You Make Me Crazy

Every morning, I spend ten minutes pretending I’m asleep. For those ten minutes, I feel your eyes on me as I make this peaceful, pretty, princess face, and you press your forehead against mine for a real long time because you love me so much. Then, when you’ve exhausted your devotion, you hit your alarm clock and shuffle around our charming, rickety little start-up house in San Francisco, and I hop in the shower with the bathroom door open. Then, I get out of the shower and shut the door while I weigh myself because you don’t want to see that.

“Hm. That’s unusual,” I say at the scale, because you like a girl with opinions. I decide I am not hungry for breakfast. You know me with my morning sickness and need for your manly protection. But only if you’re in the mood to protect me.

I’m a low-maintenance damsel in distress with a killer waistline, if I may.

After respectfully declining today’s dose of medication, by respectfully flushing it down the toilet—respectfully—I strut to the kitchen and wrap my arms around you from behind your barstool, and I try to kiss you on the cheek but you turn your face to kiss me on the lips. I giggle and feign surprise, even though I saw it coming. Then, you settle into the bar stool, open a newspaper, and read a story about Monica Lewinsky.

At this point, depending on how absolutely fascinating or tempting or beautiful the news is, I might round the kitchen counter and unbutton my nightgown a bit as I reach across the tiles for your coffee mug.

“Angelina!” you laugh, staring into the gaping opening in my gown. “How inappropriate!”

You might blush, and make that familiar, secretly-enamored scoff at my imprudence. I could beat Monica Lewinsky any day.

“Oops,” I say as I pour us coffee. “I didn’t mean to.”

You give me a big grin and sip your coffee and go back to reading. How you taunt me.

When you swivel the barstool and head for the door, I prance around the counter again and grab your shoulder to slow you down and tighten your tie. Then, I put my hands on your cheeks—sprinkled with contemplative, mentally ill stubble—and I kiss you goodbye. You put your hands on my waist, and we kiss and we kiss and we kiss until the clock hits 9:00 A.M. and you are officially late for work. Like a good fiancée, I spin you around and push you out the door myself, although I cling to your back because I reaaaaaaally want you to stay. Then, the front door closes behind you, and just like that, my busy day begins.

As it turns out, my busy day of sitting on the piano bench bores me pretty quickly. I run down the steps and into the crowded street just quickly enough to throw your moving car’s door open and climb in and dote at you from the passenger’s seat during the car ride. And you laugh because it’s funny when I do that, and while you drive to the office, sometimes you’ll reward me with an affectionate glance. I work hard every morning for that.

This morning, you lie asleep on your side. With your eyebrows furrowed, you sleep through the birds’ angry echoes of last night, when everything changed. I lie awake.

Charlie, my dearest Charlie, please bless my ears with clarity from your gruff, manly, irresistible voice. I beg you, grant me the favor of explanation, and cure this uncertainty. Why did you say those horrible things? I know you meant no harm. There must be some worthy explanation, or else I don’t know what I’ll do.

Can’t you leave me alone for five minutes?

I see bags under your eyes. You need your sleep. I will wait to ask you this.

I cannot wait to ask you this.

I snuggle up close to you as you sleep. I hope you’ve forgotten about last night, at least in this half-conscious moment.

When your eyes peel open, you stay just about as still as a doll. Your face lies so close to mine it looks almost silly: eyes bugged out, nose big…I shouldn’t think such things.

You tense up in the forehead. I can feel your distance in our touch.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I hear you roll out of bed and stomp around.

When you leave the room, I take a shower. I close the bathroom door to “leave you alone for five minutes.” I dig my fingers into the pillbox on the counter to respectfully send the medication swirling home to the sewers. I find today’s compartment empty already. Peculiar.

Before I enter the kitchen, I peek through the bedroom door. I see your stiff shoulders hunched over the counter.

I think I will ask you my question now. Are we okay? I think I will do it now. I’ll walk up to you, and I’ll say it. I am just going to say it. I am just going to walk right up to you, and I’m going to say it.

I burst out of the bedroom door, and I realize your mother is here. I am not going to say it.

In the kitchen, I see the ugly old woman wearing a floral button-down shirt, buttoned so tight her neck bulges around the collar. She pours you coffee with a tightly-cuffed hand. I’d prefer waking up to a stripper in a thong making you pancakes.

She is so ugly. What, like you need her here when you have me? I make you breakfast and I look good doing it. I have boobs. She has raisins.

“Virginia, I am so delighted to see you again!” I say.

The bitch evades my eye contact with practiced skill as she cracks eggs into a pan.

“You need protein in your diet, Charlie,” she says. “You can’t live off of just toast. You know how to make eggs, don’t you? Thank God you’ve got your mother here to take care of you.”

You eye me—for just a moment—but your glance brims with guilt, and then you ignore me just like she does.

“I’m fine, Mom,” you say.

“You’re fine?” she says, dropping the pan on the stove with a clank. “Let’s recount. You start seeing this Angelina, and she takes over your whole life. So, your father and I step in. We help you out, nurture you, check on you, give you everything we’ve got. You tell us she’s gone. ‘Mom, Dad, I’ve stopped seeing her! I’m better now!’ And then what happens? You invite us to dinner and tell us the wonderful news: it was all a lie! You’ve been seeing her in secret all along, and now you two are getting ‘married’. Like hell you’re fine.”

I hover there like an unwelcome ghost. You give her a bitter stare. I join you, and grab your hand under the counter.

“It’s different now,” you say.

“Tell that to your boss. I listened to your inbox. Which was full, by the way,” she says. “You missed every day this week?”

“Would you let me run my own life?” you yell. I grip your hand harder.

“Oh, I’m doing the opposite,” she says. “I am running your life for you, until you prove you can do it on your own. I called your boss. I’m following you to work and I’m sleeping on your couch.”

“Just tell her to leave,” I whisper. “Stand up for yourself, Charlie.”

You say quietly, “Angelina wants you to leave.”

Virginia lands her hands on the counter and rests her weight on them. She looks at you, tired.

“Listen to your mom, not your fake little fiance,” she says.

I drop my jaw. I look at you. You look at me. You look at her. You look at me again. You wince like a guilty dog, and look at her again. You nod at her, not me.

I slip my hand from your grasp.

As Virginia slops the eggs onto your plate, I don’t know where to retreat to but behind the bedroom door where I peek through to watch her spoon-feed you eggs, tell you “I did not raise my child to be a late-person”, and lead you out of the front door like you’re a donkey. The door slams shut and shakes the whole house.

Today, I do not think I will follow you to work. I have morning sickness.

Alone in the empty house, I notice your watch on the kitchen counter. You still need me! I will deliver this watch to you.

Last night, after all the commotion, I heard you cry. It meant I could finally escape your father and your mother’s bickering at our dining table.

“That’s my cue,” I said to them with a smile, and I went into the bathroom.

You curled up on your knees like a child. Your hair stuck out in all different directions. I knelt at your side. I placed my hand on your back, sweat seeping through your shirt.

“Charlie, they don’t know what they’re talking about,” I said. I embraced you. I tried to protect you.

“Can’t you leave me alone for five minutes?” you yelled.

Through the front door, San Francisco bustles with pedestrians hiking down the steep decline of the street. Houses jut straight-up from the ground, despite the hills. I make my way down the front steps and across the sidewalk, dodging the mass of people forced to keep moving with the flow like salmon. I get on a bus, and I smile at the passengers. Nobody in this city smiles back. I know, you say they keep to themselves to avoid the crazy people. What about the not crazy people? They don’t smile at me.

I take the watch from my purse and rub my thumb against its face.

Can’t you leave me alone for five minutes?

When I arrive at the office of Safeguard General, I walk through a maze of gray cubicle walls until I hear your mother’s voice behind one. I press my ear to the wall.

“Jesus, Charlie, have some self respect,” she harsh-whispers. I peek into the cubicle to find her ripping down notes from your cork board as you watch in your office chair.

She leaves the cork board looking bare as an ass, left only with a constellation of thumbtacks wearing skirts of leftover ripped paper.

The heat in my stomach travels all the way through my arms and my legs and somehow I feel both nailed to the floor and suspended in the air.

She took down my love letters.

I lunge into your cubicle and reach right for her hands to grab the notes, but she stomps away with them, dodging me entirely.

“Charlie, stop her!” I cry.

You look into my eyes as I stand above you. You take my hands.

“She took down my...” I start.

You reach into your pocket, and place a fifty-dollar bill in my hand. You’re missing your watch.

“Why don’t you go shopping?” you whisper. You don’t want her to hear you talk to me. I can see it in your flushed cheeks. “I’ve got a very busy day ahead of me, Angelina. You can’t be here today.”

“But I brought your...”

“Take a day to yourself,” you smile. You let go of my hands. As you swivel your chair to face your computer, I see a fleeting glimpse of the face you were hiding from me.

I try to catch a bus home. I stand at the back of a crowd at a bus stop as they funnel into the bus’s doors. Only a smelly smelly smelly woman wearing tattered clothes and a raccoon hat stands behind me. Just as I step forward to board the bus, the bus driver shuts the door in my face. The woman behind me, who reeks of fish and chili, cuts in front of me and bangs on the doors as the bus lurches away.

“You’ll pay for this when I’m rich!” she screeches as the bus disappears around a corner. Twiddling her fingers, she turns to me. Her eye contact holds me hostage. “Can you believe that? Ya borrow one wheelchair. One empty wheelchair, and they never let you back on the damn bus.”

“Oh,” I say. I purse my lips at her horrible raccoon hat orbited by flies.

“What are you lookin’ at?”

I turn and walk down the street. I like your eye contact much better than I like hers.

“Do you have pores?” she calls.

I stop walking. I turn and squint at her. She has sat upon a bench, twiddling her fingers in fingerless gloves. Her eyes, dull with thoughtlessness, still pierce.

“Does your husband like that?” she says. “Is he into poreless girls?”

“My fiancé is not afraid to beat up women,” I say. I turn again, straighten my posture, and keep walking.

“He likes a feisty one too,” she says. I peek over my shoulder as she leans back onto the bench, bobbing her head with satisfaction on the way down. “Where is your hubby anyways?”

“At his very high-paying job he earned with his genius,” I shout as I walk away past clothing and jewelry shops. I stop again. “How did you know about him?”

“You’re the type,” she says.

Through a shop window, I see a silk lavender dress that cascades down its mannequin’s hips like a waterfall.

I must look like that horrid woman. (I want to wear that dress.) That is why you gave me shopping money. (That dress is so nice.) I will fix my horribleness immediately. (Ooh, it is so shiny.) I will come back to you when I’ve earned your company.

When I come walking down the street again, cloaked in lavender and batting my beautiful eyelashes, I pass the woman on the bench again. She has placed her raccoon hat over her face to block the sun, but as my heels click against the pavement, she crunches up. She sticks out her tongue at me with the audacity of a mean six year old. Since you’re not here to protect me, I exchange her mean look for one of my own, the scariest one I can muster up with my perfectly tight and sculpted face, and then strut into your office.

The cubicles whiz past as I speed through the maze of your office. I present myself to you.

Your mother guides a paper cup of water to your lips, and your face beads with sweat. When you look at me, your face sinks. You point at me, your hand shivering. You scream. Your co-workers crowd around your cubicle.

“Get away from me!” you scream. “Get away, get away, get away, get away!”

I must look monstrous.

I back up and disappear into the hallway. I step on my dress, fall backwards, and hear a huge rip down the back. Scrambling up and holding the pieces together, I run outside. I curl up under the plastic canopy above the bus bench, beside the woman wearing the raccoon hat. I shiver when cold enters my dress through the rip in the back.

I feel something warm, and horribly smelly, but also delightfully warm, covering my back. I look up to see the woman placing her coat over my back. I don’t feel like saying “thank you” or anything at all, so we sit in silence as the afternoon darkens.

“He screamed when he saw me,” I finally say. “Like he saw a monster.”

“I see you,” the crazy woman says.

“I smell you,” I say. As she strokes the tail of her raccoon hat, I say: “Can I try on your hat?”

She passes it to me. I wear it, and look at my reflection on the bench.

“Can I keep it?” I ask.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No,” she says. “I use it. Now give it back.”

She reaches for it, but I dodge her hand.

“I’ll pay you,” I say.

“You can’t afford it,” she says, reaching again. “Give it.”

“How about this?” I ask, pulling out your watch from my purse.

She rips the watch out of my hands and brings it close to her eyes, squinting. I swallow.

“This real?” she asks.

“What do you mean, ‘is it real’?” I ask. “Real as my C-cups.”

“Shocker.” She sits up. “Deal.”

She wraps the watch around her wrist as I behold my reflection in the bench.

Who is this mysterious woman I see? I bet she hunts.

“Does this hat make me look tough?” I ask.

“You look like you could lift a whole thimble,” she says.

“I feel tough,” I say. “Like I could beat up a guy!”

“How about your fiancé!” she says.

“Maybe he has a thing for badass women,” I say. “You know, it’s important to keep your partner on their toes in a relationship…”

“La la la la la!” she says over me, plugging her ears. “I don’t give a shit about your man’s kinks! And men don’t like women with raccoon hats. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Fine,” I say. I take off the hat and hold it in my lap.

“I didn’t say take it off,” she says. “What, you just do whatever you think this guy wants?”

“I’d do anything for…”

“LA LA LA LA LA!” she yells. “You never stop, do you?”

“Charlie is everything to me!”

“Are you gonna beat a guy up or not? Get up! Show me how to beat up a guy!”

“People would stare!” I say.

“Not if you look crazy enough,” she says. She pushes herself to her feet. She stomps up to a couple walking past and yells “BLARGH” at them. To my surprise, they speed past her, eyes fixed on the street.

“See?” she says. “Get up!”

I get up and pull the raccoon hat back on.

“Now, how do you feel?” she says.

“Ashamed of my unwifely behavior.”

“How do you feel?” she says.

I open my mouth, but I come up empty.

“Well, I’m…I’m angry,” I say. “I’m angry at Charlie.”

“You haven’t convinced me,” she says with crossed arms.

“I’m sick of my life,” I say. I stomp my foot.

“She’s sick of her life!” she yells.

“I’m sick of Charlie!” I punch the air like a boxer.

“She’s sick of Charlie!” she yells, joining me in punching.

“I’m sick of him ignoring me, and I’m sick of living under his watch, and I’m sick of being his perfect pretty little princess! What if I want to be a hunter? What if I wanna skin animals alive and put them on my head? What if I want to live on the streets?”

The woman runs up to me and grabs my face.

“So what are you gonna do?” she yells.

“I’m gonna leave Charlie!”

“And then what?”

“I’m gonna have hobbies, like cross-stitching! Or kickboxing!”

“Then show me!” she screams.

I ball my fists and scream into the air. Never have I been ignored more, and never have I cared less.

Charlie, I’m surprised you haven’t reached out this past week. If you’ve ever wondered where I went, I’ve been staying with a friend...or, more accurately, a friend and I have been staying alive. I’ve gained survival skills. I eat for free—once, I found a perfectly good, unpeeled banana in a dumpster behind a market. And I wear a raccoon hat now. I know you’re a vegetarian, but it suits me so well.

My friend sold your watch. She’s buying a flight to Australia. She has family there.

So, I’m going home to my parents. I’m going to start over and learn to be alone. I’ve come back to our house one last time to pack my things.

This is what I need, Charlie. Please don’t be too upset. You have your mother (the bitch) to take care of you now.

I do wonder where you’ve gone. You should have come home two hours ago, yet I walked into a dark house.

Suitcase and purse in hand, I walk out of the house. As I stand at the top of the steps at the front of your house, I see pedestrians crowd the street. Raccoon hat shading my eyes from the sun, I take a deep breath and get ready to go...somewhere.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m leaving.

I just don’t remember where home is.

I don’t remember who my parents are. I don’t remember my house, my friends, or my childhood. I don’t remember anything before I met you.

I swoon with light-headedness. As a man passes, I try to grab his shoulder, but I must have missed it entirely.

I collide with the stair railing in front of your house, and I croak “please help me,” as tons of people pass. Nobody even looks at me. Have they ever looked at me? I’ve always thought of them as just one mass of fish swimming downstream, separate from you and me. But everybody ignores me. They always have. I’m so dizzy, I fall to the ground. I see my hand as I fall. I am translucent. My hand fades, growing even more translucent.

I remember last night. I remember the things I heard through the door of the bathroom as I sat by your side. I was distracted then, but now I hear it clearly.

“Virginia, can’t we have a single normal family dinner?”

“It’ll take me just a few minutes.”

“Your mashed potatoes will get cold.”

“My mashed potatoes? What a tragedy!”

“Remember when he was a baby? He stopped crying when we just left him alone. He’ll be fine eventually.”

“Are you deaf, Stan? Charlie’s off his meds! And now he’s having a breakdown in the bathroom because you yelled at him. I’m cleaning up your mess. Or do you want to tell him his precious fiancée is all just a figment of his sick mind?”

I am nothing without you.

A minivan pulls up to the street. Virginia gets out of the driver’s seat, passes right by me, and goes inside. She lugs your overnight bag into the passenger’s seat. I straighten my raccoon hat, and stumble into the backseat. She won’t mind. She won’t see me. She never has.

We go to Shady Oaks Psychiatric Hospital.

I find you at a table piecing together a puzzle—of kittens in a basket—in the recreational room. You wear pajamas and your hair is combed.

“Aha! Here’s your watch,” your mother says, handing you your watch. As she walks off, she says: “I’ll drop off your stuff in your room.”

I think about my friend, the woman. Nobody sells a plane ticket for an imaginary watch. But an imaginary girl can’t help her.

“Charlie,” I say.

You look at me. I sit across from you. You seem well-rested.

“I guess they’ve got you on the meds.”

“Why are you here?”

I’m gonna ask you. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna say it. I’m just gonna say it.

“I’ll help you get out of here,” I say. “Don’t you miss us? We can make everything go back to normal. We’ll have the wedding.”

Your mouth twists down a bit. I take off the raccoon hat.

“Hey, we’ve both changed this week,” I say. “But it can go back to the way it was.”

“I like it here,” you say. I swallow.

“Please. Stop taking the meds.”

“Can’t you leave me alone for five minutes?” you say.

“Charlie, I’m fading away.”

You sift through a pile of loose puzzle pieces. I try to grab your hand as you grasp a puzzle piece. My hand, barely visible anymore, drifts through your hand like it’s a cloud.

“I’m begging you.”

You place the final piece in the puzzle. You smile at the finished project.

“Charlie, please.”