These Old Bones

            She felt it in her knees and hips before she woke up. It was always there, that dull aching that meant she was still alive, still able to get up and keep moving. Mona stretched out her legs and tried to make it go away. It receded for a brief moment, then returned more insistently. She had been still for too long. Mona opened her eyes and glanced at the clock. 6:27 AM. She sighed and stretched her hip.

            She spent a familiar few minutes trying to get her body to feel normal. It was this nagging ache that made her crazy. Mona thought she could handle it if it happened all at once, if she was flooded by a wave of dizzying agony for a day and then was free of it. But this ongoing irritation at the back of her mind made her someone else.

            There was no use in denying it any longer: she was awake. Mona sat up and tried to stretch her lower back. This only made the pain in her hip worse, so she stopped and reached for the corner of her bedside table. After she had time to catch her breath, Mona leaned against it and pushed herself out of bed. The lamp’s cord swayed under the pressure and the back of the bedside table it hit the wall.

            The first few steps were always the hardest. The pain that shot through the middles of her knees and torso made her want to vomit, but it gradually lessened until it was only a fire in her joints. Mona sighed in relief. She ran a shaky hand over her forehead and smoothed out her eyebrows. Then she walked to her bathroom and flicked on the light.

            Mona winced as her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. She stared at the grumpy creature in the mirror, eyeing her jealously. Then she heard a noise come from her bed so she walked back.

            “What time is it?” Aaron said. His arms were twisted around his face to block the light. “Is it time to get up?”

            “No,” she said, “I’m just up. Don’t worry about it.”
            “Okay,” he said, his body relaxing again. She walked back to the bathroom and closed the door. This time her reflection’s expression was more relaxed, like someone had come and smoothed out its edges. Mona moved her face until it was almost touching the glass.

            She wondered how many years were left in her. She wondered if there would be a time when she didn’t wake up in pain. She combed out a strand of her hair and held it between her fingers. But no, it was still there. Still chocolatey brown and straight as straight can get. It didn’t match the way she felt, but there it was.

            Mona could already see the bags forming under her eyes. She touched them with cool fingers. Then she took a deep breath and formed her mouth into a line. This wasn’t where she thought she would be, either. In all her dreams of athletic prowess and record-breaking glory, Mona never thought she’d be angry at her reflection before the sun had come up. She never thought she would be walking like an old woman who had spent too many years chasing unruly children by the time she was twenty-four. But these things were true, and here she was.

~

            Her mood improved once Mona had caffeine flowing through her veins. She then spent forty minutes straightening her hair, taking advantage of the extra time the pain had provided her. She burned her hands twice and in the end she only looked like a slightly more put out version of herself. By the time she made it back into the kitchen, Aaron had gotten up, too.

            “Morning,” he said. “You look nice.”

            She shrugged, then realized he was being sweet. “Thanks,” she said. “I . . . tried.”

            He nodded. “Why were you up so early?”
            She shrugged again and shook her head. “My hip’s been bothering me. And my knees.”

            “I’m sorry, babe.”

            “It’s okay,” she said, even though it wasn’t. “I just needed to move around, you know?”

            He nodded and started making breakfast. Mona thought he was on to other topics, but she caught him looking her over. “What?” she said.

            “Do you think it’d be good for you to go back to physical therapy?” he said.

            Pain shot through her hip. “I don’t want to do that,” she said. “It’s too expensive.”

            His face seemed set against this reaction. “It is expensive,” he said, “but you should be able to sleep through the night.”

            She shrugged and walked to the cabinet to get a mug and avoid meeting his concerned eyes. “Yeah, I should,” she said. “I shouldn’t’ve been so hard on my body. People aren’t meant to hit the ground that often.”

            He suppressed a sigh. Mona could feel his frustration build and she wanted to reach out and touch his shoulders. She also wanted to grab the frying pan out of his hand and dump the contents onto the floor. “No, you shouldn’t have,” he said, “but you did. It happened. There’s no point in beating yourself up about it now.”
            “Yeah,” she said, “you’re right.”

            “But if you’re still in pain, we should do something about it.”

            “I’ve done everything I can about it.”

            They painted the familiar expressions on their faces. His said: I’m only trying to help you. I think there’s more you can do. Hers said: I get it, but I don’t want to hear about it anymore. He looked down and focused on cooking the eggs in front of him.

            Mona felt sorry she didn’t have a better response for Aaron. Her stomach twisted. “Anyway,” she said, “I should get going.” She grabbed her bag from where it sat on the kitchen table. “I’ll see you tonight?”

            He nodded, his mouth set in a line. She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. The warmth of his skin comforted her, and she wanted to fall into it. Mona hesitated a few moments and leaned into his back. She felt Aaron start to relax. She pushed her forehead into his shoulder. Then she turned and walked to the front door.

~

            By lunchtime, the only thing that was still hurting was her hip. She could feel it click when she walked, but she knew the only thing that would help was a hot bath. Mona didn’t have time for a bath, so she popped a few Advil and settled into the short journey to the café on the corner.

            Her phone started to buzz in her bag and she scrambled for it. As soon as she found it, however, she wanted to throw it across the street and watch it smash into pieces. It was her mother. She slid her finger across the answer button.

            “Hello?”

            “Hi, honey,” the syrupy voice at the end of the line said, “is this a good time?”

            “Not really,” Mona said. “I only have a few minutes to grab lunch and get back.”

            “Then I’ll be quick,” her mother said. Mona rolled her eyes. “You never have time for me.”

            “I barely have time for myself,” Mona said. “I’m always working, and when I’m not working I’m at home, so tired I can barely stand.”

            “Still, you can make time to call your mother.”

            Mona sighed. “You’re right, mom.”

            “Anyway, did I tell you about who I saw on Monday? June’s mother. You remember June from middle school, don’t you?”

            “Yes, mom.”

            “Well, her mother was always a stuck-up old bitch, but guess what?”
            “What, mom?”

            “You would not believe how much weight she’s gained. I barely recognized her, but then I could pick out that sour expression from a mile away.”

            “That’s not nice, mom.”

            “What? It’s true!”

            “Even if it’s true, it’s not a good thing to say. Karma catches up with you. What if someone called you a stuck-up old bitch?”

            “Well, let them! Let them talk! I don’t care.”

            Mona rolled her eyes again. “Okay, mom.”

            “She really has become a bitter old heifer, though,” her mother said.

            Mona crossed the street with the phone pressed to her ear. She stepped the wrong way onto the curb and felt the mistake as a painful twinge in her hip. “Is this really what you called me to talk about?” she said, unable to cut the edge out of her voice.

            “What? Do I need to call you with a prepared list of topics now? Mona’s too grown up and busy to listen to her poor mother talk about her life?”
            “No, mom, of course not.”

            “Well that’s what it sounds like. Jeez, I was just trying to chat with my daughter.”

            “You don’t chat with me, you chat at me,” Mona said under her breath.

            “What was that?”

            Mona thought about making something else up. Then she didn’t. “You don’t chat with me, you chat at me,” she said, firmly this time.

            “Why would you say something like to me? That’s so mean. Well, you certainly are in a mood today.”

            “That’s because I’m in pain, mom.”

            “Pain? What pain?”

            “My knees and hips are bothering me again.”

            “I’m sorry, dear, I really am, but I don’t see that as an excuse to talk to me the way you are.”

            Mona paused, and enjoyed the silence that briefly existed between them. Then she said, “Do you wake up every morning because you can’t sleep through the pain anymore?”

            “Of course not.”

            “I wonder what that must be like,” Mona said. She reached the café so she took a seat on the curb outside its entrance. “I can’t remember the last time I was completely out of pain.”

            “Well, honey, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what that has to do with this conversation.”

            Mona bit the insides of her mouth. “It’s hard to think clearly when you’re in pain,” she said. “It’s hard to control your temper.”

            “So, what? You’re just going to go through the rest of your life as an angry person?” her mother said.

            “Maybe I will,” Mona said. “I don’t know yet.”

            “Well that’s no outlook to have.”

            “I’ll have whatever outlook I want.”

            She heard her mother sigh. “I know you will, honey. You’re just like your father.”

            Mona glanced back at the café. “Look, mom, I really have to go.”

            “Of course, just get rid of me as soon as you can. I hope you look back at this conversation later and feel good about it.”

            It was Mona’s turn to sigh, although it slipped out as a sort of growl. “Please, I just want to go.”

            “You know, you really shouldn’t be taking your pain out on other people this way. It’s not their fault you’re in pain. You injured yourself.”

            Mona gritted her teeth. Then she said, “I know it’s not their fault I’m in pain. I know it’s mostly my fault, but it’s also your fault.”

            “What the hell do you mean by that?” The sharp edge slipped onto her mother’s voice so easily that Mona knew she had prepared for this. “How is it in any way my fault?”
            Mona didn’t take the bait. Her voice stayed low. “Who pushed me to try harder? Jump higher? Who took me to practice and drove me home and watched me cry and screamed at me when I said I wanted to stop?”

Mona could almost hear her mother roll her eyes. “Oh please, that’s such an exaggeration.”

Mona ignored this and continued. “I did things to myself, I know that. But I was also super young. Where was the adult in my life? Wasn’t it your job to make sure I wasn’t hurting myself? Where was my protector?”

            Mona’s voice was starting to break. Her mother still wasn’t hearing her. “I did the best I could. I couldn’t control you. You signed up for it every time you put on your skates.”

            “I didn’t sign up to be in pain for the rest of my life!” Mona screamed. “I’d give it all back if I could!”
            Silence. Then, “You’re clearly too emotionally flooded right now to talk about this. Call me back later when you’re feeling better.” Pause. “Love you.” Mona heard the phone click as her mother hung up. She let her hand fall to the ground next to her. Then she stood up.

            Mona’s hip still hurt and she knew her knees would be dead in a few hours. Still, the end of the phone call had provided her with some kind of emotional release. She felt like she could say anything, like she should look people in the eyes as she passed them in the street and tell them exactly how she felt about them. She felt like she should go to Aaron’s work and enumerate all the issues she had with him, followed by all the reasons she had stayed. Her voice had found its way out of her mouth and she wanted to keep it coming. She wanted to tell them all that she changed her mind, it hadn’t been worth it. That the only thing that hurt worse than her damaged joints was the lonely feeling that came from abandonment.

            But even as she imagined saying these things, Mona knew they didn’t have a place in her world. She didn’t want to break down all her relationships for a moment’s vindication. She would eat and then call her mother back and apologize. She knew she would.

            And yet, there was still a spark of something left. Something that said things could be a little better, that she’d eventually get tired of this charade. Maybe.

            Mona went inside to get her lunch.

Nineteen Winters

            She climbed into her bed and waited for him. The sky was dark and she felt faintly dizzy with fatigue. Some nights she tried to stay up as long as she could so that she would be gone as soon as she closed her eyes. But tonight she needed sleep. How she felt tomorrow would have to be worth their battle tonight.

            Beatrice rolled onto her back. Staring at the smooth blue surface of her ceiling, she wished there were cracks that she could trace to distraction. Anything, anything to keep him at bay.

            Beatrice felt his fingers run through her hair and she knew it was all over. He tucked a stray strand behind her ear and chills ran down her spine. Her stomach twisted and she felt sick with anticipation. She pulled her comforter over her head, and suddenly her bedroom couldn’t be dark enough.

            He ran his hand up her hip towards her belly button and then traced that with his index finger. “You need to stay awake,” Anxiety whispered in her ear.

            “Please,” she whispered back. She hated herself for how much it sounded like a whimper. “Please just leave me alone. Please just give me this one night.”

            As an answer, he placed his right hand over her heart and they both felt its beating quicken. Beatrice rolled onto her side and looked into his eyes.

            “Alright, what have you got for me?” she said. She knew he didn’t care whether or not she wanted to hear it. Still, it gave her a small sense of control.

            “Do you remember your junior year English class?” Anxiety said and leaned in closer until their noses were almost touching. Beatrice couldn’t help the dread that slipped down her kneecaps in response to his unnerving smile.

            “Of course I do,” she said. “That was what, four years ago? I’m not senile.”
            “Funny,” he said. “Do you remember that time you had to go up in front of the class? When your teacher made you divide your life up into eras and describe them?”
            “I . . . ummm . . . yeah,” Beatrice responded. She tried not to think about it, but it was too late. She would have to ride the memory out.

            “Everyone else was so confident,” Anxiety said. He began wrapping a strand of her hair around his finger. “Everyone was getting laughs. You thought you would be so clever. That this would be the way you made them love you. But that’s not what happened, was it?”

            “Stop,” Beatrice said under her breath, knowing that he wouldn’t.

            “You got up there and you tried to make jokes about your screwed up childhood. Nobody laughs at that shit, you dumb bitch. Your voice started quivering and everyone thought you were about to cry. You made them all so uncomfortable. You made them all wish they were anywhere but listening to your stupid fucking stories.”

            “Stop it,” she said again. “Why are you doing this? That was so long ago. It doesn’t matter now. I’m not that person anymore.”
            “Who told you that?” he said. “You’ll always be that person. You haven’t changed. You think that, just because you can look people in the eyes now, you’re suddenly all different? No one will ever enjoy being with you.”

            “Be quiet,” she hissed. “I don’t need to hear this anymore.” Beatrice flipped onto her other side and pulled her knees up to her chin.

            “And yet you can’t shut me out,” Anxiety said. “You say you want me to go away, and yet you continue to invite me in. It’s all right. I, at least, will always be your faithful companion.” He crept closer and slipped an arm around her waist. She could feel his breath on her neck and her body began to shiver.

            “I’m better than this,” she said.

            “Shhhhhh, quiet down, my love,” he said. “Close your eyes and try to make me leave. You can’t. Picture yourself on a plane. You have completely lost control, your life is in someone else’s hands. With every batch of turbulence your stomach tightens and you wonder if this is it. The statistics don’t matter. All you can think about is what it would feel like if that plane started to plummet down, down, down . . .”

            Beatrice’s lungs began to tighten and her breathing quickened. She made one last attempt to remove herself from these thoughts, but she knew she couldn’t do it. He had built a cage of her fears and trapped her in it. She threw herself against the bars over and over, struggling for freedom. Each attempt was weaker than the last. Finally, her resolve gave out and she lost the fight.

            She lay there, alone in her bed. Her body trembled as fear descended upon her and tears fell uselessly on her pillow. Helpless, Beatrice existed there until her mind emptied and she was given away to sleep.

~

            Peace found her during the night, a friend only to her unconscious brain. She awoke the next morning in a wonderful haze. Beatrice had twenty seconds of confusion and unconcerned bliss before she remembered where she was. But even when she did, things made much more sense than they had the night before.

            Sun streamed in from her window and warmed the back of her neck. Beatrice stretched her arms and legs. If only she could stay here longer, be sucked into something solid and rooted to the earth. She cracked her knuckles one by one and waited.

            Beatrice opened her eyes. Some days she forgot where she was and woke up expecting the stark white walls of her old dorm room. She woke up expecting to roll over and see her roommate sleeping dreamlessly across the carpeted expanse. Sometimes Beatrice was disappointed when she realized she was back in her old room. It was hard to remember that she had given up the clear, bright path for a much murkier future.

            This morning, however, Beatrice was just glad it was light outside again. Her thoughts wandered back to what had caused so much panic a few hours before. Her brain danced around the shape of an airplane and she could feel the knots return to her stomach. She pushed it all away. The best solution to controlling her fear, it seemed, was to try to think of nothing at all. It was much harder to worry about the future when you didn’t exist in the present.

            Her heart was heavy and angry as she shuffled around the house. Shower, make breakfast, get dressed, find something to keep her occupied. These tasks were simple and easy; the same things over and over, purposeless. She hadn’t wanted this to be her life, and yet it was what she needed to do to survive . . . Was this surviving?

            Beatrice finished getting ready before she realized she didn’t know where she was going. Her parents were away at their jobs and she was alone. She needed to distract herself before she lost it and jumped off the balcony of their third story apartment. She wondered if that would actually kill her, or if it would just maim her in new and exciting ways.

            Beatrice grabbed the car keys from one of the hooks by the door and let herself out.

~

            Beatrice drove for half an hour without a specific destination. Frustration began to seep into her brain. In moments like these, she missed her older sister. Usually, she didn’t. Usually, it didn’t occur to her that her life was any different when Marie was in it. But Marie loved adventures, even those that ended in nothing. She would know what to do right now. Then, thinking of her sister, Beatrice was met with inspiration and pulled off at the next exit.

            There was an amusement park not too far south of where she lived. Situated right along the beach, this park was unique in the fact that you didn’t have to pay to enter, but rather paid for each ride you went on. You could wander freely among the crowds or you could stake out a spot on the sand and no one would charge you for it. Beatrice knew she should be with people, and suddenly this was the only place she wanted to go.

            The road was windy and lined with trees. Beatrice fell into a sort of careful monotony that made time pass quickly. Soon, she pulled into the amusement park parking lot and found it almost half empty. It took her a moment to realize it was the middle of a weekday. She pushed down her embarrassment at seeing this place so exposed.

            She stepped out of her beat-up Honda Civic and stretched her arms. She began walking and the small patches of sand made a sharp, comforting sound under her shoes. It pulled her heart to the ground and made her realize she was alive. Then the feeling left as quickly as it had come.

            As Beatrice walked in, she was startled by the bright clown and animal decorations covering the rides. Did those horses always have garishly twisted features? The bright reds and yellows seemed incredibly out of place in such gloomy weather. She passed the old roller coaster, its wooden limbs angling out over the walkway. The ride worker at the entrance stared at her, a dull expression on his face. Beatrice wondered how long the park would stay open before they finally decided to call it on account of weather. It was California, but this was getting ridiculous.

            She made her way to the edge of the walk and climbed down the few stairs to the deserted beach. The wind blew and Beatrice remembered how cold she was. Just before she got to the place where the water reached and pulled back, she sat down. The top of the sand was cold, but then she dug her hands into it. The sensation of the sand against her bare skin, seeping into her clothes and leaving traces of itself there, drew her back.

            Beatrice sighed, then and now, “This is the way the weather always is back home,” she said as she stretched out her arms to feel the sun. It was mostly the truth and her friends would never know any differently. She had quickly learned that growing up east of Nevada often left people with delusions about what the west coast was really like. No, she wasn’t blonde and didn’t surf to school, but she liked how the mythical California weather could incite envy in even the most resistant.

            But Allison was used to this bragging. Instead of verbally responding, she grabbed a handful of the Pixie sticks they had stolen from the dining hall and threw them at Beatrice. Beatrice grabbed one, ripped off its top and poured the candy down her throat. She glanced at Allison and they both howled with laughter. The sugar was going straight to their heads.

            They were freshmen in college, but it was weird how often they were encouraged to act like children. Alongside the heightened level of schoolwork came sleepovers with their hall, the consumption of mass amounts of junk food, staying up late because no one was monitoring them, and making poor decisions because they knew they wouldn’t be able to later. Everyone embraced this life with the knowledge that it would soon end and the world would expect them to grow up.

            Beatrice heard Lauren sigh. She exchanged a glance with Allison and then looked away to stifle the laughter that was again bubbling up her throat. Beatrice put her arm through Allison’s and they skipped together towards their residence hall.

            Beatrice shivered as another wind blew past. Looking back was both difficult and involuntary.

            “What happened to Allison? Where is she now?” Depression asked from where she was sitting at Beatrice’s left.

            “Gone,” Beatrice replied. “I messed it up.”

            Depression crawled until she was in front of Beatrice. She put both arms around Beatrice’s knees and laid her head on top of them, “You always mess it up,” she said quietly.

            “I know.”

            “You’re never going to find another person who will know you the way Allison did,” Depression continued. “And she’s not coming back.”
            “I know,” Beatrice said, her fingers digging deeper into the sand.

            “She knows who you are. She saw you for real and she knows that you’re not good for her. You’re not, you know?”

            “I . . .” Beatrice hesitated. “Is that true? I mean, the hurt was pretty mutual. . .”
            Depression laughed her wild, insensitive laugh. “Do you really believe that?”

            Beatrice stared at her and was pulled into her memories.

            “We both made mistakes, but if I hadn’t made mine, we would probably still be friends,” Beatrice told Depression. She sighed. “I was so ridiculous.”

            Depression sat up and pulled herself over to sit beside Beatrice, “You broke it, you, yourself,” she said, “and there’s no way that you can ever make things completely right again.”

            Beatrice watched the waves silently. Then she stood up and headed back to the stairs.

            She felt stupid for having come so far when she didn’t really want to be here. This place was fun when you had friends to share it with, but Beatrice had no one. She could cry, but that seemed exhausting. She replayed those memories over and over until they were worn thin, and still she could not let them go.

            And then something made Beatrice stop. Something pulled her away, and she tried to grab at what it was. Then she became conscious of that odd funnel cake/cotton candy smell that was intimately linked with her childhood. She stood there for a few moments and felt the hopelessness retreat. There was something here. Something so fleeting that Beatrice was terrified of looking at it too hard. She hadn’t been truly happy for a long time, but she could remember what it felt like. It felt kind of like this.

            She walked farther and tried to stay buoyed to this small peace. But as she passed the carousel, she saw Depression sitting on a bench a hundred feet away. Distressed, Beatrice turned and ran back the way she had come. When she reached the park’s entrance, Beatrice slid on the sand and fell forward to her knees, ripping the left leg of her jeans. She got back up and bounded towards her car. When she reached it, Depression was waiting for her in the front seat.

~

            “Jesus, why do you always waste your time like that?” Depression asked as they flew down the highway towards home. “I mean, seriously, what did you accomplish? Why can’t you move forward like everyone else instead of spending your days doing these stupid, selfish things?”

            “I don’t know,” Beatrice whispered back. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

            “It’s okay,” Depression said. She reached out to pull a lock of hair out of Beatrice’s eyes and tuck it behind an ear. “Just stay here with me a little while. Anyways, there’s nothing you can do that’s actually worth doing. There’s no point. Just stay with me.”

            “I need something,” Beatrice responded. “This isn’t what I wanted my life to be like.”

            “Nobody gets what they truly want from life, especially not someone like you. Let it go.”

            “But I don’t . . .” Beatrice stopped. She knew if she tried to argue any further she would lose.

            Beatrice exited the highway, slowing the car a little. She watched as the fork in the road approached, a tree sitting solidly in the middle. She needed to go right to get home, but ambivalence stayed her hands. She watched as the tree grew closer. She didn’t go right or left. Beatrice drove straight until it was too late to change her mind.

~

            Years later, Beatrice would say that she didn’t remember the crash or being pulled from the vehicle. She would say the first thing she saw after she closed in on the tree was the hospital room and her parents standing over her bed, her dad crying. The truth was harder to explain. Her memories were weird.

            She distinctly remembered the face of the EMT who had been with her in the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital. His curly brown hair had fallen over his ears and his icy blue eyes were edged with concern. He had had a scar that ran from the end of his jawline to the side of his mouth. Of these things, Beatrice felt certain.

            She remembered waking up in her car and hearing the radio play, which seemed odd because she never listened to it anymore. The sound of it began to grate on her, so she reached over to turn it off, only to find herself stuck and unable to hit the button.

            She remembered the noise the small crowd had made when her body was removed from the vehicle. It was sort of like a muffled gasp. They hadn’t expected a whole person to be removed from the muddled, metal mess. And then she had briefly wondered what she might look like.

            She remembered being pinned to her steering wheel and being able to move her fingers and toes. They cracked and stung in pain, but they moved. Beatrice had felt vaguely disappointed, but she couldn’t say why.

            Two days after the accident, Beatrice lay in a hospital bed. Her mother sat in the chair beside it, frowning and wringing her hands. There was a brace on Beatrice’s right knee, but other than that she was just covered in bruises and scratches. The doctors said she was incredibly lucky.

            “Dr. Johnson said you could probably go home tomorrow morning, so I had your dad go back to the house and get things ready,” her mother said. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs.

            There was a short silence between them. “That’s good,” Beatrice finally said.

            “Mmhmm,” her mother responded absently. She looked around and considered the room. “If you want to go anywhere, you’re going to have to get a ride from one of us, I guess,” she said. “That’s going to be a hassle. I mean, not that that’s your fault or anything. But life’s going to be a little harder for all of us for a while.”

            Beatrice heard the door open, and looked over to see Anxiety walk in. He met her gaze, smiled, and went to sit down in the chair beside her mother.

            “I guess this also rules out you getting a job for the time being,” her mother continued. She sighed. “We really could have used the extra money.”

            “A moment’s decision made you a huge burden on your family,” Anxiety told Beatrice. “You’re going to be even more useless than you were before.”

            “I know, but I didn’t do it on purpose,” Beatrice said, although she wasn’t sure that was true.

            “Well, obviously,” her mother replied, “but that doesn’t really make a difference. Things are going to be tighter, that’s all I’m saying.”

            “At least now you have an excuse for your laziness,” Anxiety said. “What were you doing before? Just hanging out? How far do you think that will get you in life? How do you think you’ll feel two years from now when all your old friends start graduating and you’re still just here?”

            “I know,” Beatrice said. “I know I need to start thinking of legitimate ways of investing in my future, but I’m scared of making a mistake.”

            “Listen, I don’t care what you do as long as you do something,” her mother said. “You’ve been given all the freedom you need to figure out what you want to do. I’m starting to feel like you’re taking advantage of our hospitality.”

            “You’re becoming a waste of space with an unpromising future and everyone’s getting a little sick of you,” Anxiety said.

            “I’m doing my best,” Beatrice said weakly. She couldn’t explain the problem when she didn’t know what it was. She closed her eyes.

            “Well, at this point your best isn’t good enough.”

            “If this is the best you’ve been able to do under the circumstances, things are never going to get better.”

            “You’ve been given everything you could possibly need to be successful. You should be grateful, but instead you’re throwing it away.”

            “Everyone has problems, and yours are just that you’re sad and scared. Guess what? You’ll probably never stop being sad and scared. It’s become a part of who you are.”

            Their voices blurred together and it became difficult for Beatrice to tell which was which. Her head began to throb. “Stop,” she said, barely above a whisper.

            “What did you say to me?” her mother said, blinking.

            Beatrice suddenly felt dizzy and wished she had stayed quiet. Anxiety leaned in so close she could feel his breath on her face.

            “I’m only telling you these things because I think you need to hear them,” her mother said. “I’m just trying to be helpful. How else are you going to figure it out? It’s my job to let you know when I think something’s wrong, and I think something’s—“

            “Stop,” Beatrice said again, this time louder. “Do you really think this is the time or place? Please just stop talking at me. I’m really tired, and I’m not actually hearing anything you’re saying. Please just leave me alone for a little while.”

            Her mother made a disapproving noise and Beatrice knew her brow would be furrowed, her nostrils flared. But without saying another word, she stood up. Beatrice could hear her footsteps fade as she left the room.

            She opened her eyes to find that Anxiety had also gone.

~

            Beatrice lay in her hospital bed for half an hour and enjoyed the silence. For the first time in a long time she wasn’t being hounded by Anxiety or Depression and she figured she might as well appreciate it. One of the nurses came in.

            “Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked her.

            “Okay,” she said, a friendly smile coming easily.

            He was distracted and didn’t notice. “That’s good,” he said. “You’ve been recovering well. We’re hoping to send you home tomorrow. Won’t that be nice?”

            The thought of going back caught her and made her hesitate. “I guess,” she said.

            “Alright, well someone should be in with your lunch in an hour or so. If you experience any pain, please press the call button and let us know. Do you have any questions?”
            In spite of her recent resurfacing, Beatrice could feel herself being steadily pulled back down. She trained her eyes on her knees and kept them there as she slowly shook her head no. She looked back up to watch him leave.

            Beatrice closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop,” she said aloud. “I’m not going back, I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I haven’t had long enough, please . . .”

            She heard the door open again. She opened her eyes.

            “Hey,” Anxiety said, smiling. “How’s it going?”

            “Hey,” Beatrice muttered.

            “Now don’t be like that,” Anxiety said. “What would you do without me?”

            “Fuck you,” Beatrice said as she lifted a shaky hand and placed it on her stomach. “Why won’t you just leave?”

            Anxiety shrugged. “Don’t know, just can’t. Would you really want me to if I could?”

            “Yes. Yes, absolutely, things could be so different for me.”

            “You don’t really believe that. If I weren’t here, there would be something else here instead. There’s always something. But for now it seems you’re stuck with me.”

            Anxiety sat down in one of the chairs next to her bed. He gazed at her fondly and Beatrice found herself shivering. She sat up.

            “I can’t. . .” she started to say. “I don’t. . .” She found her body was convulsing uncontrollably. Suddenly, she ripped the IV from her arm and swung her legs over the side of her bed. She lowered her bare feet to the cold floor and felt a wave of calm run through her. It ran up from her ankles through to the back of her neck and the shaking stopped. She stood up and closed the distance between the two of them. Anxiety watched her the entire time, curious, but unsurprised.

            She lowered herself down into his lap and wound her arms around his neck. Beatrice felt the familiar madness return to her and was comforted.

            “If you must stay, then please don’t leave me,” she whispered.

            “No, I won’t, not like everyone else,” he said softly. “We can run together, you and I. Keep connecting, disconnecting, keep moving. We’ll escape, then return and escape again. I can whisper in your ear while you laugh wildly and scream until your lungs turn bloody. We will startle and confound, but yes, we will be together.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “We will always be together.”

            Beatrice grabbed the chunk of hair he had touched and pulled. She pulled until she felt the strands rip from her scalp and lay limply in her hand. She held them up to the light and examined them. Then she let them drop to the floor, oddly satisfied. Anxiety smiled.

A Beautiful Home

            It was a ritual. Every night she sat down in front of her mirror and carefully ran the brush through her hair. She used to love the way the bristles would gently snag in the silky blonde strands, and she loved the sharp pain in her scalp that occurred whenever she tugged at a particularly unruly knot. Lucy loved it less now. She slowly wound a clump of hair around her finger as her reflection watched her suspiciously. Those blonde strands had become brittle and lifeless, whole portions having suddenly fallen into gray. This ritual that had once been so comforting now only served as a reminder of the inevitable.

            She watched as her daughter passed by her door. Marie walked quickly, then passed again a little more slowly. She was nervous. Lucy watched, but wasn’t about to stop her. She began to rap her fingers impatiently on her dresser. Her daughter heard this noise and looked over. Her gaze met her mother’s and she stopped pacing.

            “Hey,” she said, and when her mother didn’t respond she continued, “can we talk for a minute?”
            “Sure sweetie,” Lucy said, and turned around in her seat. She saw Marie wince at the endearing word and felt an odd mix of satisfaction and despair. “What do you need?”

            “It’s nothing,” her daughter replied, but tucked a lock of her dark brown hair behind her right ear and looked away, “I was just wondering if I could have the car tonight.”

            Lucy gazed at Marie and didn’t saying anything.

            Her daughter looked too much like her father. She had his straight nose, his big, green eyes, his silky brown hair. She had so much. In a few years, she could have everything she wanted. Lucy could feel her irritation at this thought begin to build and twist in the back of her mind.

            Despite the fact that she seemed to be growing more uncomfortable with every second, Marie seemed determined to get what she wanted. This, at least, was somewhat to her credit. Lucy could respect a woman who was persistent, even if it was her daughter.

            “What do you need the car for?” Lucy finally asked.

            “Everyone’s meeting at Mark’s house, but I haven’t been able to get a ride. I thought it might be nice if I was able to drive myself, for once.” Marie added these last two words onto the end of her sentence with some degree of hesitation.

            Lucy stared at her daughter and blinked. She slowly turned back to face the mirror and rested her elbow on the dresser. Leaning against her hand, she stared at her reflection once again.

~

            It hadn’t always been this way. Lucy often acted as though she hadn’t willingly offered herself into motherhood. The truth was, she was the one who suggested she and George start a family. She had looked into his eyes, smiled slowly and asked if he was ready. Lucy had gotten the big white dress and the dauntingly beautiful house, and she figured this was the next step.

            She knew something was wrong the day her daughter was born.

            Everything else was as it had been described to her. Her water broke at the most unexpected, anticipated moment, when she and her husband were out at her cousin’s twenty-eighth birthday party. She looked down and was about to say, “I think my water just broke,” like she knew all pregnant women were supposed to. Then Lucy looked up and saw her husband was already in the process of gathering their things to leave. Her moment had passed.

            The contractions and the pushing were almost unbearably painful, but she got through them. There was the strained bickering between her mother and her mother-in-law that they pretended didn’t bother her. She was supposed to ask for ice chips, right? It was the longest day of her life, and yet it passed in such a strange blur.

            And then suddenly everything was over. Her daughter was born. She fell back onto the hospital bed and gasped for breath. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she found herself briefly wondering how her hair looked. No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t what she was supposed to be thinking about. What was everyone expecting her to do now? She glanced up. The nurses were bent over her baby, probably cleaning her up. What was taking so long?

            Finally, the tallest nurse picked Marie up and turned toward Lucy. Everyone in the room immediately looked at the new mother in sweet anticipation. Lucy watched as the nurse moved toward her.

            As Marie was settled in Lucy’s arms, Lucy studied her tiny face. Her eyes and nose were scrunched up in what must have been a reaction to the shock of being born. Her lips were a small round reproduction of George’s. Her breathing was quick, but even. Lucy observed these features and waited. She knew something was supposed to happen. She knew there was supposed to be this great wash of feelings that came over her and wrapped her up in love. Lucy waited, but nothing happened. She felt her heart start beating faster in panic. What was wrong? She knew everyone was still watching her. Her silence had gone on too long.

            Lucy swallowed and forced her most perfect anchorwoman smile. She looked up into her husband’s eyes and tried her best to convincingly say the words she knew were required at this moment, “Oh my God, I can’t believe how much I love her.” Her stomach twisted.

            At first, Lucy tried her best to find that missing connection. She figured that it would only take time for that sweeping love to set in. As the months passed, however, she found herself caring for her daughter in the most robotic way. Every time she fed her, every time she changed her, Lucy did it out of her duty as a fellow human being, not because she was feeling particularly maternal. These months stretched into years.

            Then something else started to happen. Marie was eight years old. She had asked Lucy for a snack and Lucy was returning from the kitchen with a bowl of chopped fruit in her hand, the picture of the dutiful mother. She found herself stopped in the doorway.

            Marie was sitting on the floor of her room, her back leaned against the side of her bed. She had her own desk, but for some reason Lucy could never get her daughter off the ground. Marie was working on her homework, her papers resting against her legs, her face the picture of concentration. The beautiful window that Lucy so admired let the light stream in and cover Marie. Her daughter’s long, wavy brown hair fell artfully across her shoulders. The rays of sun glanced off her smooth, clear skin, and her arm moved gracefully as she went to grab something out of her backpack. Those scrunched up features had evolved into something only depicted in a Renaissance painting. Marie glanced up and saw her mother standing there. Eight years together, and they still didn’t really know each other. Even though it was born out of polite intentions, Lucy was dazzled by Marie’s quick smile.

            She didn’t know what to say. Her head swam with the jealousy of her daughter’s growing beauty, and this made her uncomfortable. Lucy set the bowl of fruit on the dresser by the door, and turned to leave.

~

Lucy didn’t know why she thought of this now. She glanced up at her daughter’s reflection, all determination and thinly veiled frustration and saw little in it that matched her own. She sighed and turned back around. She had let the girl suffer enough.

            She stood up from where she sat at her dresser and crossed the room to where her purse hung on the closet door. Groping inside, she pulled out her keys and deftly tossed them to her daughter, who caught them with an expression that was a mixture of surprise and a small amount of fear.

            “Really?” Marie asked, after staring down at the unlikely gift in her right hand.

            “Really.”
            “I can take the car?” Marie asked. Her brow furrowed in distrust. Lucy thought about snatching her keys back, but found herself stifling the temptation.

            “Yes, but don’t push it,” she said instead. “And if you’re not back by curfew this will be the last time you take the car somewhere.”

            Lucy watched as her daughter did her best to hurry out of the room without making it seem obvious. She herself crossed to her bed and fell onto it. Closing her eyes, she felt the dread creeping back in. She could take a nap and sleep as long as she wanted. She had nowhere to go. Not for the first time, Lucy found herself begging God for something that would make her feel human again. That would provide an escape from the disconnect. Then she drifted off into unconsciousness.

~

She always forgot about how bright the lights seemed when you were sitting behind the anchor’s desk. They even felt bright from where she stood looking up at them. Lucy shielded her eyes with her left hand, her right firmly gripped around her latte. She felt that familiar buzz of nerves and excitement grow in the pit of her stomach. It had taken years to get this far, but those years had been so worth it now that she was going to be news anchor on a real network. It was early, but then it had always been early. And she would have woken up at any hour if it meant holding onto this job.

            Lucy took a sip of her drink and watched with pleasure as everyone around her worked to get ready for the broadcast in a few hours. The interns were moving at a clip, their panicked awareness of how much work was to be done growing with every passing minute. Her assistant hadn’t seen her yet. Lucy had slipped in through the side entrance in order to observe the comforting routine of it all before everyone started watching her. She knew she should head to hair and makeup, that Marcos would be freaking out over her absence, but she took a few more seconds for herself. She loved this feeling. Everything was happening, and she was a part of it. She felt important. She was the medium through which the news would be delivered. They could find someone else, but they had chosen her. She took a final sip of her coffee as she heard her assistant’s voice call her name from across the set. Lucy turned and gave the woman her most dazzling smile.

            “Here I am,” she said, surrendering her control of her morning into Rita’s capable hands.

            “Thank God! We’ve been waiting for you to come in! Marcos is having a fit! Off to hair and makeup with you, go!” Rita said, and she scurried along at Lucy’s side and rattled off the list of things they needed to accomplish before they went live. Lucy listened calmly, enjoying the sudden rush of adrenaline she got whenever they were close to taping.

            She walked confidently up to the chair that sat opposite a brightly lit mirror and perched in it. Marcos was immediately at her side. He pulled her hair back out of her face and began working on her makeup.

            “Where have you been?” Marcos asked, frantic, but not unkind. “You know how long this can take.”

            Lucy looked at him. “Sorry Marcos,” she said softly, and he smiled.

            “Well, lucky for us you’re young enough that there isn’t much work to do,” he said as he began priming her face. They both knew he was trying to transition to gossip. Friendship was much easier when you stayed superficial. “Did you hear about what happened over at channel five?”

            Lucy had heard, but she let Marcos tell her about the humiliating makeup gaff anyway. A fellow anchorwoman was getting older and her team was trying to hide the fact. What had seemed okay in the makeup chair ended up ridiculous under the lights at the news desk. This woman had gone a full twenty minutes speaking to America looking like an aging prostitute before the program had a break. Of course, it was all the fault of the team that helped her get ready, but no one would remember that.

            Lucy could laugh at the problems of this woman she hardly knew because they weren’t something she would have to face for quite some time. As of now, the world was wide open to her, waiting for her to take whatever she wanted from it.

She closed her eyes and let the feeling overpower her.

~

            When Lucy opened her eyes, she was back in her bedroom, older and alone. Lucy had to bite her lip to stop herself from immediately bursting into tears of longing. She sat up in her bed to steady herself and quickly arranged any flyaway hair back into its place. She took a deep breath and her emotions started to level out again. Feeling lightheaded, Lucy got up and walked towards the kitchen for a glass of water.

            The house was big, far too big, and her ex-husband had told her that back when they bought it together. She remembered the conversation vividly. They had stood by the beautiful French windows that looked out at the backyard and he had sighed. George Parker, very prone to sighing his feelings into reality. Lucy had looked up at him and understood his concerns, but didn’t care to consider them.

            She did what she did best. Lucy walked around him, making a show of how happy she was, how absolutely ignorant that he shouldn’t feel the same way. She heard herself talking endlessly about how much she loved the hardwood floors, the oak tree out front, the space the rooms gave her to think. Her precious monologue was so inane that Lucy almost rolled her eyes at the words coming out of her mouth. Why was she doing this? That was something she wouldn’t be able to make a grandiose speech about. She was ashamed that she wanted to feel like she belonged in this house. She wanted to be the matriarch of a big family, to be the kind of woman who could walk down the halls of this house and say with certainty that it was hers. She hadn’t fallen madly in love with every corner it, as she was steadfastly claiming, but it was a means to an end.

            They bought the house. Lucy was excited to get her way, but the expense of it all made her queasy. She had never had love for spending money, and she detested the feeling of losing it. George grew up in a wealthy family and never had a clue about her discomfort. It was something so easily replaceable to him, something that there was always more of.

            Now she hated this big house. It was a reminder of all the things she had planned to happen that had fallen through. All these rooms that were supposed to be filled by her loving offspring were occupied by one daughter she didn’t know. Her bed where she was supposed to sleep next to her husband was cold and lonely now, and the room that contained it made her feel jumpy and hostile. And instead of being the passage through which a confident woman faced her life, this hall contained an aging woman who had lost her purpose.

            The cold marble was shocking beneath her feet as she reached the kitchen. The sensation ran through her body and she briefly returned to it. The memory of ambition filled her as her shaky hand moved to open the cupboard. Why had she so willingly sacrificed her dreams for this life? Why had she not thought more of it when George suggested she quit her job, become a stay-at-home mother? She knew that nothing he said could have convinced her to make a decision she hadn’t already mentally prepared for. Her fingers wrapped around a glass, and she lifted it down to the counter, but didn’t let it go.

            Her whole life should have been different. That moment when she had walked out of the studio, unknowingly out of any studio for the last time, her hands carrying a box of her things? She had laughed. Lucy had felt the breeze run through her hair, warm on her perfect skin, and she had laughed at her good fortune. She was walking towards the life she had always wanted, so of course this was the right decision. Her life was destined to be easy and happy from here on out, she was sure of it. And if it wasn’t? She could always go back. Nothing could stop Lucy Parker from getting something she truly wanted. She would always be desirable.

            Lucy felt her face turn red with the humiliation these thoughts now brought with them. After working in the business for years she had never learned how much she was valued for her youth and beauty. How naïve, how ignorant, how stupid – she felt the glass pop in her hand before she realized how hard she was gripping it.

            Instinctively moving her hand to the sink, Lucy watched as the shards of glass fell through her fingers and hit the immaculately clean metal. She saw the blood before she felt the sting of the two tiny cuts that appeared on the palm of her hand. It was no use being angry now, but she had never been able to help it. Lucy worked to clean up the mess. Pulling the trash can to her side, she started picking up the shards between two fingers, gently enough so that they wouldn’t pierce her skin. She had always been good at cleaning up messes.

            Maybe that was the problem. The end of her marriage with George hadn’t been sufficiently messy for her to feel like action was required on her part to prevent it. At the time it felt so inevitable, like it was a part of the life she had involved herself in, and she had to go along with it. Even now she knew she probably could have held onto him if that was what she had truly wanted.

~

            Five years ago, she was sitting outside. Having taken her sandals off for a moment, Lucy dipped her legs into the pool. The water distorted them and the light played in strange lines across her skin. Things had been quiet for a long time, but George had come to collect his belongings today, and the constant motion occurring inside her home disturbed her. She had been watching him sort through his things when she started to feel ill, so she let herself outside. As she moved through the house, she could hear Marie crying down the hall. She didn’t stop, she didn’t even hesitate. She knew once she got outside, the cool air would help steady her. It did. So here she was.

            Lucy knew that if she ran inside the house right now and asked George to stay, he would. Even after everything she had done, he would. But she didn’t want that. She knew their relationship could never be the same after they had come to this level of resentment. She found him boring and unambitious. His favorite thing was to accuse her of being manipulative, of needing to have control over every aspect of his and their daughter’s lives. Lucy took a moment she didn’t need to reflect on this: she already knew it was true, but wanted there to be some other motivation behind her actions.

~

            “What time is the reservation?” she had called to her husband, who was only in the next room. She couldn’t help raising her voice, it was the first time they would be out in months. Lucy pulled a comb through her already perfect updo. She ran her finger across the edge of the elaborate eyeliner she had spent so much time drawing, making sure that it hadn’t smudged. This night was going to go well.

            “It’s for eight,” George replied, his voice sounding weightier than usual. This made Lucy pause.

            She sat there for a second and examined her appearance carefully before saying, “Well, we should probably leave in ten minutes so that they’re not waiting for us at the restaurant. I can’t stress how important punctuality is for things like this.”

            Lucy thought she heard George mutter, “Can’t you, though?” in the other room, but she chose to ignore it. She walked to their closet where her husband was getting dressed.

             His back was to her. She studied him, and thought about what he had been like when they met. Tall, good muscles, interesting features. Smart, but not arrogant. Confident from years of growing up with everything he needed. As he had gotten older, Lucy developed the feeling that aging would not be kind to George. Already he had started to resemble a stooped, middle-aged man that she didn’t recognize. But then he turned around and his brilliant green eyes met hers, and she found him. She hesitated a second and spoke, “Remember, you need to bring up your plans for expansion early in the meal so that they’ll have been thinking about it by the end. But don’t do it in an obvious way, you don’t want to look like you’re trying to impress them.”

            She stepped forward with the intention of fixing his tie, but finding it already perfect, Lucy looked for other aspects of his appearance that she could change. “And remember, Tom likes it when you compliment his management skills. But seriously, be subtle. Nobody likes a suck up.”

            George sighed and she looked up into his face. “What?” she asked, as if she didn’t already know what he would say.

            “I don’t need your advice,” George said, his tone so affected that Lucy almost wanted to laugh. “I’ve been to a hundred of these types of dinners. I know how to talk to my boss.”

            Lucy looked back down at his suit jacket and pulled an infinitesimal hair off of it. “I’m just trying to help,” she said quietly.

            He put his hand under her chin and tilted her face back up. “I know, but I’ve got this,” he said. “Just make sure you look beautiful, but not too distracting, and your job will be done.” He lightly kissed her on the forehead and left the closet.

            Lucy pulled her robe off and looked at her body in the full-length mirror. Just look beautiful. Right. Don’t get involved.

            But she needed to. This feeling of total helplessness had crept into her life and she would do anything to get rid of it.

~

             The trickling notes of a bird’s song floated up out of the trees, and Lucy hated them. She shouldn’t ever have come here, things were far too easy. So much of her life had ended when the struggle did. She needed challenge, and she needed work, and she had willfully given those things away. Why?

            And something in the back of her mind uncurled itself and said, “Security,” and then, more quietly it hissed, “Fear.” Lucy felt the familiar pressure of anxiety start to build on the back of her neck. She reached forward to dip her hand in the warm water and distract herself from it.

            She remembered when she had sat at the kitchen table and watched as her own mother hurried around preparing dinner. Lucy had been working on her homework when, feeling a wave of panic come off her mother, she looked up. Nothing was obviously different, but this woman that she admired so much was clearly afraid. Her normally steady hands shook as she went to grab the lid off a pot, and Lucy heard the faint clatter it made as her mother set it on the counter. In a few hours she would discover that her father had lost his job again, in a few months she would know the humiliation of being forced out of a home that they could no longer afford to live in. But for now, she studied her mother, whose right hand kept moving to tuck an invisible strand of hair behind her ear. A nervous habit.

Lucy suddenly wanted more than anything to get up and walk out of the house, to walk to the end of the street and turn the corner, to get on a bus and take it to another town. She knew these things were possible at the same time she knew she had nowhere else to go. She would be giving up this uncertain life for another that was even more so. Trapped.

~

Lucy stopped cleaning up the glass. She looked blindly out the window and considered. Turning suddenly, she walked out of her kitchen and headed back towards her bedroom. Her steps quickened until she was practically running. Then she was running. She ran past all of the stupid things she had collected over the years, foolishly adorning the walls so that everyone would know how much she had achieved. Surely, she had thought, people would walk down the halls of her elaborate home and gasp at the photos of when she had been younger and more beautiful, at the tiny plaques of appreciation from work that she had nailed to the walls after she quit.

She stopped when she reached the door to her bedroom. Absorbing the emptiness, Lucy let the despair she had kept away for so long overtake her. She crossed the room in a few strides.

She grabbed the pair of scissors that lay on her desk. Sitting at the seat in front of her dresser, Lucy pulled a large clump of hair out in front of her face and looked at it. It was everything in her life, so important and so pointless. She cut it away with the smallest movement of her wrist.