A Woman Gone Mad (2 page)

What better to go with them then my man Jack?
I pour myself a double in the only clean tumbler I can find and slam it back before brushing and flossing my teeth to get the yuck out.

Once I look back up into the face of my most hated enemy, the piece-of-shit shell of a person I was supposed to become, what I see isn’t so bad. Maybe today will be a good day; the voices are all quiet.
Thank God.

Stumbling out of the bathroom, either because of the darkness or possibly the fantastic fucking meds, I make my way back to the king-sized bed and I giggle while singing, “Meds, hahahaha! I fucking love my meds. If you’re crazy and you know it, shake your meds!”

Still giggling, I let my body to fall back into bed then snuggle up under the down comforter, and I swear, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, I hear Lilith’s voice clearly whisper in a cooing tone,
“Today will be a good day, Lillian. You’ll see. We just keep those other bitches quiet. Yes, I know, love. We both know that you used to be sweet and innocent, but then shit happened
—
LIFE happened. Yes, baby girl, today is a good day. It’s the day we rectify the shit that happened.”

I
f someone were to ask me at what point in my life it all began, when things started to spiral out of control, when the unraveling threads of my life first became noticeable I wouldn’t be able to pinpoint it.

As a child, I never had the best of the best, but my parents made sure we didn’t go without. Both of my parents worked hard in a small town, making only minimum wage. And being children of the eighties, my brother Allen and I spent our days outside. We rode our bikes
everywhere
—to 7-11 for Icees and Big League bubble gum. We trudged through the woods, climbing trees, splashing in what we called rivers. We built forts and played war. But most of all, we used our imagination. Our parents didn’t have a college fund set up for us. Like I said, it was the eighties.

I never excelled in school; I was always too busy having fun. I had a few friends, but mostly Allen and I stuck together. I had to thicken my skin up pretty early in life. I always looked like a cheerleader but couldn’t stand the cattiness and backstabbing that went along with that group. The
in crowd
didn’t like me because I wouldn’t conform and the
not so in crowd
didn’t know what to make of me. So during elementary school, I was either by myself or with Allen. He was my best friend. Our imaginations would just bounce off of each other and always seemed to create fun havoc. I knew one thing was absolutely certain—Allen was the coolest kid brother in the world.

One night, the street lights come on and we are
way
too far to make it home in time. The whole way home, Allen is trying to come up with a reason. He is getting nervous and a little scared, I can tell.

We stop at an intersection, waiting for the cars to pass. “Allen, I hate to burst your bubble, buddy, but we’re not gonna make it on time. We are going to be in trouble, bro. Face it. Worrying about it isn’t going to fix anything. Just roll with it.”

His eyes narrow at me. Maybe he wants to say something but he doesn’t. He hops on his bike and takes off once the cars pass.

Whoa, he
i
s pissed!

Once I catch up with him, he is out of breath and his sandy blond hair is stuck to the sweat on his forehead. I start laughing at him because he went from ninety to nothing. He is still pissed off and now he is exhausted.

“What are you laughing at, Lil? What’s so funny? I swear, if Dad gets the belt, I’ll find a way to blame this crap on you!” he yells at me between breaths.

“Allen, Dad isn’t goin’ to spank us over being late, you dork. It’s Mom. Now she’s what you need to worry about, ’cause she’s going to do crap like take away our bikes and make Dad lock them up. Besides, what’s the big deal? We’ll freaking walk until Mom and Dad aren’t pissed anymore, okay? So just calm down, will ya?”

We are still about fifteen minutes from home when a car flies around the corner, coming within inches of hitting Allen. My heart flies out of my chest as I watch him swerve his bike off the sidewalk and into the grass, scaring the hell out of us both. When I look back, Allen is under his bike with a gash across his sweaty brow, his sandy blond hair is now wet with blood and sweat.

“Allen! Oh my god! What… That car almost freaking hit us! Are you okay?” I help get the bike off of him.

I take my scrunchie out of my hair to try to dab his gash and see how bad it is. At this point, I am worried—not about being in trouble though. I’m worried because I don’t like seeing my little brother hurt, and I really don’t like to see him bleeding. I look down into Allen’s eyes. Instead of the tears I’m expecting, I see that he has a grin across his face as big as you please.

“Okay, little bro. I think that hit your noggin took was a little worse than just a cut and some bleeding. I think it knocked your marbles loose. Come on, up you go. It’s getting later and now I am worried about that belt of Dad’s.” Once I get him up, I try to help him back on his bike. His shoulders are shaking, and he laughs. It’s not giggling laughter either, but a full belly one with his head thrown back. I look at him like he’s an alien from Gallaga. “What’s so funny? You are crazy, you idiot. Here, I’ll just walk both bikes. Let’s just get home.”

After walking a dozen feet, he’s still laughing. “Don’t you get it?” He points to the now sopping, bloody scrunchie he’s still holding against his head. “This is the perfect excuse. Now we have a reason why we’re late!”

“Oh God! This is just great. Now my brother will be forced to ride the short bus for the rest of his life because he couldn’t stay on a bike and keep his head from cracking against the handlebars. This night can’t get any worse,” I rant and slow down my pace.

“Nope.” We’d made it to our driveway. “But it is about to get a lot freaking better, Lil.”

Once we walk into the house, both Mom and Dad are pacing. Mom’s eyes fly straight to Allen. Her face pales as she falls to the couch with her hand covering mouth, and I swear she is going to pass out.

Dad rushes over. “Allen, Lillian, are y’all okay? Where in God’s name have y’all been? Your mother has been worried sick! Lillian! Damn it, you know what time you two are supposed to be home! And son, good gracious what the… What happened to your head?”

Mom takes a deep breath and straightens her dress as she stands. She’d let her mask slip for half a minute when she first saw Allen was hurt. This woman has always amazed me. I watch her all the time, even when she doesn’t know it. She is my idol, my mentor, and the best mom in the whole world. She is strength epitomized. She is the meaning of the word ‘beauty.’ She is funny, crass, smart as a whip, and quick with words, and I have yet to see Katie Shaw walk into a room and that room not light up. I’ve also watched the five foot two, one hundred ten pound Katie Shaw reduce a man twice her size into a sniveling mockery of a man all for a coupon.

“David,” Mom says, settling back into composure. “Honey, you can’t shoot fifty questions one right after the other at them and honestly expect an answer.” Turning to Allen and me, she says, “Lillian, go wash up and set the table. Allen, come on, son. Let’s get this cleaned up. God, Allen, you’re filthy,” walking behind him and brushing leaves and dirt off his shoulders and back.

I head in the direction of the kitchen. But my dad’s voice stops me. “Lil, sweetie, just go wash up, take a bath. I’ll set the table up for ya, kiddo.”

Running up to him, I hug his neck and kiss his cheek before I dash off, calling out over my shoulder, “Thanks, Daddy.”

After I’ve scrubbed the river, woods, and spilled Icee juice off, I put my pajamas on and head to the kitchen.

“…wasn’t her fault. Lil said we were going to be late, but Dad, I’d been practicing this front-wheel wheelie for weeks! And I finally got it!”

Sitting down at the table, I cut my eyes at Allen, and he knows what I’m saying with that look. I’m saying, “What are you doing, you
idiot
? We practice the story first! The story is always practiced first—
always!”

“Ahhh, I’d say by the look of that gash,” Mom says, “and the fact that you’re going to be sporting a shiner tomorrow that you didn’t finally get it!”

We laugh and Allen continues. “Well, all I’m saying is, if anyone needs to be in trouble, it’s me. Lil wanted to go, but she knew if she left me she’d get in trouble. She didn’t lose track of time. I just wanted to get the wheelie perfect. I’d been trying all day, Dad.” I don’t know whether to be shocked or in awe of my little brother.

As I sit there eating my supper, watching Allen in my left peripheral, it dawns on me. My kid brother wasn’t crazy when he was laughing after his bike wreck. He was giddy because he’d found the reason we needed to be late, and he was laughing at himself for getting so mad and worked up over something so stupid and unimportant.

When dinner is done and I finish the dishes, I walk into the living room, where everyone is watching TGIF. Mom and Dad are cuddled up on the couch, and Allen is in front of the TV, lying on his stomach with his chin held up by his hands. I go to lie down beside him, taking my foot, kicking his closest to mine, and circling in the air behind us. He glances over at me and we share a sneaky smile.

Later that night, following our bedtime routine, Dad and Allen come into my room. Daddy reads us some story from the kids’ Bible storybook and then we all say the Lord’s Prayer, each adding our own special daily thanks. After hugs and goodnights have been said, Dad goes off to bed, leaving Allen me alone. I finally get to ask, “Where… What? How did you? Dang it, story! We always practice the story first! That’s the rule, dude!”

Allen stands up and, on his way out, says, “Sis, what you think you have in years for experience, I more than make up for in my utter genius. And it’d be a good idea to always remember that one, kid. Night.”

That night, for the first time, I tack on an extra special daily thanks to the Lord’s Prayer. Well after the whole house has fallen asleep, I whisper, “Lord, I thank you all the time for Momma and Daddy, but tonight, I want to thank you for giving me my little brother. Yes, I know he is irritating and he is always finding my diary and reading it to his friends, but he is also the best brother a sister could want in the whole wide world. Thank you for giving me my brother. He’ll always be my best friend. I promise, Jesus. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.”

It’s ironic how things seem so important when you’re a kid. Life or death is measured by the mean things your friends say or when you think that your life is ruined because your report card got you grounded for the weekend. In reality, though, it’s all small stuff. We just don’t realize yet that we haven’t even had a taste of life or death or actually felt the disappointment of a ruined life.

F
or as long as I can remember, I have been searching for my soul mate. And when I say for as long as I can remember, I mean kindergarten. I just knew Christopher, with the pale blond hair and dark brown eyes, was the one. He, on the other hand, thought all girls had cooties and didn’t see things the way I did.

It left me utterly devastated. Yes, at five years old, I felt the first bite of a broken heart. As my elementary school years passed, I found my one true loves again and again, each leaving me with their own tiny marks across my own tiny heart.

God, I wish I knew then what I know now. I don’t know why I believed that once I found my soul mate everything else in life would work itself out. Well, I have my suspicions. Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty—thanks, you stupid nitwits.

I can tell you that, as I grew from a child to a teenager and then to a young adult, this need became more than a search—it became an obsession.

I did have my standards. Don’t get me wrong, I never went trolling for trolls. My parents, however, would disagree with that statement. They would disagree with it mainly because along with the nineties came the Kurt Cobain wannabes. We all went there. Don’t worry.

However, in the
early
nineties, I was still in plaid school uniform skirts that kept me in my eighth grade principal’s office more than in class. What can I say? I always loved to push the boundaries. I liked my skirts short and my shirts tight. I loved my knee-high tights and my black Mary Janes. And the choker necklace, of course. Don’t act like you didn’t wear the choker necklace.