Chapter Twenty-Two Marion
twenty-two MARION
There was little Marion could do but sit with Sassy and offer comfort. No one could guarantee that Joey would ever come home, and she refused to make empty promises. Late one night, Sassy padded down to Marion’s apartment, bleary-eyed, saying she couldn’t sleep, so Marion prescribed Librium for her to take at night. During the day, she said nothing when Sassy pulled out her bottle of Mother’s Little Helper. Those magical white pills lulled Sassy into a comfortable state of nostalgia.
Marion didn’t say anything to Sassy about it, but she was having trouble sleeping as well. Certainly she was concerned about Joey, but she didn’t know him, so that was secondhand worry. What kept her awake was thinking of Daniel, somewhere in the freezing city and no doubt hurting deeply. And getting so little help from her. If only she could be sure he’d found shelter, she might be able to sleep.
As a doctor, all Marion had ever wanted to do was help and heal. To be useful in a damaged person’s life. When she operated, she used her mind and nimble fingers to repair what was broken. As a psychiatrist, she offered therapy and prescriptions when needed.
Right now, watching her best friend suffer, and having no idea where Daniel might be, she felt useless.
Trying to distract herself with television didn’t work. When she saw the news and its predictable coverage of Vietnam, she no longer saw strangers. Sassy had shown her many pictures of Joey growing up, and these days Marion had trouble not seeing his shadowed face under a metal helmet. There were other faces in her mind now, too, thanks to Daniel. After all his stories, she felt as if she practically knew his “brothers.”
Sometimes when she thought of Daniel, she also reflected on her father. She hadn’t been to visit her parents for over a month, though she had joined them for their annual Christmas dinner, bearing dolls and toys for the children, a couple of Sassy-recommended books for Pat and her husband, and new sweaters for her parents: a soft pink one for her mother, and a camel-coloured cardigan for her dad. When they were washing dishes after supper, Marion had her mother to herself, and she used that time to ask about her father. Her mother assured her that he was doing well. The “episodes,” as she called them, didn’t happen as often anymore. But when Marion dug deeper, her mother admitted that she’d gone out shopping in November and come home to find him weeping and unaware.
“But he swiftly returned to himself,” she said brightly. “I sat with him and held his hand, like you suggested, and he remembered me right away. I was very quiet and calm when I told him where we were.”
Almost all their married life, her mother had tended to her father. When Marion thought of that, then saw the way she strove to see everything in a positive light, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for her mother.
As much as Marion adored her family, she was relieved to get back on the bus after a few hours and return to her quiet apartment. Seeing her father quietly engaging with his grandchildren reminded her of when she was small, and she didn’t like to think about that. She wasn’t proud of who she had been back then. A few times, he’d collapsed in public, and she still burned with the shame she’d felt as a child, aware that strangers and some of the family’s friends were witnessing a grown man crying. They were judging him, she knew, and the rest of the family as well. As Marion matured, she adjusted to his behaviours and was sometimes able to help him recover, but it wasn’t until she began to study medicine that she understood his reaction was an involuntary condition he could not help.
Her shame now came from recognizing how cruelly she had thought of him for so long.
The other night, Sassy had come to see her, looking brighter than she had for a while, and she’d proudly told Marion what she’d learned about her father’s role in the war. He had a framed medal on his office wall alongside letters from the mayor and other officials, Sassy said, all congratulating him on his exemplary service.
“He saved Mr. Moore’s life!” she kept exclaiming. “I had no idea!”
When Marion asked, Sassy said no, her father had never displayed any suffering postwar. Not like Marion’s father had.
Once again, Marion burned with shame. It was awful to be envious of her best friend, but she couldn’t help it. Beautiful, talented Sassy had a wealthy, heroic father who paid all her bills. In contrast, Marion had worked for years to get where she was. Sassy’s father had come home with a medal; Marion’s had brought only nightmares and panic and hopelessness.
This morning, tired from another nearly sleepless night, Marion dressed and prepared to head to the community health centre. Before she called the elevator up to the fifth floor, she pressed her ear against Sassy’s door, listening for any sounds. She didn’t hear anything, and she hoped that meant her friend was fast asleep, oblivious to the world. The day after Sassy’s news about Joey, Marion had gone to visit each of the neighbours to let them know what had happened, and why Sassy would be different. Both Mrs. Romano and Mrs. Levin quickly declared they would cook for her, so Marion suggested they arrange a schedule between them that wouldn’t overlap. They said they hoped she wouldn’t need them to cook for long. Everyone wanted Joey found. Everyone wanted Sassy to breathe again.