My alarm
wouldn't let me sleep the following morning. I reached into the darkness,
terrified that I wouldn't find anything in the abyss, fighting the hangover from the
previous day spent at the hospital. If I had known that I was going to
feel this bad, I wouldn't have talked myself out drinking that bottle of rubbing
alcohol the night before. I remained laying in my bed for longer than I should
have, staring in the general direction of my ceiling. I listened as Melissa
breathed deeply next to me, still asleep, un-phased by my alarm. I tried to
convince myself to call in sick that day. The job can wait, I
thought. But then I started hearing the dissenting voices I’ve heard since I
was a kid. You have vacation coming up.
And you just started this new position. You don't want to give them a reason to
think you can't handle the job. I felt my legs move on their own from out
of the shelter of the blankets and be greeted by the brisk, early morning
chill. My body was on autopilot as I felt myself shuffle into the bathroom.
Despite yesterday’s
trauma, everything appeared physically familiar in the bathroom mirror: the
flabby stomach, the unkempt facial hair, the perky a-cups. But something must
have been up with the lights that morning because the eyes I saw didn’t
look like mine. I caught a glimpse of someone else’s eyes in my reflection;
lifeless orbs where my eyes should have been. I rubbed the sleep from my face,
and they became my own again. I must have imagined it. "Come on," I said
in a voice that sounded like mine. "Time to go to work."
Melissa
awoke to ask me if I was sure I wanted to go to the office that day.
"I'm
sure." I wasn't. I kissed my wife goodbye and began my arduous,
hour-and-half trek through the desert.
My desert
drive is offensively bland with nothing to break the landscape besides Joshua
Trees and the occasional roadkill. Since my hiring, people
would tell me that the isolated desert road was haunted, but I never put any
stock into that. I never once saw a ghost and by that time in my career, I had
mastered a slew of coping skills to distract myself from the distance. The
trick was to listen to either music or a morning radio show in order to drown
out my inner monologue, lest the machinations of my inner demons manifest
themselves in the form of existential crises and echoes of self-doubt. Simply
put, my mind can't shut the fuck up long enough to guarantee a safe drive to
work, so I drown it out with music and sexual innuendos. Plus, the louder
the music is, the less I hear my car's constant cries for help. But today
was different. I tried to listen to Frosty, Heidi, and Frank make PG-13 dick
jokes, but for WHATEVER REASON, I was
not in a laughing mood. I switched over to the CD player. Yes, I still listen
to CDs. Yes, it is as depressing as it sounds.
In the
player was Linkin Park's recently released album, One More Light. I had been listening to it non-stop since Chester's
suicide. I heard his ghost sing through my speakers:
"I'm dancing with my demons, I'm
hanging off the edge..."
*Click*
Nope. Not
today. My hand basically went through the radio only to shut it off. I guess I
could have tried to change the CD, but as any of you who lived through the dark
ages know, attempting to do so at high speeds was risky business. Plus, I
couldn’t guarantee my car would give the CD back. So instead, I opted to listen
to nothing. I braced for the dark thoughts that would surely scream through the
silence of my drive but...
Nothing. For
the first time I could recount, my inner monologue was silent, almost as if my
brain chose to abandon this sinking ship. For the first time since I was hired,
I gazed out my windows and truly appreciated the grandeur and beauty of the
snow-covered desert. The vast emptiness was overwhelming. I felt my
breath and pulse slow and my nerves begin to calm. But when I glanced in my
review mirror I saw a sinister pair of eyes staring back. I squeezed my eyes
shut to recalibrate them, and when they reopened, I saw my own eyes
staring back. My coffee must have had a hard time kicking in.
I pulled
into the parking lot and stared at the entrance of the CPS office. My legs felt
like cinder blocks; I was unsure how I would be able to perform my duties as a children’s
social worker having just... I called Melissa.
"Hello?"
she asked, voice groggy.
"Hey,
just wanted to let you know I made it," I responded, trying as hard as I
could to keep my voice from cracking.
"Okay,"
she said, "how are you doing?"
"What
am I doing? Why did I come in? I should just come home." There was the
spiral, right on time.
"Yeah,
you should. They'll understand."
But again, I
heard the voices. The same, dissenting voices that had convinced me to come to
work in the first place. I heard my voice say: "I'm already here. I might
as well try to get some work done; tell Jackie in person."
"Okay,
sweetheart," said Melissa without any surprise in her voice. She knew me.
"Just take care of yourself and come home if you need to." She knew I
wouldn't.
"I
will," I said. "Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you up. I'm okay. I
love you."
"I love
you too."
*Click*
I got out of
my car, the roaring, icy winds nearly pushing me over. “Only the strongest creatures can endure in this land of extremes,” I
thought in David Attenborough's voice, wondering if that was still me. Shit,
was that ever me? I found myself wondering how long it would take someone to
find my body had I collapsed in the parking lot until I finally reached the
door. I made it inside and headed directly to the bathroom, keeping my head
down to avoid eye contact. I splashed some cold water on my face, trying to
find the nerve to start my day. I looked into the mirror and saw the same, hollow eyes that had met me before. More cold water. More eye rubbing. This time, they
didn’t go away, and I found myself staring into a stranger’s eyes. They looked
empty.
“Hi,” said
the husk in my voice.
“Okay,” I
said after confirming I was alone in that bathroom. “What is this? A precursor
to my 5150?”
“Nothing
that dramatic,” said the husk. “I’m actually just here to make sure you don’t
lose your shit today. Don’t worry, I’m still you. Trust me.”
“Yeah, the
only people who say trust me are people who shouldn’t be trusted.”
“What about
Aladdin?”
“The dude
who lied about every aspect of his being to get a date?”
“Fair point.
Look. You wanna make it through the day, you gotta close yourself off. Harden
yourself to everything and we’ll make it through.” I watched as the husk
practiced facial expressions in the mirror. No,
shockingly, I didn’t trust the hallucination… but what it was saying made a lot
of sense. I felt a numbness take over my body and for a minute, I convinced
myself that I might be okay.
My first and
only objective was telling Exie, the mother hen. If I could just tell her, I could
ask her to tell everyone else for me. Everyone would know and I wouldn't have
to confront a single other person. I walked to her desk, already exhausted.
"Hey Exie," I said quietly.
"Brockster!"
she exclaimed, her youthful features betrayed by her silver hair, always kept
in a high bun. She could have been 30 or 60, your guess is as good as mine.
Black don't crack. "How are you? How's wifey?" she swiveled her chair
to face me, and I watched as her eyes became glassy and the smile slip from her
face. "What happened?" she asked. I guess the husk wasn't as
convincing as it thought it was. I felt the tears begin to collect in my own
eyes and my lip being to quiver.
"We lost
the baby," I said, barely above a whisper. Without thinking, Exie got up
from her chair and embraced me. I hardly reacted.
"How's
Melissa?" she asked with genuine concern in her voice. I shrugged my
shoulders.
"As
good as she can be," I said, still unable to fully conjure any sentences
that would mean anything.
“When did
this happen?”
“Yesterday.”
"How
are you?" she asked, wiping away a tear from her cheek. "What are you
doing here? You should be home."
I shrugged
again. "I don't know," I said. "I've got stuff to work on and...
Maybe I just need things to feel normal right now."
She nodded,
not fully believing my answer. I didn't believe it either. "What can I
do?" she asked, no trace of hesitation in her voice.
"Can
you tell the others? I don't know that I have it in me."
"Of
course. Do you want me to keep them away or...?"
"Yeah.
I don't know how I'm going to react and if I snap... That's not fair to them. I
don't want to do that." At the time, I guess I didn't realize how grossly
unfair it was to ask Exie to do this for me. To not only drop the knowledge of…
the incident on her, but to then ask her to spread the word to the rest of our
cohort. On top of whatever else she was dealing with herself. I just… I needed
help.
"Alright,
well I'll tell them. Just let me know if you need anything."
"I
will." I wouldn't.
I avoided
all eye-contact and conversation as I drifted to my cubicle on the other side
of the office. “So what happened there?” I
thought.
“Hey, it’s not a perfect process,”
responded the husk. I’m not sure if I was comforted or terrified by the fact
that it answered. “Give me some time,
I’ll get it right.”
Fortunately,
nobody in the office really seemed to have an interest in talking to me that
day and I was able to make it to my desk while focusing on keeping my anxiety
in check. Every one of my insecurities knew I was an easy target today and if I
wasn't careful, they would consume me. I booted up my computer and began
working, grateful that I didn’t have a cubemate at the time. Then Lucia, the
little sister, came to check up on me.
"Hey
James," she said. Her raven hair reflected the dim glow of the florescent
lights and her warm smile attempted to mask the sadness in her normally vibrant
eyes. "Exie told me not to say anything but I wanted to come see how you
were doing…" I never realized how shitty it is to work with truly
wonderful people until I wanted to be left alone.
"Thanks,"
I heard my voice say. "I don't think I'm going to be able to make it to
your lunch today." As a group, we had planned to take Lucia out for her
birthday, but me and my elephant would literally suck the oxygen out of the
room if I went. "I don't want to steal your thunder," the husk
joked. It managed what it thought was a smile, but Lucia's eyes became glassy,
so who the fuck knows what expression crossed my face.
"No, I
figured," she responded. "Just... Let me know if you need
anything."
"I
will." I wouldn't. The husk watched as she left, proud of itself that the
conversation didn't end in an explosion of tears. The pain, while present,
seemed dulled after the conversation. Maybe the husk was, in fact, helping.
Maybe I was tapping out. Whatever the reason, I felt now would be the best time
to tell my supervisor, Jackie, what had happened. I knew the numbness wouldn’t
last for long and thought that if I suddenly stopped showing up to work, my
higher-up should know why.
The walk to
Jackie's desk was literally 5 steps away; fortunate, as I was still unaware
when my body would decide to give out. Jackie was perusing new stories of the
day on her phone with her long, spider-like leg up her desk; her idle pose.
"Hey Jackie," I heard my voice say. "Can I talk to you for a
minute?" Jackie whipped her head up, her wild, bushy hair bouncing after
her.
"Yup,
what's up?" she asked. Her cool, twinkling blue eyes met mine, no trace of
sympathy or remorse crossed her face. The husk had apparently improved its
disguise. It tried to go for a nonchalant approach.
"Hey,
so my wife and I were pregnant and yesterday, she miscarried…” and as I said
it, I realized that it was the first time I said the word aloud. And that was
the first time I lost it; the first time that the full force of the grief
tackled me. I let out 3 loud, ugly sobs before regaining some semblance of what
could pass as composure. In front of my boss. Jackie said nothing, but her eyes
were glassy now. I continued: "So I'm going to work on closing that
referral before my vacation. I should have it to you by today or
tomorrow." Jackie took the same nonchalant approach that I was attempting.
"Okay,"
she said. "Let me know if you need to take off."
"I
will." I wouldn't.
“Okay, I feel like that one was on you,” said
the husk in my head. “How about a little
warning before we drop the M-word next time, huh?” I didn’t respond.
The day
dragged on and I became more and more focused on my work, trying to ignore the
voice telling me that Jackie thought I couldn't handle the job. Nobody else
came to talk to me, which I took as a blessing. Mostly, it was a quiet morning
until the briefing.
Every
morning, my section would have a meeting to discuss the number of
investigations open that day and any pressing news. They could last anywhere
from 5 minutes to an eternity, and took place right next to my desk every
morning. As the briefing was called and my colleagues walked by, I noticed that
not a single person paid any sort of mind to me. “See,” said the husk. “I told
you I’d get it.”
I stood and listened to the morning announcements, but ran out of energy about halfway
through and fell back into my chair. I continued to listen, but gun to my head,
I couldn't tell you anything they announced that day. "Let's have a good
day," said the duty supervisor, signaling the end of the meeting. I
listened to the cavalcade of social workers walk by my cubicle but didn't turn
around to face any of them, choosing instead the shelter of my work. Then, I
felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around my shoulders. I put my hand on the
arms, hoping that they were real and not another manifestation of my shattered
psyche. "I'm so, so sorry," said Paulina, Lucia's hetero-life-mate
and all around sweet person. I turned and looked into the big, Disney-princess
eyes staring back at me. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Just
trying not to think about it. Trying to focus on work so I don't have to think
about it." It took all I had to muster any sort of inflection, but I was
starting to sound robotic.
"How's
Melissa?"
"As
good as she can be. She's at home today."
"Hey,
I'm here for you. If you need anything, let me know. We're all here for
you."
"I
will." I wouldn't. "Thanks Paulina." Again, both grateful
and furious at the amount of compassion being thrown my way.
"You know they don't really care about
you," said the husk. I tried to ignore it as rage began to form in my
core. “None of them. They’re just
affirming to themselves that they’re good people. They know they can’t help,
and know offering it is an empty gesture that you’ll never take them up on.”
“You’re so full of shit,” I responded. “You’re just trying to convince me that I
need you. Because if I feel any sort of support or relief, it means I can allow
myself to feel, right? It means you go away?”
“Hey, I’m never gonna go away. I’m you. And
before you get all self-righteous, let me ask: why did you come to work today?
Because you felt a responsibility to the job, or because you wanted people to
feel sorry for you? You could have sent this news over a text message like you
did with your folks, but you wanted to see their reactions. You love being the
center of attention.”
“Then why am I sitting in the back trying to
avoid my friends?!” I asked. “Why did
I drive an hour and a half to isolate myself in what equates to the dungeon of
an office at a job that I hate?” The husk did not respond immediately, and
I hoped that I was alone.
“Well, I guess we’re going to find out
together. And you’re never alone.”
It was
nearly noon; the day was half spent. I stepped back into the elements and
called Melissa again:
"Hey
sweetheart, just checking in. How are you doing?" I asked.
"Well
they were showing a Gilmore Girls
marathon and it was the one where Lorelei thinks she's pregnant and Sookie gives birth. So I changed
the channel to a Psych marathon, because
it’s Psych! It’s safe! And they
played the one where Lassie's baby is born. Then it went to commercial and
there's apparently a show that follows pregnant women around through their
pregnancies. And because I went several minutes without breathing Rory had to
come resuscitate me."
"Shit."
"And
then..."
"Fuck,
there's an 'and then'?"
"And
then I went to Target which is just full of screaming newborns today because
apparently the universe isn’t done fucking with me. Oh, and my mom's friend
works there, heard that we were having a baby, and decided to ask me about
it."
"So,
you're doing great," I said.
"I mean,
I’ve run out of tears so I guess that’s a plus?" she responded. She
continued to tell me that she was studying for her final the next day, because
I’m married to a goddamn superhero. I told her a bit about my day, but kept the
details to myself. I didn't want her to have to take care of herself and worry
about me.
"Well,"
she said, "just let me know when you’re headed home."
"I
will. I love you."
"I love
you too."
*Click*
Just as I
was hanging up, I saw my friend Kono walking towards me like the best dressed
Ross mannequin in the high desert. The man had been through a lot this last
year, and I thought he was coming to offer me his condolences as a fellow
broken man. Instead: "I'm heading over to Lucia's lunch. You need a
ride?" In the millisecond it took me to answer, my mind played out all
terrible and very possible scenarios. I had every intention of saying 'No,' but
what came out was:
"Sure,
thanks." The husk was assuming control, and it was getting cocky. As we
drove, we talked about nothing in particular. Weather, work, holidays. Those
sorts of things. For a few brief moments, everything almost felt normal, until
we reached the restaurant.
The looks of
shock and horror on my friend's faces were indescribable as I walked through
the door. Nobody had expected me to show up… probably because I told Lucia that
I wasn't going to show up. "Hey, everyone," I heard my voice say. I
saw everyone's body tense and watched as their faces contort into nervous
smiles as I sat down. “Happy Birthday, Lucia,” I said. I opened with a joke,
but can't remember which one. Must not have been that funny because nobody
laughed. I tried making small talk, yucking-it-up as the world's saddest clown,
but they all knew what was going on. It's the eyes, guys. The eyes are a dead
give-away. And what I saw in the eyes of my work-family was the same look one
would cast on a bird that flew into a window. They didn't know whether to help
me, leave me, or put me out of my misery, as I became an uncomfortable reminder
of what could have been. To their credit, my friends did their best to make
things normal for me. I think we even got a few genuine laughs out of each
other and before we knew it, lunch was over and we were headed back to the
office.
On the way, I broke the news to Kono. “Hey, so I don’t know if you heard, but we lost
the baby.”
“Dude,” he
said, “I don’t even know how you’re functioning right now.”
“Yeah, me
neither,” I admitted.
“What are
you doing here? Why aren’t you home?”
“I don’t
know, man. I don’t know if I’m trying to normalize it, not think about it, or
I’m just on autopilot. I have no idea what I’m doing anymore.”
“Well, if
you need anything, I’m here. Let me know,” he assured as we pulled into the
parking lot.
I stood
outside in the quiet for longer than I should have, listening the wind. “You haven’t told Cynthia yet,” said the
husk. “Between everybody, you know she’s
already planning for your old unit to shower you with baby gifts.” I knew
the husk was right; Cynthia’s personality made her an intense supervisor and a
fiercely considerate friend. In truth, I was hesitant to tell her for fear of
her unrelenting attempts to cheer me up. However, I knew the longer I waited,
the harder it would be.
Cynthia's
desk was on the polar opposite side of the office, giving me plenty of time to
prepare myself for what I thought she would say. I listed off all of the
placeholder phrases that people like to say to fill an uncomfortable silence.
The phrases that people use to preserve their world view without any regard to
what they would do to me.
The universe
has a plan. God is mysterious. It isn't your time. There was probably something
wrong with the baby. At least it was early. You can try again. You're still young. All of these expressions
would be hurled at me and Melissa over the coming days and weeks, and I had
expected to hear at least one of them when I spoke to Ms. Silver Lining over
there. "Hey Cynthia," I said. She turned and smiled at me, a smile
that would normally brighten any room she was in.
“How’s the
baby?” she asked. I told her and watched her smile disappear. I braced myself for
the onslaught of love and support. I was ready for anything. Anything, it
seemed, except for what she said:
"It's
never going to stop hurting." I paused, dumbfounded. She wasn't supposed
to say that. She was supposed to console me, tell me everything was going to be
okay, tell me that these things happen and I'm making a big deal over nothing.
She wasn't supposed to tell me the truth. Evidently, I had paused longer than I
realized. She took this as a sign to keep talking:
"It
won't always hurt like this, but you're never going to forget. It doesn't
matter how many kids you and Melissa have, or how many Christmases or birthdays
you celebrate as a family. There isn't anything that's going to replace the
baby you lost. Don't let anyone make you feel dumb for it; it’s just the way
you’re going to feel. It won't always hurt this bad, but it will always be
there." I didn't ask her how she knew. I didn't have to. “Let me know if
you need anything.” Still at a loss for words, I thanked her and walked back to
my desk.
And I felt a
little better.
At that
point, it was about 15 minutes away from quitting time when I finally told
Jackie I was heading home ‘early.’ She told me to drive safe and to let her
know if I was coming in tomorrow. “I’ll be here,” I said, not entirely sure I
would survive the drive home. The roads were slick with rain by the time I
started my treacherous drive. You'd think I'd have been on guard due to
the poor weather, but given the circumstances, I couldn't bring myself to care.
I tried to bask in the silence of the drive as I had done in the morning, but
this time I wasn’t alone. The cacophony of my friend's voices blared in my mind
like the sirens of an ambulance.
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Then in the
distance, a different voice; a voice I didn't recognize. It was faint, and
sounded scared, quiet. I tried to listen, but I couldn't hear anything over the
shouting of the other voices. I focused, not on making the unfamiliar voice
louder, but on shutting out everyone else. One by one, the voices my friends, the voices of dissent, and the voice of the husk became
silent. As they did, I realized the unfamiliar voice was mine own. My voice
may have been quiet and scared, but the message I was trying to communicate to
myself was undeniable.
"You need to feel this."
My arm
instinctively reached for the power button on my radio. Once again, I heard
Chester's slight but powerful voice:
“I'm dancing with my demons, I'm hanging off
the edge...”
Almost
immediately, I felt sharp daggers pierce my heart and the fog in my head begin
to clear. I was suddenly very aware of the coldness of my skin and the darkness
of the road. With each passing song, a little more of me slipped away; I would
occasionally glance in the rearview mirror to see if there was any semblance of
myself remaining. Then, the needle drop I had been dreading since I pushed
play:
It didn't
sneak up on me. I knew it was coming. But that information did nothing to dull
the hurt. And as I listened to the simple melody play on the haunted highway, there
she was. Everybody told me that they thought we were having a boy, but I knew
my daughter when I saw her. She couldn't have been more than 3, her chubby,
round cheeks framed by dark, curly locks. Her eyes, a sea of blue-green like
her mother's.
"I'm
sorry," I said between sobs. "I'm sorry I couldn't meet you. I'm
sorry I couldn't save you." She giggled.
"I know
Daddy," she responded, and just as suddenly as she appeared, she was gone
forever.
I screamed
into the desert, louder and longer than I have ever screamed in my life. I felt
my vocal chords rattle and snap under the strain, and the metallic taste of
blood coated the back of my throat. My lungs were desperate for air and my
sight began to go dark, but still, I screamed, and for a single moment, I
thought about letting go of the wheel; let the desert finally have its way with
me. I didn't want to die. I just wanted a pain to focus on that wasn't this. This
was too much.
“Sssshhhhh,” said the husk. “I’ll take it from here.” The numbness
started at my fingertips and traveled through my veins as my grip tightened on
the steering wheel. I felt my lungs fill with the chilly desert air and the
weight of the world slowly lift off of my shoulders. I felt the walls erect in my mind,
closing me off from the pain and the torment. It wasn’t until several months
later that I understood that the husk wasn’t just protecting me from the bad. “And don’t worry. We’ll keep this between
us. Melissa doesn’t have to know.”
Somehow, I made it home. I was
greeted at the door by Rory. She seemed excited to help me forget my pain. Or
maybe she was just excited because my arrival typically signals that she would
soon receive human food. I'm weak.
Melissa lay
on the couch, doubled over. She turned her head to meet my gaze as Parks and Recreation played on the TV. Once
more, I stared into the sea of blue-green that were her heartbroken eyes.
"How was work?" she asked.
"You
know," I responded, "pretty shitty. How was your day?"
"You
know," she said, "about the same." A silence fell between us.
Each of us knew there was nothing left to say, but somehow we knew that we
would be okay. Eventually.
We just wish
someone could tell us when.
And that's
the story of how we, Melissa and James, were almost parents.
