Part 42 (2/2)
”Good,” she accepted. ”Come on, let's go. I have to drop Nick and Alison off at the Rec Center before I take you to the doctor.” She went to the top of the stairs and headed for their bedrooms. ”Nicholas and Alison, let's get going! You're going to be late.”
I grabbed my summer jacket off the banister of the stairwell, and as I was slipping it on, I noticed three envelopes on the occasional table that sat by the front door. All three of them had my name on them. I picked them up.
Alison and Nick were coming towards me as Mom yelled for them to go to the car and wait for her. I grabbed the car keys and the three of us went out to the car. When we were in the car, it didn't take long for Nick and Alison to find something silly to argue about. Which of the X-Men was the most powerful?
I blocked them out. I looked down at the envelopes in my hand, and I opened the one that was postmarked the earliest. Two of them were grades from cla.s.ses I was taking. B- in Calculus I and a B+ in Life Science. I didn't expect to do any better than that in those cla.s.ses. The last one I opened was dated almost two weeks prior to that day. It was a notice from my school for past due tuition.
There was a late fee plus the tuition that was past due. I hadn't had a paycheck since Mom had come to the hospital with my last one. I remembered that I had endorsed it to her and asked her to mail off what I owed for the month. What had happened?
Mom came out to the car and got in on the driver's side. She looked back at Nick and Alison. Their arguing had somehow turned to them hitting each other. They stopped fighting after Mom yelled for them to stop. She threatened that instead of letting them go to summer camp at the Recreation Center she'd make them stay home and do ch.o.r.es.
I stayed silent as Mom pulled out of the driveway and drove off.
”Kristen,” she began, ”You hear them back there trying to kill each other. Why didn't you do anything?”
I didn't say anything. I looked down at the notice from my school and held back my temptation to ball it up and throw it at her.
When we were at the doctor's office, I anxiously awaited to be called in. I was eager to see what my arms were going to look like without all of the metalwork and st.i.tching. I was finally inside of the room. The nurse had been kind enough to ask my mother to stay in the waiting room. I didn't want her there while the doctor was removing the st.i.tching because I didn't want her to talk about it or pretend to cry so that she could get sympathy from the doctor.
The little, white room felt crowded with all of the equipment around me. Dr. Mitsen finally came into the room with the nurse, who pushed in a metal cart that held the tools to do the job. I was back in Dr. Mitsen's office because it was time to have the metal-sutured st.i.tches removed. The nurse cleaned the area with Isopropyl, and then the doctor held up the scissors.
”Don't be nervous,” Dr. Mitsen said. ”You won't feel a thing.”
He completely lied to me. I walked out of his office with my arms against my chest. I hadn't had regular, sewn-in st.i.tches. I'd had metal in me that had been supported with the string. The part when he'd cut the string hadn't hurt at all, but removing the metal had hurt, and looking down while he'd done it had made it even worse. I felt like what I imagined a machine transforming into a human would feel like. All of the pain felt so new, and when I looked down at the results, I realized that my wrists looked better with the st.i.tches than without.
”Don't you worry,” Dr. Mitsen said. ”They will scar over and heal in due time.”
I knew he was right, but the way they would scar over would be thick and too obvious. I'll have to wear long sleeves forever, I thought.
After the doctor's appointment, Mom and I were back in the car together. She drove as I sat on the pa.s.senger side, trying not to look at her. I wished Alison and Nick were in the car with us. They were having fun at the local recreation center, doing summer camp activities. At least they were enjoying their youth. I was struggling through mine.
Mom sensed something through my silence. I could tell she was frustrated. She could tell there was something bothering me. She started sweet, like she used to do. Then it would turn into her yelling and end with me feeling like a troublesome burden.
”It's really nice to have a day off,” she said.
I didn't respond.
”Did you know, while you were in the hospital, I was working almost seventy hours a week? You plan on going back to work soon?”
I nodded.
”When?” she asked.
”I talked to my boss yesterday. She said I can come back to work on Monday,” I responded.
”That's nice,” Mom said. ”At least they don't know why you were in the hospital. She probably would have fired you.”
I looked down at my arms. I tried not to let her get to me, but the scars on my arms and wrists only made me feel worse.
”What's wrong with you now?”
”Nothing,” I lied.
”Kristen, don't start. Remember, this is how it started last time. We were in the car coming home, and I asked you what was wrong, and you told me that it was nothing. I didn't say anything and I let you get away with it. When we got home, you went down to your room and shut your door. Then the next thing I know, your little brother finds you in your bed with your wrists cut up.”
”Thanks for the replay, Mom,” I said.
She pulled into our driveway. When she put the car in park, she reached her arm over and slapped me across my face. She slapped me so hard that I thought I saw stars.
I rubbed my cheek, as it stung in pain.
”Don't dare act like you are the only one in pain! Do you know what that did to us, Kristen? Do you even know what you did to us?”
”Yes! I know! I'm sorry! Okay? I'm sorry! I know that I did something terrible, Mom. I admit that, and I don't want to do that to you again. I can't take it back, but I was scared.”
”Scared of what?” she said with tears in her eyes.
”The letter.”
Mom got out of the car as soon as she heard my answer.
I quickly followed behind her.
She opened the front door, and we both entered the house. Mom threw herself down on the couch and I sat down next to her.
”Mom, are you going to the hearing?”
”I don't want to talk about this right now, Kristen.”
”When are we going to talk about it? It's getting close. You have to tell me, because I can't sit here and live in this fear that you're going to give in and go and possibly...” my voice trailed off as I could only think of what I was afraid of instead of put them into words.
”What is it?” Mom asked. ”You think I'm going to try to help get Jack out of prison? You think I'm so lonely and desperate that I would want that man who hurt my own child to come back into our lives? Is that what you think of me, Kristen?”
”I don't know what to think,” I told her.
Mom took a deep breath and wiped the heavy tears that were falling from her eyes. They were real tears this time. I couldn't figure out why she was crying. But she was crying so hard that, each time she wiped tears away, more would fall. Did I hurt her?
I pleaded, ”Mom. I'm sorry. I've messed up so much. It's this Borderline Personality Disorder, and it's -”
Mom looked at me with those angry tears. She said, ”Don't do that. You've been in that place all this time. And you've had those people to talk to you and counsel you and show you how to deal. But I haven't had that. I haven't had the privilege of having someone to listen to me and take into consideration how I feel about things. I have to take care of your brother and sister. I can't even give any attention to me and my needs. Sometimes I feel as if I can't take it anymore. No, it's most of the time that I feel this way. So, don't sit there and act like you're the one with all of the problems, Kristen.”
”But I do!” I yelled. ”I do have problems! Mom! You can't put me on the back burner because I'm almost eighteen! When I turn eighteen, I will still be your child! You can't just expect me to go away and be able to deal with this on my own. I can't. I'm not strong enough to do that. I'm trying to survive, but I can't do it on my own. Don't just ignore it, Mom.”
”Shut up!”
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