Chapter Two

The weekend is a blur. Sleep. Wake up. Ken says eat this, drink this, here’s a pill. Sleep, wake up, drink this, go potty, let’s go outside. It’s so bright. Sarah doesn’t work this weekend so she is watching Lillian. But Lillian wants me. Book, up! Mimi read. I read Left Foot Left foot,  Right Foot Right, Feet in the Day, Feet in the Night. And we count toes, Mimi’s toes and Lillian’s toes. And her hair has the sharp tangy smell of sweat. She has been playing hard. And she looks at me like she knows something is wrong, but doesn’t know what. I’m not really me and she can tell. She goes back to her mommy.

Saturday Ken and I go to the Farmer’s Market in Austin. Ken says we should go through Llano so you can see the wildflowers. I say no, it’s too late. If we go that way the market will close before we get there. So we go through Jacksontown, where I work. There is no air in the car, my palms start to sweat, I take a ½ a pill without being prompted by Ken. Breathe in two three four, breathe out two three four, I am in my car, Ken is here, and I am safe. Then we are out of Jacksontown and I can breathe without counting. At the market I buy carrots, pepper cheese, onions, and a bar of handmade soap. Ken and I have a thing for soap. We shower together every morning and wash each others backs and feet. Every day. It is the happiest moment of my life, every morning.
Good soap is important.

We go to my old stomping grounds. South Austin. I point out the house where the twins were born, well, I point out the street the house is on. We drive down South Congress and I have a feeling of coming home. We eat at Magnolia Cafe. I feel comforted in the familiar ebb and flow. I do not think about work, not even once. Ken mentions that this would not be a bad place to live if it came to having to sell our place. I realize Ken probably needs someone to talk to also. But I don’t know how to help him. On the way home I am ready for Jacksontown. I breathe in two three four and breathe out two three four. And it is gone. I didn’t take a pill.  And we are home, Ken is here, and I am safe.

Sarah wants to go out to eat with a date. Can we watch Lillian. Ken wants to say no, but I say yes. Lillian gives me joy and Lesley said to do things that give me joy. Sarah leaves and Lillian is all mine. 18 months old and whip smart. I am still not me. Lillian is unsettled by my not really being me. We are both unsettled. Ken does not say I told you so. He just takes over. I follow along. We take a walk. Eat this, drink that, sit here. His phone rings off and on, but he takes the calls in the other room. I can hear him. She’s fine. OK, maybe not fine, but no, she really doesn’t need any visitors right now, just quiet. I know, but try not to worry, no, i don’t think she will be up to talking just yet. My mom, maybe some of the kids. I lose track of how many calls. These pills just make it all not matter. Ken calls Sarah and tells her not to dawdle.

Sunday we stay home most of the day. I water the tomatoes. I tell Ken like it’s some big major accomplishment. He hugs me like I have indeed saved the world. A small part of my brain knows I have lost my mind and has started to tell me to snap the hell out of it. The rest of my brain just can’t seem to care. More phone calls, more whispered conversations. That small part of my brain knows that this would usually irritate the crap out of me. The rest of me is so grateful that Ken is dealing with it and I don’t have too. I hug him, as he has indeed saved me.

I go back to sleep. Nightmare. I sit on the porch and watch Ken work. I love watching Ken work. He wears this big straw hat, old jeans and an old blue work shirt that is almost bleached out white with sun and too many washings. He looks so virile and handsome. And he loves me. He waves. I wave back and mouth I’m sorry. But he doesn’t see me.

My back yard is full of construction projects for our Burning Man trip. It hurts me to see them. I don’t want to think about it, but I have too. It’s not just my camp, other people are counting on this stuff. I tell my group that I can ship the stuff to Nevada and one of them agrees to pick it all up. They just want me to get better and not worry. They don’t know how I can’t help but worry about getting this gear to Nevada. I will feel better if I have a plan. So I keep planning. My mom sends me a facebook message that I am worrying about too many things and to concentrate on getting better. I tell her I will. But I know I have to have a plan, and planning makes me feel better. I just won’t post it on Facebook anymore so Mom won’t worry. But, I can’t stay in the backyard, it makes me cry.

I tell Ken I’m going to the grocery store. He decides the lawn doesn’t really need mowing and goes to HEB with me. I’m not really interested in food. I’ve only been able to eat very small bits of stuff for a long time.  I just realize that while standing in front of the fish display at HEB. All that dead fish is making me sick to my stomach. Everything in the store looks and smells awful, except the fruit. We buy a lot of fruit and some coffee. I start to cry and Ken puts his arm around me. I tell him I’m sorry, but I don’t know what I did. He tells me that I didn’t do anything and my boss is a cunt. I laugh because it is so startling to hear that word come out of Ken’s mouth. He loves women. He doesn’t not call anyone cunt, ever. He looks at me very sternly and says he means it, she is not worthy of the time in my brain. I feel calm and his words hit me as solid truth. She is not worthy of the time in my brain.

Trying to go to bed at night. I can’t not think about work. What did I do? What did I say? Who all saw me on the floor? Did I yell at anyone? If I yelled Bianca will fire me. I have embarrassed myself and my department. No matter what, my days of employment there are limited. I know that. They will find something and we will lose the house. I tell Ken how sorry I am. He hands me a pill and I sleep.