Checked Again (2 page)

She
pretends to stay with random girls who probably sleep with random guys all over
Pittsburgh…guys that probably carry various super-scary diseases. I’m glad she
just pretends to stay with them. I’d rather her stay in the same house…and same
room…and same bed…as Josh, where they can keep exchanging the exact same germs
as they have been since high school.  With no other germs or people in the mix.
Has to be the next best thing to chastity.

Mandy
is now eating (somehow managing to get her gigantic sandwich in her mouth) and
talking about her plans for tonight, telling me that, of course, I would be
welcome to come if I wasn’t pretty much confined to my bed. This discussion
doesn’t seem to be as much of a formality as usual. Mandy’s hinting around at
the fact that I did indeed go out with her (sort of) a couple weeks ago.

I
know what she’s doing. She wants to talk about
him.
She wants me to
bring him up.

Not
going to happen. What would I even say?

Luckily,
I don’t have to worry about responding right now. I hear Mom downstairs.
Another shift change is upon us.

“Callie,
can’t you just take one more bite? So Mom doesn’t think I’m completely
worthless?” She’s pouting a little.

Ugh.

“Okay.”
I give in and take another small bite—about the same amount of calories as the
last one.

“Thanks,
Callie.” Mandy gets up from the bed, puts her empty (already?) plate on the
tray, and comes over to give me a hug. “Want a drink?” she offers, arms still
around the top half of my seated body.

I
ask her for some water, and she clicks back down the stairs to get it. When she
returns, her clicks are accompanied by Mom’s slippered shuffles.

Mandy
settles back on my bed. Mom feels my forehead to check for a fever or…well, I
don’t know. An allergic reaction? Suicidal thoughts? She then sits on the
rocking chair beside my old dresser. As we talk for the next hour or so—about
Mom’s latest neighborhood watch ideas, about Mandy’s upcoming Steelers tickets,
about “resting and needing to eat well to recover”—Mom writes tomorrow’s lesson
plans. I feel really bad that she has taken off all week. It takes her forever
to write enough lesson plans each night to ensure that her little first graders
are kept busy for a substitute. I’m sure it’d be a lot easier to just go in and
teach. Every time I tell her to do just that, she brushes me off, though.

I
can’t say I’m really upset, however. It is nice to have her company…and it’s
nice just to know she’s around (and practically certified in watching for the
murderers) while I’m resting during the day. The only times I’m not glad she’s
home are times like, well, right now, as she is starting a new (and unwelcome)
conversation.

“So,
honey, Mrs. Lennox was at the meeting tonight. She thinks David can fit in a
house call tomorrow so you can talk.”

Damn
it
.
That means she’s already set up a specific time for him to show up.
Ugh.
Don’t get me wrong—Dr. Lennox is very nice. He’s lived next door since, well,
since always, and he is forever smiley and patient. A little goofy too. When I
used to trick-or-treat with my sisters and Jared, I remember Dr. Lennox always
dressing up like the current “cool” cartoon character. Elmo. One of the
Teletubbies. Barney. Probably took him a few office sessions to pay for each
new elaborate costume. We always liked seeing his costumes when we were little.
And we only made fun of them (behind his back) a little when we were older.

I
wonder if he still dresses up. He could be Olaf from
Frozen
or a—

“Callie?”
Mom interrupts my thoughts. “What do you think? Around 2:00 tomorrow
afternoon?”

Hmm…I
plan on being in the middle of a nap at 2:00 tomorrow afternoon. How about…not
at all?
If only I could find a tactful way to tell her that I’m not that comfortable
having therapy with a man who has known me since before I could walk, who talks
to my mother on the phone weekly, oh, and who dresses up like life-sized
cartoons. You would think that her just knowing all of that would be enough.

“He
can come right up here to your room to talk—just like last time.” Mom continues
obliviously. “Nothing formal.”

Great.
Sounds glorious.
Just like last time.

Mom
isn’t really waiting for a response. She’s back to shuffling through some
Teacher Edition textbooks.

I
glance over at Mandy, and she gives me a small, pitying smile. No teeth. Just
mouth scrunched up a little. She gets it. She gets that I don’t want to see Dr.
Lennox…she gets why I don’t want to see Dr. Lennox. She also gets that there’s
no point in saying anything about it. Mom would just get upset.

As
I move my gaze back over to Mom, I check the circular princess clock (a
childhood gift—a lame one. I don’t even remember who it was from) hanging on
the wall. 9:30 p.m.

Eyes
back to Mandy. “Hey, Mandy. It’s getting late. Shouldn’t you get going?”

She
shrugs. “Well, whatever is fine. Since I’m not going back to Pierce for class
tomorrow, I have plenty of time to see Josh and, uh, my sorority friends.”

“Yeah—but
it’s getting late. You should start out before drunk drivers start clogging up
the roads.”

Mom
murmurs her agreement, and then Mandy gets ready to leave. As she gives me a
goodbye hug, she reminds me that she’ll see me tomorrow night. I tell her to
have fun with Josh and, uh, her sorority friends, and I remind her to drive
carefully.

And
then she clicks away—out of my room, down the steps, and out the front door.
Mom continues to lesson plan for another forty-five minutes, and I try to write
a poem about a field for my now overdue—but not really overdue since I was in
the hospital and have been given a rather lengthy extension—poetry portfolio. I
do try to write, but I have no success. Around 10:15 p.m., Mom begins to pack
up her books and papers. Almost time for bed.

She
kisses me good night. A forehead kiss. Probably just another way to check my
forehead for whatever it is that she checks for…

She
reminds me to only get up when it’s necessary (this pretty much means that I
can brush my teeth, go to the bathroom, and change my clothes—if I need to do
anything more strenuous like shower or go downstairs, I am supposed to wake
her), and she asks if she can bring me up any more food.

“No
thanks, Mom. I’m full.”

She
looks disappointed, but she says good night, takes my plate and Mandy’s hoagie
tray, and leaves—and leaves the door open as wide as it will go.

Okay.
Time for a little reading. Since I finished my
Jane Eyre
assignment
yesterday, I emailed Dr. Sumpter for this week’s work. She reluctantly sent me
some missed work, but she feels “rest is more important than school assignments
right now.” I don’t agree. If I don’t get some work done now, I’m going to be
terribly behind when I get back next week. Besides, my missed work involves
reading
Wuthering Heights
—one of my favorites—so, of course I’m going to
do it. It’s not like I have better things to do anyway…other than writing
stupid poems for my stupid poetry portfolio…

I
read only until 11:00 p.m., the time when both of my parents are usually
completely asleep. I then put my book down and get to work.

I
tiptoe out of my bed in my Isotoners. I head right to my parents’ room—two
doors down the hall. Their bedroom door is open no more than a tiny crack—guess
neither of them is in danger of any sort of self harm.

One.
Two. Three. I push on their door very, very slowly. Very, very gently. I feel
like the guy in Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart.”

Okay—the
door is finally open enough for me to slip in. I take three steps inside. My
parents are both sleeping. Both snoring. Almost in sync.

I
start my night routine right there in their room.

Vents
are uncovered. Dresser drawers are all closed. Much better than Mandy’s room. I
nudge Dad’s dress shirt (the white one that he wore to work today) so it is
actually in the hamper instead of half in and half falling out. Then I move
Mom’s slippers over a bit so she won’t accidentally trip over them when she
gets out of bed in the morning.

Not
bad. I’m out of their room in less than three minutes.

Time
to work on the rest of my preparations, my “home” preparations—used really only
on holidays.

And,
well, in emergency situations such as this.

These
preparations take a little longer than my normal routine. Having to do
everything silently definitely adds time. I’ve been spoiled living with Mandy
since she’s always out somewhere or else dead to the world, passed out asleep.

{And
now, here’s Cinderella with
“Don’t Know What You Got (Till It’s Gone).”
}

I’m
also not well rehearsed (since I’ve only been staying here since Tuesday
night…and since I haven’t stayed overnight here before that since Easter), so
nothing seems to be running smoothly. I should probably make a list so I’m
better prepared when I stay here. I could just tuck the list under my mattress
so it would be there when—

But
Mom might find it. And then she’ll think I’m even crazier than she already
believes I am. Then she’ll probably try to force me to move back home. And
she’ll ask Dr. Lennox to be my roommate or something.

Okay.
No list. No documentation of my work.

Back
to my mental schedule.

Jared’s
old room: spotless. Just like yesterday. Makes sense since no one has been in
there since last night’s routine. Same situation in Melanie’s room and Mandy’s
room. I close all three doors to my siblings’ old bedrooms. Then I go into the
only bedroom with the currently forever-open (or supposed to be forever-open)
door. And I shut it, oh so carefully. This next part gets a little tricky.

Over
to my five-drawered childhood dresser. Open drawer number three.

Damn
it.
It
screeches slightly. Slightly, but loudly. Annoyingly.

{Cinderella
repeats the refrain.}

Pull
travel case out. Carefully.

Case
on bed. Unzip. Excruciatingly slow pace. And it’s open.

Hello,
supplies.
Everything I need (and more) is right here…it has been since I moved out. Mom
knows about it…she knows about this case. She’s probably even unzipped it and
looked inside at some point.

And
that’s okay. Every item in the case holds a “legitimate” (but fake) purpose (to
cover up its crazytown, but real, purpose). Rather brilliant, I must say.

Top
item in the case—pair of matching plaid pajamas. “Legitimate” purpose: um…to
wear if I forget to bring pajamas on a trip…obviously. Crazytown, secret
purpose: to make Mom believe that this really is a common, traditional
emergency travel case.

I
set the pajamas aside and move on to item number two. Small purple cosmetic
bag. Inside the purple bag—foundation, blush, eyeliner, toothbrush, toothpaste,
lip gloss, deodorant, body lotion, soap, etc. All brand new. And still in
original packaging. In the same condition as when I bought all of it (and the
purple bag) at Target years and years ago when I decided to pack this emergency
travel case. I’ve never needed to open this little purple bag. I’ve never
accidentally forgotten any of these necessary items when traveling to my
parents’ house.

“Legitimate”
purpose for the purple bag: to use the inside items if at some point I do
forget to bring them…much like the “legitimate” purpose for the pajamas. Secret
purpose: again, exceedingly similar to the purpose for the pajamas—looks
good…normal…to have travel bag-type items in a travel case.

Okay.
Purple cosmetic bag on bed. Moving on. Next up—a small LED flashlight.
“Legitimate” purpose: safety in surprise power outages.

Do
not think about surprise power outages. Do not think about surprise power
outages. Do not think about surprise power outages.

Secret
(real) purpose: for emergency situations when a family member decides to sleep
downstairs in the living room over a holiday, leaving me no choice but to
perform part of my routine in the almost dark. Oh, it’s also useful when I’m
involved in illicit, bed prison rule-breaking behaviors…like I am right now.

I
put the flashlight in the pocket of my pajamas. Then I move on to the only
other vital item in the entire case: a three-pack of baby wipes. “Legitimate”
purpose (if anyone ever asks): for Melanie to use in case she ever forgets to
bring wipes when traveling with Abby.

Okay…my
purpose is outdated. I know. It made a lot more sense when Abby was still
wearing a diaper (which, by the way, I also have in my case. Just to make the
wipes look more legit. One diaper. Size one. Talk about outdated. Hmm…I guess
it will be ready for Melanie’s next baby. Or if Mandy and Josh accidentally
have one…I always pray that doesn’t happen, though).

So…anyway…if
someone ever does look in this case and see the wipes, hopefully it will appear
that the wipes are just left over from when Abby was young and in diapers. No
one has to know that I secretly restock them every time I’m running low. And I
have to restock them quite often since my secret purpose for the wipes
(naturally) involves cleaning.