26. Then
Then: December 30th
S o, apparently my entire Christmas morning hadn’t been just a dream. Mom had really come home and Dad had really bought me a car. They won’t tell me how much it cost but said I’d need to start looking for a job soon so that I could start paying for it. I knew there would be a catch. Nothing in life ever comes for free.
When I thought I’d drifted deeper into dreamland, instead I’d blacked out. There on the front lawn, luckily dodging the pavement. Panicked, my parents had driven me (together) to the hospital to have me checked out. I was kept overnight in case I had a concussion (thankfully, I didn’t) and was released the next morning.
My parents were sent home with a stack of papers to go over with me whenever I was feeling better. I told them many times on the drive home that I felt fine, but they were in some kind of silent truce and said that we would “talk about it later. ”
Later could mean several things. Later could actually mean later, or later could mean never—as in it would be like everything else in our home that is swept under the rug. As it turns out, later means the very next day, as Mom drives me to my first therapy appointment. Apparently they don’t trust me to drive my new car yet.
Therapy. The irony isn’t lost on me.
Mom doesn’t say much about where she’d gone for almost a week. And she doesn’t return with much. Most of her things are gone. Whether she sold them all or gave them away I’m not sure, but she returned with two suitcases full and that was it. She’d moved back into her and Dad’s bedroom and unpacked. I don’t ask her if she’d hung her clothes back up in her closet or not. I want to ask her a million questions, but mostly I feel angry with her.
Angry that she’d left, again . Left without a note saying goodbye or telling me where she was going and how long she’d be gone for. Angry that when I’d asked her she just smiled and shrugged and said, “What’s it matter, honey, I’m back now, okay? I’m not going anywhere this time. Promise.”
Yeah, like how Mom and Dad promise a lot of things, yet they can’t seem to keep many of them anymore. Mom doesn’t know how to stay, and Dad doesn’t know how to leave. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d tried to escape through divorce papers and therapists… What was really keeping him here with us?
But that isn’t the first time she’s ever broken one of her promises. Once, when I was a freshman, she promised me if I got an A on this big school project that she would take me to go see this new movie I’d been begging her to see with me for weeks. I’d gotten an A, and she’d handed me a ten dollar bill. She hadn’t said it was for the movies or that I could even still go. Either she’d completely forgotten, which was possible, or had changed her mind, also possible .
So, when she promises that she won’t leave me again, I don’t know whether to believe her or not this time. Will she forget promising me in the first place or will she change her mind? She’s always been a bit of a free bird. I don’t want to let her fly too far this time, but I also can’t seem to pin down her wings either.
“I don’t understand why I need therapy, Mom.” I try to give her my best puppy eyes, hoping it will work on her. This appointment had apparently been in that big packet they’d sent home from the hospital. They were concerned about my health and recommended I at least get checked out by this health professional. Uh-huh, right.
I don’t feel like talking to a stranger about myself, professional or not.
Her brown eyes bob and gleam as she glances over at me. For a second I hope Spontaneous Mom will burst out, and she will jerk the car around and take us somewhere new. Anywhere but the place we are heading. But she doesn’t show any signs of changing directions.
“I know, Spider-Girl. Let’s do what the doctors say, and we can be on our way, okay? We just have to show up. That’s it.”
Like you , I think to myself. You can disappear at the drop of a hat and simply show back up when it’s convenient for you.
“What kinds of things are they going to ask me?” I can feel my body begin to tingle with nerves. I’ve always been a bit more on the introverted side, and the thought of having to speak to someone I’ve never met makes me anxious.
“Oh, I don’t know. They’ll probably ask you basic things and what happened when you passed out.”
Maybe it won’t be so bad. I’ll show up and see what happens. Maybe I won’t have to go back. They will sign their papers and send us on our way. Like Mom said. But what if she’s wrong?
A question pops into my head, and I brave asking her. “Mom, has that ever happened to you? Passing out I mean. ”
She glances over at me again and laughs as though I’ve said something funny. Only it’s not. I really would like to know. Now isn’t the time for jokes. Not when we are only five minutes away.
A snort escapes her lips, causing her to laugh even harder. The harder she laughs, the angrier I get.
“Mom, stop,” I say as calmly as I can muster.
Her laughter doesn’t stop. Neither does my anger.
“Stop the car, Mom,” I say louder, several degrees higher than the music that comes blasting out of the speakers.
That stops her in her tracks and she slams on the brakes, the volume of my voice reaching a level I’m not sure I’ve ever directed at her before. Until now. She stares at me. A car honks its horn from behind. I don’t care. I want her to hear me. Actually, hear me this time.
“Let me out, now. I’m going to walk the rest of the way,” I threaten, but I mean it. I have my hand on the handle, ready to bolt.
“No,” she says, voice calm and collected.
“I’m walking, Mom, unlock the door.” I try the handle, but it doesn’t budge.
“No,” she says again.
Are we really going to sit here and argue back and forth?
“I’m taking you to your damn therapy session, you’re going to stay the full hour, and as soon as you’re done, we are turning around and going straight home.”
What I want to say is, “Dad is cheating on you, Mom, WITH a therapist! So, no—I’m not going!”
With hurt still lingering in my voice I manage, “I wasn’t being funny, Mom. I was asking you a serious question.”
She presses her foot on the gas, accelerating back up to speed, and ignores me. Her lips curl and she sneaks a small glance at me and then turns her attention back to the road.
“What was your question?” she eventually asks .
Okay, maybe she heard me after all. But only halfway.
“Never mind,” I say and turn my back toward her. Away from her. I’m too frustrated to say anything more.
She turns the music up on the radio, and we don’t say a word for the rest of the way to therapy .