Mike

Epilogue

I go to therapy. Actually, we all go. Bryan calls it a load of crap that takes time away from work and school and his girlfriend Jessica, Brittney having gone the way of all of Bryan’s other girlfriends. But he shows up every week and flirts with the psychologist even though she’s old enough to be our mother. It’s kind of sickening but she just smiles and keeps asking him questions that I know he doesn’t want to answer. Once in a while though, he does.

Grammy wouldn’t say a word at first but then Dr. Miller told her that this was the time for her to talk about what was on her mind. Well, that opened her up.

“Bryan’s a slovenly, disrespectful whore. He came that way.”

“And how does that make you feel, Mrs. Watts?”

“Why, it disgusts me! Once he gets going you can’t get a word in edgewise. Smart aleck too, as though he’s the only one in on the joke.” Bryan started to speak, but Dr. Miller beat him to it.

“Do you feel that his disrespect undermines your authority?”

“Well, that’s a stupid question!” Bryan snorted. “And then there’s Mikaela, with her quiet, sneaky ways. What did I ever do to her that she’s so afraid to talk to me?”

“Be a bitch.” That was Bryan.

“What do you say, Mikaela?” Dr. Miller asked, and I didn’t want to say anything, but I had to because everyone was staring at me.

“I…well…okay. It’s just that sometimes, well, Grammy, sometimes you’re not exactly in a good mood, and well…” I would have gone on stammering if Grammy hadn’t finished the sentence for me.

“I’m tired all of the time, that’s the truth. I didn’t expect to be working double shifts at my age. Maybe I need some more sleep.”

“A happy pill would go a long way, Doc,” Bryan added helpfully, “got any?”

“Why do you have to be such an idiot, boy?!” Grammy demanded; and that’s how our therapy sessions went, even after Aunt Ethel joined us. It seemed the natural thing to do, since she had moved in with us anyway.

She never spoke though; she just sat there the entire session, her eyes getting bigger and bigger as Grammy and Bryan went at it, and I told them why I cut. Three sessions in, and still she hadn’t said a word.

Then one evening, after a particularly wild session, that left me feeling like I’d just run 100 miles without Gatorade, Aunt Ethel knocked on my bedroom door.

She sat on my bed gingerly, dragonfly still, until suddenly she moved, looking at me with Grammy’s eyes. Only bluer, like an Easter egg.

“I would have done it too. If I had thought of it.”

My brain was so mushy, that I had no idea what she was talking about. “What do you mean, Aunt Ethel?”

“I understand what it’s like to be alone. If…if I had thought of it, I might have done what you did. To cope with the pain.” She wrung her thin hands so tightly, that the blue veins bulged slightly everytime she squeezed. “Instead, I kept myself apart from everyone I loved, hiding inside. I lived with a fear so great, that I died a little each day. And now, so much time has passed, that there’s no one left to answer for what they did.”

The realization of what she was telling me sent a shock of adrenalin through my belly. For all I had in common with her, I had no idea what to say. I watched as shy Aunt Ethel began to melt down. She trembled so hard, my bed shook.

Then it came to me, as gently as a butterfly landing on my knee. I touched her wrinkled hand. “I have a friend, Aunt Ethel. He’s something of an expert in his field. He’ll listen to you.”







Jess came to see me a few days after I got out of the hospital. He’d been by before that, but I always pretended to be asleep. Grammy settled it by sending Jess to my room and telling him to wait until I woke up. I gave up after 3 minutes of hearing him breathe heavily. You never knew what Jess was up to.

“What are you doing?” I asked flipping over, expecting Jess to be doing something sick.

“Nubthing.”

“Why are you breathing like that?”

“I hab a code.”

“Oh. What do you want?”

“Nubthing.”

“I thought you were mad at me.”

“I wuzth. But nob anymore.”

“How come?”

“I dumb know.”

“Want a coke?”

“Yeth.” I crawled out of bed. “Mike?”

“What?”

He glanced down at my bandaged arm. “I shoulda toad somebody. Tho that you would be safth.”

“Forget it. C’mon.” We had walked into the kitchen, before he spoke again.

“Juth tho you know, if you do it again, I’ll tell everybody, dube.”







I saw Tom a couple of weeks later. He stopped by the house after work. Grammy harumphed a bit and got him a cup of coffee, and then thanked him for keeping me from chopping myself into little pieces. She left the room with her nose in the air.

“That was a rough ‘thank you’, even from Grammy. What did you do to her?”

He smiled. “Stepped on her toes. She’ll learn to like me one day. So how are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Your aunt came to talk to me. Some story.”

“So, what happened on the bridge?”

“That’s privileged, Mike.”

“You gotta be kidding! Fine, I’ll just ask her.”

“She can tell you, I can’t.” He smiled.

I was a little put out. “It’s not like anyone’s going to jail, they’re all dead.” Then something horrible occurred to me.

“Aunt Ethel isn’t going to jail, is she? For not telling?”

“No, Mike. The case is officially closed.”

“So who did it?” I asked, trying one last time.

“Let’s walk, Mike,” he said with a smile.

We went out the front door and walked away from Jess’ house; I didn’t want him to join us.

“Things okay at home?”

“Yeah, they’re better. We practically live therapy, you know. Grammy’s found out why she’s such a grump but Bryan’s still trying to figure out why he has a morbid attraction to dumb blondes. It’s a slow process.”

He chuckled. “And you?”

“Well, I had to stand up in front of everybody and say, “My name is Mike and I’m a cutter. One day I hope to be a butcher. I have experience…’ ”

Tom barked out a laugh. It always made me jump but I liked it too.

“You’re something else, Mike.”

“That’s what the shrink says.”

We sat on a low stone wall, somebody’s fence. Tom spoke. “My son says he knows you.”

“I think the whole school knows me by now. Who’s your son?”

“Lucas Green.”

“No crap, I mean, really? I know Lucas. He doesn’t look anything like you.”

Tom smiled. “He looks like his mother.”

“He doesn’t act like you either. You know, the art and…all that…” I ended weakly. His smile faded. We sat for a little while without saying anything. I couldn’t stand it.

“It’s not so bad, you know. That he’s gay…” I blurted out.

“Don’t want to talk about that, Mike.” His voice had an edge to it.

“He’s a good guy, it doesn’t matter that he’s g…”

“Mike,” he clipped my name so short, that I felt the breeze move my bangs. I stopped talking. But not for long.

“Dr. Miller says that cutting is triggered by stress which isn’t released in healthy ways. If you’re not careful, you might be at risk.” I looked at him from the corner of my eye. He exhaled heavily.

“Alright young lady, get it off your chest.”

“Lucas is artistic and smart and nice. I mean really nice, not like you and me. That means that you did something right. Nothing else matters.”

He watched the traffic for a moment, then looked at me. His gray eyes were soft like the clouds that bring a warm, summer rain.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mike.”

I smiled. And meant it.




The End