Gravity Brings Me Down (17 page)

She orders another bottle when the first is finished.

After much drinking and eating, I ask if there’s anything else we should do before we go home. Steve asks the maitre d’, who suggests
Les Misérables
.

We drive to the theatre district.
Les Miz
is sold out, but there’s a performance of
Cats
with tickets available. We score some pretty posh seats, ones no one else was willing to pay for. We’re burning through Mabel’s five thousand dollars, but nobody seems to care about anything at this point. The show is close to starting, so there’s some confusion as we climb over people’s legs to reach our spots. Steve waits for Sharon and Mabel to sit before taking the seat next to me.

Once we’re settled, I notice a familiar face two rows ahead. I do a double take, then realize it’s little Jimmy from the hospital! I’m so astounded to see him, I call out across the aisles of seats.

“Hey, Jimmy!”

He recognizes me immediately, waving excitedly.

“It’s the lady from Make-A-Wish,” he tells his dad.

“I see you’re feeling better,” I say.

His father leans over the back of his seat. “Just a bout of asthma. Nothing to be worried about.”

I wag my finger at Jimmy to let him know I’m on to him. I should be mad as hell at the little goof, but I’m really happy to see he isn’t dead after all.

“You still owe me a wish,” he says.

“Who’s that?” Steve asks.

“Oh, just a friend of mine.”

As the theatre lights slowly dim, Steve gently takes my
hand. I can feel the electricity arcing between us. The curtain opens with a soft swishing sound. I’m so excited, it’s kind of hard to follow the story. I can feel him looking at me from time to time, and I want to look at him, too, but I haven’t got the guts. So I just pretend to ogle the beautiful costumes and admire the dancing. When I finally do turn to look at Steve, he seems totally entranced by the show. Sharon is sleeping, while Mabel is looking at everything except the performance she paid to see. All at once she turns to me, speaking in the loudest voice.

“I thought we were going to church.”

I press my finger to my lips to quiet her. “This is kind of like church,” I whisper.

“This isn’t
my
church,” she says.

Mabel scans the theatre as though she’s expecting to see someone she knows. “I thought we were going to church,” she says again. “Who are all these people? I have to go to the bathroom.”

The guy in front of me flips out. “Shshshshshshshsh-shshshshsssssssss!!!!”

“What’s going on?” Steve asks.

“Mabel wants to go to church.”

“Then we should go.”

He’s so good about the whole thing. It makes me like him even more, if that’s possible. I wake Sharon.

“What’s going on?” she mummers.

“We have to go.”

“Is the show over?”

We climb over legs, apologizing again to the disgruntled people in our row. I accompany Mabel to the
bathroom. She takes so long in the stall, I think she’s flushed herself down. When she comes out she’s holding her skirt at the waist, the zipper and button undone.

I help Mabel get dressed. “You don’t have to undo it to go,” I try to explain as tactfully as I can without embarrassing her. But I can tell by the way she’s looking at me that she doesn’t understand.

Back in the car, Steve suggests taking Mabel to a local church, thinking it might appease her. The church is beautiful, with gigantic spires and huge wooden doors. It makes the Church of Our Lady Immaculate look paltry in comparison. But Mabel doesn’t buy it. She knows immediately it isn’t “her church.”

“Why do you want to go back there?” I say. “They were mean to you, remember?”

Mabel grows quiet, speaking in a soft voice. “I like it there.”

“But it’s late. The church will be closed by the time we get home.”

Mabel doesn’t answer.

I can see there’s no convincing her otherwise.

Mabel and Sharon sleep in the car on the way back. I sit in the back catching glances from Steve in the rearview mirror. His attention makes me feel all dizzy and light, like the way I felt staring at the water at the dam, only different. There’s something so powerful and ineffable happening, I don’t have the strength to resist it. We don’t talk. We just enjoy the ride.

When we reach the outskirts of Sunnyview, Sharon bolts upright, howling that she’s going to be sick. Steve
pulls over, yanking the car door open. After much gagging and coughing, Sharon informs us that she won’t be going to church with us. She asks to be taken to the Tip, so she can sober up before going home.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” I ask as we drop her off.

“I’m fine.” She reaches through the car window and takes Mabel’s hand. “It was fun,” she says. She takes Steve’s hand as she turns to wink at me. “Take care,” she says, suggestively. Raising her shopping bags in a drunken salute, she wobbles to the coffee shop doors.

At the church, Steve helps Mabel up the long flight of stairs. When we reach the top, the big set of doors is locked.

“See, there’s no one here,” I say to Mabel. “It’s nearly ten o’clock.”

“Shhhhh … wait.” Mabel tilts her head to one side. “I hear music.”

We all tilt our heads to listen.

“She’s right,” Steve says. “I hear it too.”

“Maybe it’s a ghost playing the organ,” I say, to be funny.

“There must be another set of doors.”

I sigh. I can feel the levels rising already. “Around the corner, up the staircase.”

“This is the place,” Mabel murmurs as we step inside the vestibule. She drifts to the little stone bowl, dips her finger in the water and crosses herself. Then she slips through the skinny carved doors and disappears. Steve and I follow.

Mabel is standing at the back of the church, absorbed in the music, a look of pure rapture on her face.

“Isn’t it wonderful!” she sighs.

All at once, the organ stops. There’s the sound of feet scuffling as the choir director imparts some last bit of wisdom, then the gunshot of hard-soled shoes on metal stairs.

“There they are,” Mabel says, as the first of the choir members appear. “I have to go sing.”

I try to stop her. “Mabel… no.”

She frowns. “But this is what I do. Hello!” she calls out, waving.

The choir members freeze, gathering in a nervous herd at the foot of the stairs, moving just enough to allow the director to make his way through. His face hardens with disdain when he sees us, grinding the machine into full throttle. Any semblance of forbearance on his part is completely gone.

“Can I help you?”

Mabel approaches him, clasping her purse. “Am I late?”

The director shoots me a look. Steve studies my face, trying to assess the situation. The choir members stare at their feet.

“I’ve been sick, but I’m back now,” Mabel explains. “I won’t be late again, I promise.”

No one speaks. Mabel reaches for the director’s sleeve. “Please … just give me another chance.”

The choir director explodes. “This is ridiculous!” He pulls his arm away and storms out through the carved
doors. Mabel turns to the members of the choir. They avert their eyes, shifting uncomfortably.

“Mabel, please,” I say, but she is already gone.

It’s as if a circuit breaker has tripped in her mind and she’s forgotten where she is. She drifts aimlessly down the aisle of the church, muttering and clutching her blouse before withering into one of the pews.

The forces spike, filling my legs with wet cement. I gather myself and slide into the pew next to her. “Mabel…”

She doesn’t answer, mumbling to herself like I’m not even there. I reach for her hand.

“Mabel…”

She starts, staring at me in fear. “What do you want?”

“We should go,” I say again.

“Who are you?”

“It’s me, Mabel… Marie …”

She considers this for a bit, and I think I can see a gleam of recognition in her eyes. I take a chance by reaching into my pocket and pulling out the little photo, the one of her and V. and little Marie. I hand it to her. Mabel takes the picture and studies it for awhile, then presses the photo to her chest. She begins to rock and hum in a faraway voice. I recognize the song immediately. She’s humming “Alfie.”

I let her go on like this for some time before putting my hand on her arm.

“Mabel…”

“We were going to run away with the baby. But I stayed. I should never have stayed.”

“I’m so sorry, Mabel.”

Mabel buries her face in her hands, then suddenly raises her head. She turns to me with this manic look in her eyes. “I can’t go on anymore.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. I’ve had enough.”

“The choir isn’t everything, Mabel.”

“God has forgotten me.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not true.”

Her eyes soften as she touches my hand, leaning close. “Please, dear … there are ways to do it. All I need is your help.”

“What do you mean?”

“Help me die.”

The machine roars, flooding my brain as the nausea grips my stomach. Wasn’t Mabel the one who told me to endure? Wasn’t she the one who said there’s always a glimmer of hope?

“I can’t do it!”

All at once the wooden doors to the church burst open and the cops tumble in. They grab Steve, then swarm me and Mabel.

“We have an order for the safe return of Mabel Wilson to the Rosewood Health Centre.”

The choir director sidles up to the cop, a look of pious innocence on his face. The rest of the choir is already gone. One of the officers leads Mabel down the aisle.

“Please … this isn’t necessary,” I say.

The cop ignores me. Mabel looks terrified.

“But she hasn’t done anything wrong,” I plead. “I’m the one to blame.”

“We have to return her to the facility,” the cop says.

“But you can’t bring her back like a criminal.”

The tears well up in my eyes. Steve intervenes.

“Please, let me drive her back. I promise I’ll take her straight there.”

“Who are you?” one of the officers asks.

Steve looks at me. “A friend.”

The cops exchange looks. The officer in charge finally nods in agreement.

“Okay. But we’ll be tailing you.”

“That’s fine,” Steve says.

He takes Mabel’s arm, escorting her gently from the church and down the stairs to his car. I slide into the back seat.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“We have to go back,” I say.

Mabel lowers her eyes but she doesn’t protest. We ride in silence to the Rosewood, the cops cruising slowly behind us, lights flashing. I can feel Steve glancing at me in the rearview mirror. But I can’t meet his gaze or I know I’ll start to cry.

When we arrive at the Rosewood, there are several nurses and orderlies waiting anxiously in the lobby. I guess they expected more of a fight. They greet Mabel with relief and kindness.

“Have you met my daughter, Marie?” Mabel says as they urge her toward the door. “She’s the baby.” She reaches for me but one of the nurses stops her.

“Visiting hours are over.”

They coax her into the lobby, Mabel staring over her shoulder like a puppy being dragged to the pound. The doors close and she disappears inside, leaving Steve and me standing on the street. The forces are so strong, I can barely breathe. I’m so overwhelmed, all I can do is turn and leave.

“Wait,” Steve calls out, chasing after me. “Let me give you a ride home.”

“No. I want to walk.” I keep my head lowered because I’m afraid I’m going to burst into tears. I feel so guilty and horrible and sad about everything. What’s going to happen to Mabel now?

“It’s not your fault,” Steve says. “You did the best you could.”

He reaches for my hand but I walk away. I don’t want him to see what a wreck I am.

I drag myself home, my mind whirling with thoughts of revenge. I want to do something drastic and terrible. I want to show that choir director once and for all.

But when I reach the house, Mom and Dad are on the porch, waiting.

“Where have you been?!” Mom practically screams. “The school called—we were worried sick!” She runs down the stairs to grab me, stopping dead when she sees my face. “Oh my God, what’s wrong?”

My mouth moves but I just can’t find any words. The tears start gushing out. “It’s so unfair… it’s so awful…”

“What’s awful? What happened?” She’s on the verge of hysteria.

Now Dad rushes down the stairs. He folds me in his arms, my head against his chest as I sob. He comforts me, walking me gently to the house.

Inside, I tell them everything. The words pour out now and I can’t seem to make them stop. When I’m finished talking, Mom helps me upstairs and runs the bath, then tells me to get in. She brings me tea and a clean pair of pyjamas, reassuring me everything is going to be okay. After my bath, Mom tucks me in bed like I’m three years old again. She leans over, brushing the hair from my eyes.

“What will happen to Mabel?” I ask.

“I don’t know, honey. But I’m sure she’ll get the care she needs.”

When she leaves, Mom turns out the light and stands in the doorway, looking at me through the dark for the longest time before closing the door. Lying in my bed, I can hear her and Dad, talking in earnest voices in their room. I stare at the ceiling. I can’t get Mabel’s face out of my head, the way she looked when she asked me to do what she wanted me to do. The idea of her rotting away in a nursing home is so horrible. But I just couldn’t help her the way she wanted me to. I just couldn’t do it. Maybe I seem like a coward, but I have to admit, thinking about something is one thing; actually doing it is another. Besides, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. That’s what Dr. Armstrong taught us in physics. You just can’t hurt yourself without hurting someone else. Suddenly, I feel ashamed of myself. I don’t want to be angry any more. I don’t even
want to fight with Chocko. I want to feel okay. I decide then and there to make amends. From now on, I’m all about life.

The second I decide this, something strange happens: the invisible forces loosen their grip on me. I’m still heartbroken about Mabel. And I’m sure the forces aren’t gone for good. But I feel something I haven’t felt before. I feel a tiny seed of hope germinating inside me. It was Mabel who planted that seed. She showed me that there is always a glimmer of light in the darkness. And no matter how small, I have to confess, it’s there.