3. Maggie
3
Maggie
I t has been a few weeks since what I’m now calling “the blackout”, and I’m convinced I am slowly losing my mind. It’s either that or according to an internet search I may have early onset dementia, which, at 22, seems a little far-fetched. At this point, though, I’m not ruling it out.
Although there have been no new gaps in my memory— at least none I can remember —I am also no closer to figuring out what happened that night. This gaping hole of missing time leaves me feeling deeply disturbed.
Since “the blackout”, I have been on a permanent state of high alert, where even the smallest provocation makes me anxious, leading me to overreact. I am having terrible nightmares, constantly walking on eggshells, and I feel like I am losing my grasp on reality.
I have also been screwing up left and right at work—something that hasn’t gone unnoticed—and I can tell Jane is starting to get concerned. She dances around me like I’m a ticking bomb waiting to go off, which honestly isn’t too far off the mark. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up.
Plus, I am convinced someone has been following me.
I am not sure how I know, I just do. Sometimes, it’s an awareness of another’s presence, a knowing that I’m no longer alone. You know, like when those tiny hairs stand up on the back of your neck when something feels off? Kind of like that. Other times, it’s this phantom smell that lingers in my apartment when I wake, so light, I can almost convince myself I’m imagining it.
I unlock the door to J. Austin Books and take a few tentative steps inside. It’s a little after nine in the morning, which is usually my favorite time of day. As a self-proclaimed morning person, I’ve always scheduled myself for opening shifts. I loved the peace and quiet the morning shift would offer, and relished in the time spent alone in one of my favorite places.
Lately though, what I once considered to be my sanctuary now feels wrong, almost tainted.
I didn’t have many friends growing up. I was an awkward kid who was always quiet and a little too shy—never one of the popular kids, and that was just fine with me. I preferred books to real life people anyways. Fictional characters have never let me down, which is more than I can say about most of the people in my life. That is, except for Jane. She has been the one constant in my life.
After her diagnosis, my already short friends list dwindled even more. I felt the need to stay close to her in case her health took a turn for the worse. I would often turn down invites to parties or to hang out until eventually they stopped coming altogether.
Since Jane owns the store, I spent a large chunk of my childhood inside these walls. Most of that time spent curled up in one of the oversized velvet chairs in the children’s reading nook. I was quick to help with odd jobs when needed, and when I turned sixteen, this became my first official job.
It pains me that this place that was once my safe space just isn’t anymore. But there’s no use dwelling on it when I have no idea how to fix it.
Shaking off my discomfort, I stow my bag under the counter. The silence in here is deafening and not helping to combat the creepy vibes. So, I pull out my phone and connect it to the overhead speakers, selecting my Good Mood playlist, in the hopes some upbeat music will chase off any lingering unease.
With a deep inhale, I fill my lungs, relishing in the scent of freshly printed paper and lemon furniture polish, taking comfort in the familiarity of it. Pushing my shoulders back and steeling my spine, I resolve to get to work, determined not to mess up. Today is going to be a wonderful day.
Today was not a wonderful day.
I am in the middle of setting up a display when I sense it: someone is behind me. Fear grips me as footsteps move closer, and I stiffen, rooted to the spot. I look around for something that could be used as a weapon, but the only things close by are books. I pick up one of the heavier hardbacks from the table and spin around, ready to strike, when I see Jane’s startled face.
Her hand reaches out to clutch at her chest. Is she having a heart attack?
Oh God! What have I done? A mix of guilt and horror flood my system when I realize I might have just killed the closest thing I have to a mom.
“Shit!” I curse out loud, letting the book fall to the floor. I grab ahold of her by both her shoulders, my hands fluttering rapidly around her head and neck before grabbing her wrist to check her pulse. It’s beating fast and strong. That’s good, right? Oh—what the hell am I doing? I have no idea how to tell if someone is having a heart attack. She needs a doctor.
“Are you ok? Should we go to the ER? Do I need to call Dr. Osborne?” I ask her, naming the neurologist who has been managing her care for the past six years. She shrugs out of my hold.
“What are you going on about? I'm fine. You just scared the hell out of me is all,” she finally responds.
“So…you’re not having a heart attack?” I ask.
“No. I’m fine.” The lines between her brows deepen, as the corners of her mouth turn down.
“Honestly, it’s you I’m worried about honey. What has come over you lately? You have been out of sorts…well, for a while now.” My stomach twists at the concern in her voice .
I have always tried to be as uncomplicated and as easy-going as possible. I worked hard in school to make good grades, cleaned my room without being asked, and helped around the house as much as possible. I kept my head down and stayed out of trouble because I knew stress wasn’t good for Jane’s condition.
She has been so strong and healthy lately. Her doctor started her on a new treatment plan, and it is working well so far. Her energy levels are up, and she’s moving around much better. She even has this healthy glow to her face I haven’t seen in, well…a very long time. To see all that progress ruined because I can’t seem to keep myself together would honestly just wreck me.
“You’re right. I have been stressed out lately. I promise, though, everything is ok.” She gives me an arch look.
“You just tried to hit me over the head with a book. Mags, you are not fine.” I wince. Yeah…I’ll admit, that was not one of my finer moments.
“I know you aren’t gonna want to hear this but… I think you should take some time off.”
“No, I—” She holds up a hand, effectively cutting me off.
“I love that you love this old place as much as I do. It will give me immense joy to know that one day, I will get to retire knowing you will take excellent care of it.” My chest tightens at her praise, my eyes growing misty. “But that day is not today. To put it frankly—you work too much. Now, go on. Scram… I don’t want to see you back he re for at least a week,” she says, making shooing motions at me.
“But who will work my shifts?” I protest, digging in my heels.
“I think Natya and I can manage for a while.”
Natya is my closest friend. She works here part time when she doesn’t have classes at the local art college. With spring semester just ending, I’m sure she would be grateful for the extra hours.
Honestly, some time off doesn’t sound that bad. Only, I’m afraid that with no one around to keep an eye on her, Jane will overexert herself. Without me here, who will take care of things when she’s unable to?
“Uh uh…I know that look,” she admonishes me. “I am a grown woman, Maggie, and I assure you, I am perfectly capable of running my bookstore in your absence.”
Softening her tone, she continues, “You know I love you as if you were my own flesh and blood. I am so grateful for all the things you have done to help me over the years, but this hasn’t been fair to you. I am the parent. I am supposed to take care of you , not the other way around. So please—let me do this. You deserve this break.”
Oh, that’s not fair… How am I supposed to argue with that?
I know she feels guilty for having to depend on me so much, but I have never once held any sort of resentment or anger toward her. In all honesty, it felt nice to be needed. It was like my way of paying her back for taking me in when she didn’t have to.
As far as adopted moms go, I know I lucked up. She is the best. When my own mother abandoned me, she stepped up and took me in. So, no. If she needs me to work extra when she isn’t feeling well or needs someone to take her to doctor’s appointments, then I will gladly do so, just as I know I will do this for her as well.
She looks up at me with watery eyes, pure determination on her face, and I can tell this is important to her. She isn’t going to back down. My shoulders slump in defeat, and I let out a sigh.
“Ok. One week. But you need to promise me you won’t overdo it, and that you’ll call me if you need anything,” I tell her.
“Deal. Now go. Be young. Have fun,” she singsongs, herding me out the front door, leaving me feeling as if I just got hustled. “But, not too much fun.”
“Oh…and don’t forget to use protection!” she yells right as I step out onto the sidewalk. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I duck down, hiding my face when I notice several heads turn in my direction.
I quicken my pace, now eager to get as far away as possible.
Several hours later, after I have cleaned my tiny flat, rearranged my bookshelves, and painted my nails, I find myself sitting on the stoop of my apartment building, talking to Mr. Darcy.
No, not the arrogant but lovable Mr. Darcy from my favorite Austen novel. This Mr. Darcy is a one-eared stray cat that lives in the alley between buildings.
I’ve spent the last few hours trying to coax him out of hiding with a can of tuna, and he now sits on the bottom step, sniffing at the blue can like it’s toxic.
“You know, for someone I saw eating out of the dumpster this morning, you sure are picky,” I tell him, to which he just glares at me.
They were out of his favorite brand of cat food at the store, so I figured this would suffice. I mean, what cat doesn’t like tuna? This one, apparently. Taking one last sniff, he hisses at it and takes off back down the narrow alley. You would think a scrawny little stray wouldn’t be so particular with what he eats, but this one…is a snob.
I pick up and discard the offending can in the trash outside and am walking back up to my apartment when I feel eyes on the back of my neck. I turn around, but there’s no one there.
Movement catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. I glance towards the building across the street from mine, finding most of the windows darkened, and nothing suspicious. The only movement comes from a fluttering of curtains in one of the upper windows. I can’t see into the room from this distance, but last I knew that apartment was empty. That’s odd.
The sun has set, taking its warmth along with it, and a cool spring breeze blows through, sending a shiver down my spine. Wrapping my arms around myself, I look back one more time before turning back to my apartment.
Inside, I hear the text alert on my phone going off in quick succession. Picking it up, I see it’s the group chat I am in with Natya, and our friends Susannah and Gael. Susannah and Gael go to school with Natya and are more her friends than mine, but they are always nice to me.
Natya: I hear our girl Mags was given a week off from work.
Natya: You know what that means…. Girls Night!
Susannah: Bout time you took a vacation Maggie.
Susannah: I’m in.
Gael: Oh, so I’m included in your girls night too?
Natya: Duh… It wouldn’t be a party without you.
Gael: Damn right it wouldn’t!
Natya: Mags…You in?
I stare at my phone, conflicted. I’m not big on clubs. The whole bar scene isn’t really my thing. I don’t dance, and after what happened the first time I got drunk, I’m not really a big drinker.
But…I think getting out and being around my friends might be good for me. Plus, I haven’t seen them much lately, since they have been busy with final exams.
I think of Jane’s words from earlier. Go. Be young. Have fun. Making up my mind, I text back.
Me: Yea. I’m in.