Part 3
Chapter 5
When Mom finally decided to leave my bathroom, I guess I could have tried to talk to her some more. I could have pushed her a little more into…well I guess into whatever it is I am doing with her. I'm not entirely sure what that is, though. Honestly, I really don't have any kind of plan whatsoever. I don't even have plans for where Mom might be staying tonight. She can stay here, but I hadn't actually thought of it until now. I'm starting to feel a little under-qualified to be doing all this, because I have no clue what it is that I'm actually supposed to be doing.
Should I try to talk Mom into going back to Catherine? Should I be trying to talk Mom into confronting Grissom about the little 'moment' that they shared? Should I just leave it up to her to decide whatever it is she does next or do I need to guide her in a certain direction?
All I know right now is that it would probably be in everyone's best interest if I kept Mom away from alcohol for a while. It may not be her direct problem, but it certainly is a contributor and I don't feel like dealing with an inebriated parent right now. Although, if she were drunk, I probably wouldn't notice it at the moment. All we're doing is sitting in the living room, in front of the television, watching some lame ass movie about vampires. I'm not even certain this movie has an actual plot.
"I'm not getting this," I say just so that Mom knows that I'm not intentionally not speaking to her. She shouldn't be ashamed of completely deteriorating emotionally in front of me. We're both going to have to be comfortable with that now, right?
"I'm not sure anyone is supposed to," Mom replies keeping her focus on the television in front of us. I don't think we've made actual eye contact since she rejoined me in my bedroom. I'm starting to feel the need for a drink, but since I'm underage and all and since my mother is here with me, I should probably refrain.
"Okay then," I jump up and my movement must startle Mom because she jumps a little. "I really don't think we should just sit around and watch a movie that no one is supposed to understand. We should go out and get some food and then go do something else."
Finally Mom looks at me. "If you want to go then go."
I'm not really liking her tone. "I want to go, but I want you to go with me."
"What's the point?"
Point? I thought my point was obvious, but I guess I need to clarify. "The point is for you to spend time with your daughter." That may not have been my main point, but I don't think telling her that she needs to eat would get her to move. Hopefully, she'll move if she thinks it's for my benefit somehow. "It's been a long time since I've spent any time with you and I'd rather do that without watching a movie with an actress who can't figure out what accent she's supposed to be using."
"Don't lie, Mel."
Is she trying to pick a fight with me? Is this even about me? "Exactly why should I lie to you about this, Mom?"
Her attention goes from me back to the television. I don't really think she cares to pay any attention to me. Maybe I should just give her some time alone. It's possible that she needs some time away from me to sort some stuff out in her head. I don't want to crowd her or anything, but I don't want to feel like I'm abandoning her either. "If you want to be left alone, you know that you can just tell me that."
"Fine." Her eyes turn to me but they're not exactly full of the love that I would like to see present in them. "I want to be left alone."
"Okay." I bow my head and rub my forehead. It's almost impossible to maintain eye contact because it probably wouldn't be fair of me to look angry or hurt after I told her she could just say she didn't want me around. I'm supposed to be acting like an adult. "I'll go out and grab something to eat." I move around the living room grabbing onto my wallet, cell phone and keys. "I'll bring you something back." By the time I make it to the front door Mom's silence has managed to hurt me just a little bit more than her words. Part of me expected her to stop me.
I open the door and step through it. Before I shut it behind me I want to tell her to be careful or to take care of herself, but I'm not too sure how well she would receive that. So instead of saying anything, I just close the door and lock it.
My phone rings while I'm walking to my car and a quick look at it tells me that it's Nikki. She probably wants to know how things are going with Mom since she's left. She probably wants to know if I'm doing okay, and right now I wouldn't exactly know how to answer her.
Despite not having all the answers right now, I pick up my phone anyway. Nikki's voice greets me and she surprises me, because instead of asking all the questions I knew would be coming she starts talking about some call she was sent out on when she got on duty. At the end of her story, about a guy she arrested for stealing cash out of a cash register at some grocery store, she tells me that she misses me and loves me and that she wants me to meet her for her dinner break.
I don't hesitate in accepting her offer, and I even consider going back to the apartment so that I can pull Mom along with me, but I don't. She said that she didn't want me with her right now, and I have to respect that. I have to be able to walk away. So, I get into my car and drive off towards the restaurant Nikki told me to meet her at.
As I approach the entrance, Nikki is standing outside waiting for me. She asks me if I want to go somewhere else because a group of paramedics are inside taking their break too. I don't need Nikki to clarify for me that one of the paramedics' name is Justine. I'm smart enough to figure this out.
It's been a really long day. I probably haven't tested my emotional limits like this in a long time, but times like this have happened more and more frequently since everyone around me started to treat me like a normal person again. They let me into their worlds in a way that actually lets me see them as human beings. They don't hide the tough parts away from me anymore because they're afraid that I'm going to freak out and hurt myself or possibly someone else. They trust me to handle everything, and I earned that trust.
I earned it by keeping honest when it came to taking my medication and by keeping my appointments with my psychologist. I earned it by being honest with everyone and telling them where I was at emotionally. I fought for my family to treat me like a normal person. I fought hard for it and did everything it was I needed to do to earn their confidence in me being able to handle myself.
They still worry about me, I know. They're not too sure what it will take to get me to go back to that mindset I was in only a few years ago. I'm not too sure what it will take either. I don't really want to find out.
So, if I go inside this restaurant and eat dinner with Nikki, and her partner, and all the paramedics that decided to show up, I have to be honest with myself and wonder if this is what will end up making it too much for me. Is this the thing that will make this really whacked out day break me?
"You love me, right?" I ask Nikki as I do my best to mold my body completely into hers while still being two distinct figures.
"That's why I'm standing out here."
"Then let's go inside."
Nikki pulls away from me so that she can look into my eyes. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
She looks at me for a long moment before she discovers whatever it is she needs to see before she leads us into the restaurant. We approach a table where a bunch of people, some I recognize, some I don't, in uniforms are sitting. Those who know me call out their greetings and ask me about school and the job I used to have. Those who don't know me just say hello, all except one of them. One woman, in this lively crowd just looks at me. She doesn't say hello and she doesn't really even meet my eyes even though I try to make contact with hers.
My eyes wash over her body, and I can't help but compare her to myself. I can't help but notice that her brown skin is a few shades darker than my own lighter brown tone that I inherited from my biological father. I can't help but notice that her body is much smaller than mine and that her upper body muscle may be a bit more obvious than my own. She's dyed her hair and while it should be much darker than it is it's not entirely offensive. Her hair is straight where mine maintains its wavy texture that was probably given to me from both of my parents. Her eyes are grey while everyone tells me that my eyes remind them of my mother's brown and somewhat tortured orbs. Her face is round and full while mine has taken the high cheek-boned look of my mother's.
We don't look very much alike. I'm even conceited enough to say that of the two of us, I'm probably the more attractive one. But this isn't a competition. This isn't supposed to be me versus her. It can't be that way, because I've already won. I'm the one that walked in with Nikki, and I'm the one that sits next to her now, and I'm the one walking out with her.
Nikki's partner introduces me to the people that I don't already know. He reaches Justine last and as he says her name to me it forces her to look at me. She doesn't look entirely happy; maybe she's nervous or worried that I'm going to do something that could very well get me arrested.
I'm a big girl now. I've grown out of my violent tendencies. "It's good to meet you," I tell her. "Since I'm usually busy with school, I don't always get a chance to meet everyone Nikki works with."
Nikki's partner leers at me and a sloppy smirk covers his face. "We wouldn't mind having you around more."
"Jose," Nikki warns.
"What?" Jose fakes a look of surprise. "Your woman's hot, Nikki."
The rest of the group at the table heartedly agrees with him. That is the rest of the table excluding most of the other women and Justine.
I reach out and pat Jose's arm. "I've missed you too, Jose." My smile is a reflection of his. "How is that wife of yours doing again? Last I remember she was five months pregnant."
His smile drops and he moves a bit away from me. "I love my wife." He says quickly under his breath.
Our little group laughs and then the waitress comes over ready to take our orders and probably ready for us to quiet down a little. We're not the only patrons here.
She takes our orders but before she gets a chance to walk away from us I see Catherine and Mr. Brown coming towards our table. They pull up some chairs and sit next to Nikki and me. "We heard you were meeting here." Catherine tells me as she leans over and kisses me on the cheek. "I figured I'd try and spend some time with you while I could."
The first thing I think is that it's good that Mom decided that she wanted to be alone and that I didn't drag her out with me. I'm not too sure that after seeing Catherine show up that Mom wouldn't think that I was trying to set her up. I mean, I haven't even thought of getting them both in the same room yet. I know that would be a bad decision, but only because I think Mom would freak out. Catherine might be able to rein everything in and not make a big emotional display. So, yeah, at first I'm a little relieved.
Then, I remember that I told Mom that I wanted to spend time with her and I remember that she didn't want the same thing. Catherine, she wanted to see me while she could, but Mom…not so much. It's not all about me though, right? It can't be all about me.
"It's good to see you," I tell Catherine. "The both of you," I add as I catch Mr. Brown's gaze.
I drape my arm over the back of Catherine's chair, feeling better that she's closer to me now. Don't get me wrong, it's great being around Nikki too but with Justine in the room it's good to have my mother around, even if she doesn't know anything about Justine.
My eyes look back around the table and I can tell that a good portion of them have no idea why I'm hanging onto one of their Crime Scene Investigators. They keep looking over at Nikki trying to gauge her reaction to me being so friendly with someone else.
The thoughts they might be thinking sends a shudder down my entire body. Catherine catches the movement and gives me a worried look. She turns towards me and her eyes travel down my body, probably looking for any damage. "Are you okay?"
I nod a couple of times. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."
She leans further towards me and whispers in my ear, "Did you remember to take your medication?"
Did I? Let's see: I woke up and answered the door to a woman Nikki has slept with. I went back to bed and then answered my phone to hear my mother telling me she was waiting outside of my apartment. Mom came into the apartment, we talked then Catherine showed up and we talked and then I went back inside and talked some more with my mom and some more stuff happened, and now I'm here.
Yeah, I don't remember if I fit taking my medication into any of that. "Why do you ask?"
"Your hands," she looks to my hand that is draped over her chair and near her shoulder and my gaze follows hers. My hands are trembling a little bit, which is a good sign that the level of lithium in my body isn't where it probably needs to be. I guess that means that I didn't remember to take any of my doses today. "Do you have your pills with you?"
"No." I bring my hands to my lap. "Everything is at the apartment."
Nikki looks over at us and immediately notices that something isn't quite as it should be. "What's going on?"
"Do you have any of Mel's Eskalith with you?"
Nikki shakes her head and takes a good long look at my body. It doesn't escape her notice that I'm sitting on my hands and she more than likely understands what that means. "You don't have any with you?" She asks me.
"It's been a long day, Nik."
She nods. "How are you feeling?"
I shrug. "Normal enough." I haven't been off the pills long enough to alter my brain chemistry, but I have been off long enough to feel some of the effects. "I'll be fine."
Both Catherine and Nikki give me the same look that lets me know they are considering whether or not they want to accept what I've said, and whether they want to believe that I will be fine until I get a chance to take my medication again. When they both look away from me, I know that we have an uneasy understanding. I know they're going to trust my judgment even though they both want to grab me and take me to my pills.
"So, how is it you know Catherine?" Nathaniel, another police officer sitting at our table, asks me.
"She's my mother." I answer him, thankful that my attention can now safely be directed away from my lithium pills.
Nathaniel and the rest of the group that doesn't know any better, looks between Catherine and me like they don't believe the words that have just left my mouth. Catherine and I don't look much alike at all.
"I thought you were Sara's daughter." Justine speaks to me for the first time. "You look a lot like her."
I'm ready to open my mouth and start giving a short explanation to everyone when Jose holds up his hand and cuts me off. "No." He says forcefully. "We are not going to bring all that up now." His attention goes to Justine. "Just accept that what they say is the God's honest truth. Catherine and Sara are both mothers to Melinda. Work it out in your head however you need to."
Not everyone is satisfied with Jose's explanation, but that's perfectly okay with me. Not everyone needs to understand my private life. I don't think Justine particularly needs to understand it either. Just as long as everyone gets it now that my close physical proximity to Catherine has to do with a mother-daughter relationship and is not like anything they might have been thinking of before.
Eventually all the food comes out and our group has succumbed to talking about their occupations and the current cases they are working on. For the most part, I'm able to keep up with what they're talking about, but quickly lose interest. A lot of people expect me to follow the family tradition and get involved with this stuff somehow. When I was younger I was adamantly against even considering working for the city of Las Vegas in any capacity whatsoever. I wanted to stay away from the crime labs and the police stations and all of those other places. Now, I'm not as against it as I was.
I'm double majoring in pre-med and chemistry at school. I'm putting the brains I inherited from my mother-I just assume my father didn't have much to do with it-to good use and am using my intelligence in a somewhat more positive way. I mean, I'm not using it anymore to figure out a way to escape from my home and life. Instead, I'm using it every once in a while to offer a fresh perspective to a case my parents feel like they can't solve.
Last summer Mr. Grissom offered me an internship position in his labs. He wanted to sit me behind a computer and force me to go over massive amounts of data. No one pressured me into doing it, and I think there was even a part of Catherine and Mom that didn't want me to take part in any of their work stuff, but I did end up doing the internship. For the most part, I was bored out of mind. The most I did was carry information from one person to another, but it gave me a chance to do something different and to get more involved in what Nikki and my parents go through every day.
The dinner doesn't last long, since Nikki and Jose get a call from dispatch and everyone else still has some work to do. Catherine orders a meal for Mom for me, telling me it's one of Mom's favorites from this place. She reminds me to take my medicine and says that if Mom gets to be too much than I should give her a call. She still wants to do whatever she can to make things better. Then they all leave, well all of them except Justine who, I discover shift has ended. She was just joining everyone for the fun of it. She decides to wait with me for Mom's meal. The waitress promises it won't take that long and I promise her an extra tip if she can hurry it along.
"You're a lot different than I expected," Justine says to me.
I give her a weak smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"I pictured you'd be this clueless teenager who didn't have any substance to her at all."
Should I admire her honesty or remind her that my birthday was a little while ago and I'm not a teenager anymore? "Okay."
"I asked some people about you and they always said really great things about you, but I didn't believe them."
Why is she still talking? "Okay."
"You and Nikki look like you're very close."
The change of subject lets me know what it is she's trying to get at. "We've been close for a long time."
She looks at me for a while then leans in close to me like she's ready to tell me her biggest secret. "Are you sure you're as close as you think you are?"
What is this? Is she trying to plant the seed of doubt in my head or something? Maybe next she'll ask me if I really know what Nikki does while I'm at school in class. "Nikki and me are and always have been very close. We're so close in fact, that whatever game you're trying to play here won't work. I already know about the two of you."
Her eyes widen with her surprise, but don't stay that way for very long. "But do your mothers know?"
So she's not as stupid as the beginning of this conversation led me to believe she was. I don't have a response for her, but I don't have to come up with one because I feel Nikki's hands rest on my shoulders and I see Justine's eyes feign an innocence that just doesn't exist. "If you want to act like a bitch, Justine, that's fine but don't make Melinda deal with your shit. If you have problems you can come to me."
I stand up and let Nikki take a step in front of me. I don't feel the need to argue with Justine. I don't feel the need to even be in her presence right now. I have a depressed mother waiting at home for me and if Justine wants to act like a spoiled child who got her favorite toy taken away then she can do so on her own. Whatever stamina and patience I had when I woke up this morning is now officially gone.
"Whatever it is you want to happen," I say to the still sitting paramedic, "give up on it. It's like you said, a lot of people say a lot of great things about me. They like me and they like Nikki and my mothers are very protective. So if you want to keep the friends you have at work and you want to not hate your job then leave me the hell alone." Nikki's arm goes around my waist and she pulls my back into her body. She's probably a little worried that I might lose my self-control since she probably heard the underlying stress seeping out through my words.
"Fine," Justine jumps out of her chair grabs her stuff and then walks out of the restaurant. She looked a little scared of me as she was scurrying away. I can't quite bring myself to feel bad about that just yet.
My attention goes to Nikki and she doesn't look any happier right now than I'm feeling. "I thought you got a call out?"
"Someone else was able to take care of it."
"So you noticed Justine stayed back?"
"I'm not going to leave her alone with you."
The waitress brings me my order and I hand over some money, not really caring if I'm overpaying. It's time I got me and the food back to Mom. "Do you want to talk about any of this?" I ask as I prepare to walk out of the restaurant.
Nikki leans over and places a gentle kiss right below my right ear. "Thank you," she whispers to me then pulls me into a hug.
I kiss Nikki's neck then pull away from her. "You should get back to work and I need to get back to Mom."
She nods. "Okay. I'll see you when I get back home."
She walks me to my car and reminds me to take my medicine when I get home. We exchange an 'I love you' then she goes back to her squad car where Jose is patiently waiting. Eventually, I talk myself into driving back to the apartment. I stand outside the door for almost a whole minute before I push it open, and I realize as I enter that I over-prepared myself for stepping inside. Mom's asleep on the couch, and I at this moment really don't feel the need to wake her. All I need to be concerned with in this moment is to take my pills, and right now I'm really liking the fact that the act of taking my lithium is something that is normal and simple for me.
I put Mom's food into the refrigerator and I go into my bedroom. Right now, I'm sort of feeling the need to be alone too.
Chapter 6
When I venture out to the living room again, Mom is munching on her food and the television has been turned off. I go into the kitchen and pull out a bottle of water from the refrigerator then go sit down next to her. She continues eating and I just sip the water. We're practically professionals at the art of silence. I would start talking, but I just don't know what to say.
"How'd lunch go?" The sound of Mom's voice surprises me and I choke a little bit on my mouthful of water.
I cough a couple of times and eventually my mouth replies in a jangle of words that manage to sound something like, "Good."
"You went with Catherine." It's not so much a question coming from her as much as an all-knowing remark.
There's no point in me denying anything. "Nikki called me out and Catherine met up with us." I'd ask how she figured out I was with Catherine, but there's no point in it. I just figure it's the food that gave me away. Catherine got Mom something that she would eat and that she knew she liked. I would have just picked something out from the menu that didn't include dead flesh and not worry about any of the other details, simply because I don't know about any of the other details. Catherine knows the details and details went into the food selection, therefore giving my dining with Catherine away.
Mom lets out something from her mouth that sounds something like a disgusted snort. "You all felt the need to talk about me behind my back."
Paranoid much? "We didn't talk about you, Mom." Is not talking about her at all any better than talking about her? "We were with a group of people and it would have been inappropriate."
"So you would have talked about me if you could have?"
When did my mother turn into a five year old? "If we were going to talk about you then it would be about how worried we are." Now when did I start channeling Catherine's attitude?
"You sound exactly like Catherine." I know; it's a little scary.
"Mom," I say through a long labored sigh, "what's going on with you? No more bullshitting, okay?"
Despite my bluntness, I expect her to brush me off. I certainly didn't make it easy for her to get answers from me just those few years ago. Why should I expect her to go easy on me? People keep on telling me that she and I are so much alike.
She pushes her food away and I mimic the intent of her action by pushing myself a little bit away from her.
"I thought I was done with this." She says, and the desperation and honesty seeps through her words and straight into my understanding. Her words kind of surprise me, though, because I thought she would tell me that it was nothing and that I shouldn't worry about it. I thought she'd say it wasn't any of my business.
"You probably were kind of over it until I jumped into your life." It sounds bad, I know, but I don't mean it that way. "I mean, I've just put you through a lot."
"You've been back in my life for over three years, Mel. You can't be blamed for this."
Who said anything about blame? I don't blame myself. Maybe a few years ago I would have found a way to carry the guilt and pain, but it's not a few years ago anymore. "I'm not trying to blame myself, Mom. All I'm doing is pointing out that, well, I'm just part of the equation. In a kind of fucked up weird way, it's sorta okay for all this to be happening now with you."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
What I'm about to say proves that I've been through too many hours of therapy. "Well, what I'm trying to say is that it makes sense that all this crap is manifesting," that's a psycho-babble word I didn't think I'd be using outside of the context of explaining something about myself, and yet… "Since you don't have to worry about me as much, it's okay to focus on you. I'm okay now, and I've got all my sanity back and everything."
A faint grin appears on Mom's face and I guess I can be somewhat happy that she's found humor in my words. "Are you psychoanalyzing me?"
Maybe the grin wasn't any particular sign of humor. "I'm not really trying to, but you can at least admit that I might have a point."
Mom's sitting there and staring at me. I can't tell if she's really angry at me and I have no idea what she might be thinking about. A sudden urge to call Catherine overwhelms me, but I'm supposed to be an adult. Besides, Catherine can't take back my words or my voicing of a theory that may actually be worth less than a grain of salt and sand combined.
"You're probably right, Melinda."
"I'm what?" And when was the last time she called me Melinda?
"It started that night we were helping Nikki put together that thing for her apartment. I could feel it then. I could feel the anger, pain and hatred starting to multiply." She shakes her head a bit. "Maybe it even started before that."
Okay. So I'm a little surprised by all the verbal sharing, and just a little more surprised that Mom's thought about this so much that she can actually pinpoint the exact moment all this stuff with her started. "So if you know all this, why not do something about it?"
"Don't you already know?"
Do I? Yea, I probably do. It's a pretty basic reason actually: fear, denial, simply just not wanting to deal with any of it. "So, uh, why tell me about all this now? Not that talking is a bad thing. It's just, I didn't think with the way you were acting that you were ready."
"What does being ready have to do with anything?"
Well I certainly would have liked to be a little more ready for this conversation, but it was what I was hoping for, right? I was supposed to want to be supportive, help Mom through and fulfill a role I've never really attempted before. So, what does being ready have to do with anything?
"What is it that you need, Mom? From me, I mean?"
"How did you do it? How'd you get Mom out of your head?" Mom's head drops into her hands. "Are you just that much stronger than me, Melinda?"
The Melinda thing is sort of starting to freak me out, but I'll leave it be for now. "I don't think it can be that simple. I mean, I don't know if strength really has anything to do with it. For me, it was more live or die, and you, Catherine and Nikki weren't gonna just let me die. Besides, I'm not too sure I actually remember everything that clearly." There're some moments that I just don't remember. There're moments that I probably won't ever remember. That's just the way these things happen sometimes.
"I have dreams of her hurting you," Mom whispers into her hands and I can only hope that I misunderstand her. "I reread the letters you wrote me, and now all I can do is dream about everything you wrote."
Mom must be really good at the carrying guilt thing. "You should burn them." I don't want to sound as cold-hearted as I do, but I just can't help it right now. I may have gotten more…okay with what's happened to me, but that doesn't mean I'm wanting to talk about it all the damn time. Being okay with the abuse I've suffered doesn't mean I'm enthusiastic about it. I don't want to tour the country and speak out against abuse so that it doesn't happen to another child. It's not that I do want it to happen to another child, it's just not at that place yet, whatever place that might be.
"I can't."
She can't what? What was it I was supposed to be focusing on again? Oh yeah, I'm not supposed to be focusing on me here. Her nightmares about the letters I wrote as a child aren't really about me. At least I think that's what my psychologist would tell me. Whether I'd believe her or not is another issue entirely. "Why can't you?"
Her eyes lift and capture mine. "Because they're a part of you."
"They're also part of something we can't hold onto, Mom." She's never shown them to me. I have no idea where she keeps them and I can't really imagine Catherine just sitting idly by watching Mom read them either, so they must be somewhere kind of secret.
"But they're yours," she tells me, enunciating her words carefully. Maybe she thinks that I don't get what it is she's really trying to tell me here, but I do get it.
If she lets the letters go then she's letting go more than a few pieces of paper written in a child's scribbled attempt at the English language. My letters are kind of like Anne Frank's diary in a way, but I don't want them to become famous. There're already so many stories out there about kids and abuse, I don't feel the need to add one more.
I'll happily leave the memoir thing up to those people who really want it, because I don't need it and I certainly don't want it. "It's not me, Mom." I confess, hoping that this time she'll understand what it is I'm trying to tell her. "The child who wrote those letters doesn't exist anymore. That Melinda had to die so that I could live. I had to let her die and you need to let her die too."
Mom sighs and her silence lets me know that she thinks I'm right. She knows she can't question my logic on this, because I am the one that pretty much buried the other Melinda so that I could accept my new life. I may still carry her scars-my scarred arms are a visible testament to that-but she's not really around anymore. I don't think the same things nor do I feel the same way about things.
"I don't know what I'm doing anymore." Her words rush out in a single breath. "Everything seemed better for a while and now it's all falling apart."
"Do you still love Catherine? I mean, are you still in love with her?"
She nods but she isn't looking at me. I'm going to have to assume that her nod was sincere.
"Then what's going on with you two?" I kind of have a feeling that I already know, but Mom is going to have to explain this one to me just in case I got it all wrong.
"It doesn't feel real anymore, Mel."
She called me Mel, thank God. "Why?"
Mom's eyes meet mine. "I don't know."
"Did it feel any more real kissing Grissom?"
She shakes her head. "No." She gives me a curious look and I know it's time for me to stop asking questions, because Mom is going to start talking to me like I'm her kid again instead of a confidant. "Why doesn't me kissing Grissom bother you?"
The thought of it disgusts me, but I don't need to share that information. The disgust comes from the visual of it happening in my head. Just thinking of him…it doesn't settle right with me, but it's more about the physical aspects of it all and not the emotional. "Maybe because I understand the reason for it." I certainly don't understand her choice of people.
"I shouldn't be putting you through this." She fidgets around and I expect her to make a run for it at any moment now.
"If you didn't go through it with me, then who would you go through it with?" She's already pushed Catherine away. I can see that, hell anyone could see that at this point. I think I'm the only one right now that's being let in and Mom must have a pretty good reason for letting me be that one right now.
I resettle myself on the sofa and throw my head back on the cushions. I blink up at the ceiling a couple of times and hope that I can relax my body enough so that I don't decide to run away either. "We should go back to California." This is the hardest suggestion I've ever had to make in my life.
Mom stops breathing. "Where in California?"
I stop breathing too. "Back to the start."
"Why?"
"Because that's where all the things that are trying to get out live. You," I swallow and take a fresh breath of air, "we need to settle it there."
She's looking at me like I'm crazy and perhaps I am a little, but I really feel like this is the right thing to do. I've not wanted to step foot back there since I got out of there the last time. It hurts to even think about walking down the same streets that I walked down as a child.
I'm sure the thought of it can't be any easier on my mother. In some ways, it's probably harder on her than me, but the thought of all the pain doesn't make me want to change my mind. If anything, the thought of what we've tried to keep buried there, makes me want to go and seek it out all the more.
Maybe if we get a chance to look at it, it won't seem so powerful anymore. Plus, going back might be a way to break the final barrier that keeps Mom and me apart. We've been able to get through so much, but there's still something that sits between us that hasn't been entirely erased.
Right now is the closest we've ever come to breaking it, actually. What we're really bad at is sharing our pain with each other. We're good at apologizing and we're even becoming good at voicing our own pain at any given time, but we don't really ever want to share it. It's almost like, if we do, then somehow the other's pain will crush us.
If I were going to get all poetic about it, then I'd start making metaphors about mirrors and osmosis, but I'm not a poet. That's another thing Mom and I have in common. We've got science on the brain and leave room for much else.
Mom's looking all kinds of shades of uncomfortable right now, but it would have been stupid of me to expect any other kind of reaction. Although, I really didn't expect any kind of reaction since I just now thought of suggesting we go back to our former home. If I gave myself a chance to sit down and think about it, I'd probably be acting just like her, but I haven't thought about it. I just let my mouth open up and let the words come out as if I had this planned all along.
"I need to think about this, Mel."
"Don't. Let's just go." I urge. If she gets a chance to think about it then we're not going to leave because then I won't have the courage to. My higher brain functioning will kick back in and tell me that this might be the stupidest thing that we could ever do. "We can leave right now and explain everything to Nikki and Catherine on the way." We can't give them a chance to stop us, because I know I'm not strong enough to not let them talk me out of this.
"Mel, we can't,"
"Yes we can," I interrupt her. "We'll drive all night if we have to just so that we can stomp spit on Laura Sidle's grave in the morning." I should really just shut up. "It'll only be us and we won't have to answer to anyone else."
Mom's not a very impulsive person and for the last few years I haven't really been either. My life has been very structured and secure. It's been the way it's had to be in order for me to get better, and I am doing a lot better now so how bad can it be for me to rattle things up a little.
I jump off the couch and run to my bedroom. Mom gets up and follows me. She doesn't ask me what I'm doing because my actions are more than obvious. I'm putting clothes in a duffel bag along with my medicine and a couple of toothbrushes. It's all we'll need.
"Go on and put on your shoes and a jacket," I tell her as I push back the voice in my head that's telling me to slow down.
Mom stands across from me staring like she wants to listen to me, but also like she really doesn't know if she should. Now would be a really bad time for her to start acting like a parent right now. So I zip up the full duffel bag and swing it over my shoulder. "We can do this, Sara." Calling her Mom right now probably wouldn't be the wisest thing.
She looks at the bag over my shoulder then back at me. I've almost got her; I can tell. "I'll wait for you in the car."
I hurry past her and make sure to pick up my keys and cell phone on my way out the door. I throw the duffel bag in the backseat and by the time I reach the front, Mom is waiting at the passenger side door.
What the hell am I doing?
The doors are unlocked so she gets inside and that prompts me to get in too. I settle behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition. A part of me hopes that the car won't start, but it does. I put the car in reverse and hesitate only a moment before I put it in drive and hit the gas.
I know it's still not too late to turn back. I know that I can correct this right now, but what if this really doesn't need to be corrected?
"We'll call Catherine once we hit the state line."
So, California here we come, for better or worse.
Continued...