago.” Her mother sat beside her on the edge of the bed.

“I know,” Marian’s voice began to crack and bend, “maybe I should’ve. . .I really did like things over there, for a while. I’m not used to how quiet it is here.”

“It’s certainly a shift, but Seattle isn’t so far away. You can visit anytime you want. Just a quick ferry ride and you’re there.”

“I think, maybe the change of pace will be good. I like how quiet it is. I like all the trees. It feels like living in a storybook. My therapist thinks it will be good”

“I think you’ll really come to like it here. I don’t think your father took good care of you.”

“Oh, mom,” Marian sniffled, “you know dad. . .He’s not a bad person or anything, he just doesn’t understand these things. I think he tried his best.”

“Well, I’ll refrain from any further comments on your father, but I do think you’re better off here.”

“You’re probably right,” Marian curled her lips into an artificial smile and a tear rolled down her cheek. 

	It had been two weeks since she was led out of the hospital and hugged her favorite nurse goodbye. Four weeks ago, she was dead. Slumped over in a hospital bed covered in wires and tubes, brain muddied with painkillers, struggling to understand how or why she was alive. It felt like years had passed since that bleak, desperate night, like trying to remember a dream. She could remember waking up briefly in the ambulance, cold artificial light shining down like a blue moon. The paramedics, not realizing she was conscious, debated whether or not her liver would fail over the sound of dull, monotonous talk radio.
	Sometimes she felt she really had died that night, or at the very least, some part of her did. Everything was on the table, now. She was emotionally naked. Everyone, from her siblings to her grandparents, knew that something was wrong with Marian, something was gravely wrong. It was freeing in a way. There was no point in trying to hide her scars or lie about feeling happy. Nobody would believe her, anyway. There were no secrets anymore.

“Mom, I don’t know what I’m doing.” Marian’s voice trembled.

“What do you mean sweetie?”

“What am I doing with my life? Where am I going?”

“You’re unpacking your new bedroom and getting ready for dinner.”

“But what am I doing tomorrow? Or the next day? Or 10,000 tomorrows from now?”

“Marian, you can’t let yourself worry about the future so much.” Marian’s quiet sniffling turned to hot, heavy sobs, burning her cheeks as they rolled towards the floor.

“I just don’t understand. I don’t understand anything that’s happening, I don’t understand why I’m still here. I feel this vague, broad sense of hopefulness, but I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Take it one day at a time baby. You’ve got to set some goals for yourself, but they don’t need to be big. There’s no need to rush. You’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Do I?” Marian begged for an answer.

“You do.”

“Why does it feel like I don’t? Why does it feel like I’m behind schedule? It’s like I’m late, constantly running late, but for what?”

“You put too much pressure on yourself, Mary-Anne. You’re so young, but you’ve lived so much. Too much. You have a lot to work through, but you can only take it on one step at a time.” Marian rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily, running out of air.

“I don’t. . .I don’t think I do. Everyone else seems to do just fine with this amount of pressure. They go to work everyday, they go home to their own places, they raise families. They make it look so easy.” Marian’s vision began to blur as she spoke louder and faster, “How do they do it? How do you do it? I don’t understand. I want to live, but I feel like I don’t know how, like there’s some secret the world is keeping from me. I feel like. . . I feel like. . .” she stuttered and choked, spitting up her words, “. . .I feel like the world is moving at a million miles an hour, and I’m just watching it go by.” She took in a deep, labored breath and slumped over onto the bed.

“I want to get better, I do,’ Marian spoke just above a whisper, “I want to live, but I don’t know how.” Her mother carefully laid a hand on her shoulder as she wept into her pillow.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know I want to live.”

END

To my dearest friend & greatest inspiration, without whom this story would never have been written. Thank you.