“You have them, you know. All you have to do is grab on, and they’ll never let you go.” Kissing her head, I know she’s not going to like the next part. “But you have to be honest with them. They need to know what you went through because until they do, you’re never going to be free of the past.”
Calla
* * *
I was an hour late for my shift because I broke down and cried in Jace’s arms. The trust I have in him is so easy to give. Jace has to be the best man I know. Which makes me question why I’m always trying to push him away.
It’s part fear of opening myself up to someone and then getting my heart broken, but it’s also partly fear about, what if my mother is right? What if I really do ruin lives. She swore for years that I'm the reason she was so messed up. Everything was always my fault, and I never understood why.
After her diagnosis, I researched mania, manic depression, everything related to either subject to learn all I could. Nothing ever explained why she blamed me. There was no logic to her accusations other than to devastate me. It never made sense because even though my memories of us all together as a family are few and far between, I don’t remember the chaotic state she was always in.
She told Petal the night we left that she had to save me, but all she did was stick me in a dungeon of a thousand sharp swords and cut so deeply that I don’t know if I deserve anything in this life. For so many years, I pondered taking my own life so the torment would end, but I was never able to do it.
Even when she tried to drown me, I fought. When she smothered me, I fought. She hit me with her car, and I gave up, but my body marched on.
I kept on fighting.
After everything I went through growing up, survival mode kicked in even when I should have given up. I can’t stop moving forward now. I know I can’t, and I don’t want to.
But when the one thing I’m consistently fighting is myself, how do I win?
Jace insists family is the key to everything, but if I have to choose what my saving grace could be, I think it’s him. For six months, I’ve been in Long Beach. I made a friend out of Cali a couple months ago. We got an apartment together because we were sick of sharing a bathroom with so many strangers, and unlike them, we intended on staying put. At least for a while.
I promised Jace I would wait for him to pick me up, but as I look at the clock and see the time nearing three, I think he’s right. What I have to do to get on with my life is tell the truth about what happened while Mom and I were gone.
Sending a message to Jace, I inform him of my intentions and ask him to pick me up at my father's later before finishing my chores and clocking out for the day. I nearly miss the bus, and I’m glad not to have to wait because I likely would have talked myself out of what I’m about to do.
As I’m sitting down, I feel my phone vibrate and pull it out of my pocket to see Jace’s name on the screen.
Jace: I’ll be there. Call if you need me sooner.
Me: Thank you :)
Jace: Anything for you, sweetness.
I never thought I’d get giddy over a pet name, but whenever he calls me sweetness, my heart melts just a little bit more for him.
The ride feels like it takes forever, and when it’s finally my turn to disembark, I nearly panic and remain seated. It’s only my desire for a normal life that pushes me off the bus. I need closure, and I think my family does too.
I tend to avoid answering any questions about my life away from here that I think they’re starting to believe I don’t want them to get to know me. And that’s not the case, I’m simply trying to protect them.
Standing in front of the home I vaguely remember as a child, I stare at it. It’s neatly kept—flowers in planters along the porch, fresh exterior paint. The swing looks inviting. Gazing down the block, I glance at the updated park that Petal and I used to go to.
“I can almost see you girls skipping down the road to that park every day.” My dad's voice echoes my thoughts.
“Hi.” I give a little wave because being here is still uncomfortable for me. Not because of the memories, but because of what I can’t remember.
“Do you want to come inside?” Dad’s voice is hopeful as I turn to look at him. I know he suffered a heart attack a couple of years ago, but you’d never know by looking at him. He’s young and healthy. I hope I can give him the peace we all deserve.
“Could we sit outside?” My eyes wander to the swing again.
Opening the gate, he waves for me to precede him. “How are you?” Such a loaded question.
“I’m…ready to talk,” I tell him. “About Mom.” I can feel his stare on me.
“Whatever you want to share, I’m here to listen.” It’s like he knows it was horrendous. Maybe because it’s been months, and I barely acknowledge her existence unless I feel forced.
“What do you know about her family?” I start. I’ve never looked and never thought to ask.
“Her parents passed when she was fairly young. She didn’t have any siblings.”
“Did you know she was manic?” I don’t know if it’d be worse if he did know or not.
My gaze slides over to him, and I can see the answer before he says a word. “No. She was always a little temperamental, but I never…” I believe him.
Sitting back on the swing, I pull out the last thing my mother thought about before taking her own life. I’ve struggled with this secret over everything else more than I can explain.
“She didn’t just die two years ago; Mom killed herself.” Opening the note, I reread her words before handing it to him. “After she tried to kill me.” I don’t add again. There’s no point. They don’t need to know everything about our life away from here, but how and why she died might give me the closure I need.
“She what?” His voice cracks and I close my eyes, fighting back the tears. Of all the things I endured because of her, I think her death had been the worst because it was then that I knew I’d never get justice for what I went through.
Standing up, I leave him to process the information I just dropped and wander through the house I used to dream of coming home to. All the pictures on the walls are of Petal through her life. I can’t find an ounce of jealousy or envy either. My sister is the best, most selfless person I know. There are some of the kids scattered around, and they make me smile.
Mac is so protective of his younger siblings, you can see it in the candid shots and the way he watches them. Lily loves life. She loves to laugh and dance and be a silly little girl. I hope she never loses that innocence. And Wheeler, that cherub of a baby, he holds everyone in the palm of his hands. With his chubby cheeks, bright blue eyes, and infectious giggle, I never knew I could love someone so much.
The mantle is filled with images of Petal, Dad, and I as well. Not a single one of my mother. I never asked how they felt about her; I didn’t want to know the answer. I imagine they missed her. They were probably angry with her as well.
Grabbing a photo of us on the front porch, eating ice cream, I can feel the tears on my cheeks because I don’t remember this. I don’t know what flavor of ice cream. I don’t recollect the heat on my skin as the cold treat melted faster than I could eat it. I don’t recall what was so funny that we were all laughing at.