Sounds Like Crazy (32 page)

My father returned with a large bag of Ruffles potato chips. He stood over me and yelled, “Here, you fat pig.You want to eat? Then eat.” I heard a crash. Sarah must have dropped the plate she was rinsing. My father ripped the bag open with such force that the chips exploded in the air and floated to the ground. He knelt down and forced my lips open with his left hand. His right hand shoveled a big scoop of chips out of the bag and smashed them into my mouth the same violent way couples crush wedding cake in each other’s faces on the best day of their lives. He did it again and again. He kept shoveling and forcing the chips down in my mouth until he emptied the bag.Then he scraped the chips off the floor.

When none were left, he bellowed,“Bring me more chips. If my fat daughter wants to eat, then, by God, she’ll eat.” Nobody moved. “More!” he screamed. Half of a wet dinner plate sailed through the air and collided with the wall. The ceramic shards dropped to the ground like light snowflakes. My father’s eyes glowed. “More!” he screamed.The other half of the plate flew and smashed. Still nobody moved. My father dug around the hardwood for any remaining chips and my next mouthful included small shards of the broken plate.

The Boy let go of my hand and ran forward. He shoved Sarge out of the way and out of my mouth cried, “Daddy, not Holly. Please not Holly.”

My mother screamed. My father’s eyes darkened with grief and then turned to a murky blue. His hands dropped to his sides. I could feel the knob on the cupboard pressing into the space between my shoulder blades. I tasted the salty grains and blood on my lips with my tongue. I couldn’t tell if the saltiness was the chips or my tears. Probably both.

My father stood, picked up the bottle of whiskey and his cigarettes. “You are so disgusting I can’t even look at you.” As he walked out of the room, he said to the hallway, “No man loves a fat daughter.” A bolt of fear mixed with pain cracked my chest so hard I thought it split my sternum.

My mother stood. She didn’t look at me. “Sarah, you and your sister clean up this mess and then get ready for bed.” Then she left the room.

I closed my eyes and saw the Boy sitting with Sarge in our favorite park. He motioned to me and I sat on the grass beside him. The evening dew seeped through my clothes. The Boy held my hand and leaned his head on my shoulder. I still couldn’t see his face, but when I tilted my head and rested it on his, I felt silky hair against my cheek. All thoughts fled my mind. I breathed in and out, letting the rhythm of the act calm me.

After a while, I thought I heard someone saying, “Holly.” The voice was faint and distant but closing in on me.

“Holly!” A hand gripped my shoulder. My eyes flew open. Sarah hovered over me. “Holly, you peed on the floor.” My tranquillity shattered into fragments.

“Get up.” Sarah hooked her hands under my armpits and pulled me. Even though Sarah had four years on me, the strain of lifting my bulk was evident on her face. “Go take a shower. I’ll mop this up before they come back.”

In the bathroom I dropped to my knees and heaved into the toilet. Jagged bits of chips mixed with blood landed in the bowl.
Sarge, the Boy, and the Silent One hovered with concern. The acrid smell of vomit and stale urine filled the bathroom. I sat back on my heels, not caring that the damp underwear rested on them. I nodded my head and watched the three depart. When I heard the soft click of the closing door inside my head, I pulled down my sodden panties and savagely flung them against the tiled floor with my foot.

At about midnight, I sneaked upstairs and retrieved my essay from the kitchen trash. I hid it along with my other secret treasures in the box in the back of my closet.When I finished covering the box with sweaters, I shoved my neatly paired shoes aside and sat under the hanging clothes.

The next morning, the ache from a buckle pressing into my cheek woke me up. An unfamiliar bulk rested in the left corner of my head. I saw that Sarge and the other two were wearing harnesses with ropes attached to carabiners on the opposite wall. I looked down and noticed that I too was in harness and held by a rope and carabiner.

Sarge told me matter-of-factly,“I have secured everyone until we can reinforce the house. Until then, if you want to meet her, I’ll have to belay you.”

I nodded. Sarge hooked something to my harness and slowly lowered me down. A woman the size of a baby killer whale sat calmly on a pillow with the proportions of a full-sized bed. She wore a bright purple tracksuit that accentuated her blueberry eyes. She winked and reached behind her and brought forth a bag of Ruffles potato chips.With a chuckle and a certain amount of gusto, she dug her sausage fingers into the bag and brought out a handful of chips.

Sarge somehow righted the house, but my head continued to lean slightly to the left. For the first half of the school year I remained the nerdy fat girl whose polyester legs scratched a
snare-drum symphony as I waddled past the snickering classroom. By the end of the school year, I’d lost my summer weight plus twenty more pounds. My mother gushed when she was able to buy me doll-sized clothes. My father took no notice and, beyond the perfunctory good morning and good night, had completely lost interest in me.

 

If I were inside my head, I’d be standing right in front of the closet of secrets aching to open that door. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever, I thought fiercely. And before Milton could say, “Thoughts?” I got up and walked out the door.

I
was out walking again. It seemed to be one of my favorite pastimes lately. I bought a coffee to go and stopped for a rest at Battery Park. I stared out at the Hudson. A ferryboat floated off in the distance. Its lonely horn called to what? Its lost mate? I thought about the conversation my mother and I had had earlier that day. She had called to ask me to come home for Christmas. I still hadn’t spent the holidays with my family since I’d moved to New York. My most recent excuse was that I couldn’t get away from work. My mother and I had not talked about my job, but when she presented the invitation for Christmas, I knew she knew. Before she hung up, she said, “Be sure to bring your boyfriend. It’s about time we met.” Another unmentioned episode, but at the time, I was too tired to explain that I had no boyfriend. I told her I’d think about it.

The ferry was docking when I heard a man say my name.

I turned and on the other side of my park bench was none other than Mike Davey, the director whom I could now admit I had had a crush on until he betrayed me and replaced me on
The
Neighborhood
. I smiled at him, but I still tasted his bitter Judas kiss.

“You are the last person I expected to run into here,” he said. “What a surprise.”

“Yeah, I was out walking, ended up down here. I’m just taking a break.”

“May I?” he said.

“Sure.”

Mike smiled and sat down next to me. I could feel the heat of his body through my jacket.The iciness I felt thawed. I looked down. “Nice view,” he said, looking out at the Statue of Liberty.

I watched the passengers disembark from the ferry that had docked moments ago.“Yeah, the ferries just come and go. I mean, that is what they are supposed to do, right?” I didn’t need the Committee to remark on the stupidity of that comment.

“Right,” he said warmly.“So, how’s it going? Been able to get them talking again?” He pointed at my head.

“What are you talking about?” My heart pounded in my chest.

“Your friends. Holly, I know your secret.”

My surroundings blurred. “How?” I forced the word up and out of my throat.

“I’m observant.” Then, turning back to the water, he said, “That, and I have a cousin with the same setup, as it were. He’s also fully functional.”

The award ceremony video flashed in my mind. It worked much better than squeezing my toes to bring my errant spirit back into my body. “Are you sure? I bet there isn’t a video, with a million hits, of him knocking himself out at the Emmys,” I said sullenly.

“I’m really sorry about the show, Holly. You can’t imagine the position I was in.” I realized it had never occurred to me that
auditioning my replacement might have posed a real dilemma for him. “Forgive me?” said Mike.

I had no reason to, and it was completely out of character for me, but I did forgive him; and, for the first time in my life, I spilled the whole story about the Committee, including their departure after the Emmy awards and group therapy, to someone other than a trained professional or a family member who had to love me no matter what. He was still sitting there when I finished. And, while I spoke, we exchanged eleven flirtatious glances and had two accidental brushes of the hand. Not that I was counting.

“So, you see them twice a week for an hour?” he said.

“Yeah, I’m trying to get back to the way things were. I’m trying to get my life back.”

“Have you thought about moving forward instead?”

“You sound like my sister and my shrink.” The tone of my voice was like a warning growl.

Mike nodded, and I reveled in the experience of having someone besides family or a paid professional read my thoughts. It was like driving a car for the first time. Odd but thrilling.

“While you’re working on that, how are you fixed for money?” said Mike.

“Not well.” I had just told him about my Committee and twice-weekly psychoanalytic sessions; how could financial ruin be any more embarrassing? He had to know that all my commercials were canceled and the royalty checks had dried up. Nobody wanted a voice of scandal behind their product.

“Well, I can get you some work if you’re up for it.”

“Really?” I said, surprised.

“It’s not what you’re used to, but you can do it, no problem.”

“What is it?”

He hesitated, then said,“Doing the recording for a company
phone system.” Now I felt like a car stalled in the middle of a busy intersection, and all I wanted to do was get out and leave it there.

“You want me to do phone work? Me? The voice that used to be your star? The voice that people used to request for commercials and movies? You want me to be on some company’s phone system?”

“I know it’s not glamorous—”

“You bet it’s not glamorous,” I snapped.“I guess this is all you think I’m good for?”

“Holly.” He covered my hand with his. I wrenched it away.

“You have your ratings without the crazy lady with voices in her head. Or, in this case, without the voices. Either way, good to go for phone work.”

“Holly, I was just trying to help,” said Mike.

Where had I heard that before? “Yeah, well, where’s your blonde girlfriend?” I said.

“Huh?” said Mike. I shook my head.“Take the number anyway,” he said, pulling out a pen and a business card. He wrote a number on the back and handed it to me.

I looked at it. Looked at him and said,“Thanks.Thanks a lot. I appreciate knowing what you think of my talents.”

“Holly,” he said, shaking his head.

I stood up.

“I thought you needed—”

“See ya!” I said, turning and stalking off.

“Holly!” he called after me.

This is what happens when you think a perfect stranger can read your thoughts. I kept walking.

 

DECLINED. I waited for the sirens to start and the A & P grocery security guards to come and escort me away.

The cashier snapped her gum and said, “Declined.” The people behind me groaned collectively. Holiday cheer and patience were definitely not in play in the supermarket. They probably wanted to send me to Guantánamo.

“I see that. Hang on,” I said, mortified. I didn’t know what to do; that was my last credit card. Now my options were either skulk out in shame or try the emergency card. I had been using it a lot too, so the chances were my meager purchases of milk, coffee, cigarettes, and cat food were not going to make it. “Try this.” I surrendered the emergency credit card.

I held my breath.The screen read, PROCESSING. We all watched. APPROVED appeared, and the cash drawer sprang open. I signed the charge slip, grabbed my bag, and left vowing never to return.And this was one place where I could make good on that promise.

When I got home, my cats were at the door to greet me. They must have sensed their last meals coming down the street. I didn’t have the means to keep them in Fancy Feast much longer. They tripped me as I tried to get into the kitchen. I normally didn’t give them canned food at night, but I figured,Why not? At our rate of decline, they might be reduced to catching their dinner by the weekend.

As I scooped the food into their bowls, I thought of the number Mike had given me the other day. Resentment burned a hole in my stomach. I called my bank to check my balance. Negative three hundred sixty-six and change. The gall flipped over into panic.

I picked up the phone and dialed. A woman answered. I told her who I was and said I had gotten her name from Mike Davey.

“I can’t believe we’re going to have a celebrity do our phone system.You must really owe Mike a favor.”

What a laugh. “Yeah. So, when would you like me to do this?”

We made arrangements for the week after the holidays.The pay would be enough to tide me over with a small loan from Sarah. And she said there would be more work if I was interested.

I called Sarah. She said no problem with the loan. I closed the blinds on my windows and sat in my dark apartment.

The phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Is this Holly Miller?”

“That depends,” I said.

“This is Bill Rhode,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Who?” I said.

“Neil’s father.”

“Oh.” Pam had warned me that I might get a call from a parent. This must be the one. He’d called Pam in a huff about my Jesus disparagement. She thought she’d smoothed it over. And enough time had passed that I had thought she did too. Apparently not.
I wonder if he’d believe me if I said, “Wrong number.”