My Life After Now

27

Louder Than Words




I didn’t cross paths with Lisa until the following evening. She was rummaging through the fridge, her ever-expanding butt floating out behind her, when I got home from rehearsal.

She didn’t appear to have heard me come in, and my first instinct was to creep by her and sneak up to my room unnoticed. But something stopped me, and instead I planted myself in a kitchen chair and observed her, the gestating exotic creature scavenging for sustenance.

I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what June had said. Could she have been right? Could I have been subconsciously brainwashed to copy Lisa’s behavior? I’d always prided myself on being independent. I had two amazing parents and everything I ever could have needed; this wasn’t a case of feeling unloved or having had some sort of neglected childhood. I hadn’t had anything close to what Roxie had had to grow up with.

But what if Lisa’s very existence had corrupted me, worked its way inside me when I was just a little kid, and pushed me in Lee’s direction? That would mean this living hell I’d fallen into wasn’t entirely my fault. Some of it—even just a small piece—was Lisa’s. Maybe, if I’d never known her, I wouldn’t have even thought to go home with Lee. Maybe, if she had simply handed me over to Dad after I was born and then stayed away, I wouldn’t be in this situation now.

She finally finished fishing around in the fridge and kicked the door closed. But when she turned and saw me sitting there, silently glowering at her, she yelped and lost her grip on her armful of sandwich fixings.

“Christ, Lucy, you scared me,” she said, squatting down to collect the food. I didn’t get up to help her.

“Sorry,” I said, making it absolutely clear that I was not even a little bit sorry.

She gave me a weird look but continued her sandwich-making mission. Clearly, it was going to take a lot more than a sarcastic attitude to come between a pregnant freeloader and her pile of free food.

“Why did you come back?” I demanded.

Lisa paused for an instant so quick it was almost nonexistent and then resumed slathering two pieces of bread with mayonnaise. “I already told you,” she said.

“No, not this time. I mean, why did you come back those times when I was little?”

That got her to finally put the food down. “Because I wanted to see you.”

The carefully arranged mask of innocence on her face caused something to snap inside me.

“Don’t lie to me!” I screamed, and pounded my fists on the table. Lisa sucked in her breath and her eyes grew huge.

“I’m not,” she said unconvincingly.

“You think I don’t remember? The first time you came back you were so strung out you couldn’t even look at me. That’s not a mother who wants to see her daughter. You were here because you needed money, and you knew Dad would give it to you.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “But what about the second time? I didn’t ask for money then,” she said indignantly. At least she didn’t bother denying my accusation. We both knew it was the truth.

“The second time was even worse! At least when you were all drugged up, I knew you weren’t worth my time. But the second time, you actually pretended to care about me!” Angry tears were starting to come now, but I didn’t wipe them away. “I didn’t need you, Lisa. I was doing perfectly fine without you. So why did you come back?”

She lowered her gaze. “Because I wanted to see how you were doing. It’s the truth, Lucy. I missed you.”

“You missed me,” I repeated, not believing her for a second. “So you decided the best thing for the thirteen-year-old daughter that you missed so much would be to come put on a big motherly show, make me love you, and then take it all away without so much as a good-bye? Oh yeah, that’s someone who cares about her kid.”

“What do you want me to say?” Lisa shouted back. “I’m messed up. That’s my only excuse.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s not an excuse at all! You’re messed up because you chose to be. No one forced those drugs into your veins or up your nose or whatever it is that you do. No one made you leave your family. You did all that. The only person you care about is yourself.”

Her hand flew to her stomach. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, that’s right,” I said, letting out a humorless laugh. “The baby that you actually do want. Because, somehow, that kid is going to make you into a decent person. You know, I feel really bad for that baby. It’s not even born yet, and it’s already expected to do the impossible.” I shook my head. “Do you have any idea how much you’ve managed to screw me up, Lisa? I actually have a family, people who love me unconditionally, and you’ve been in my life all of a collective five minutes. Yet somehow your toxicity managed to cut through it all and damage me in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine. So yeah, good luck, little unborn baby. With a mother like this, who needs enemies?”

I stormed out of the kitchen.

• • •

I slammed my door, threw my earphones on, and blasted my iPod. I hated her. I didn’t care about the baby anymore—I just wanted that woman out of my house and out of my life once and for all.

I lay on my bed, still fuming, and stared vacantly at the ceiling for a long time.

But one Wicked, one Legally Blonde: The Musical, and half a Ragtime cast album later, I heard a noise downstairs. I quickly turned the volume down on “Wheels of a Dream” and listened. My dads were home, and there was a lot of indecipherable yelling layered on top of the sounds of feet pounding as they moved around frantically. I could also hear Lisa, but she wasn’t yelling so much as moaning. In pain? Despair? I strained to hear but couldn’t make out any words. What the hell was going on down there?

Unable to just listen any longer, I ran downstairs and gasped at the sight before me.

Lisa was balled up on the floor of the guest room, clutching her stomach and screaming in agony. There was blood covering her lower half and slowly spreading onto the carpet beneath her. Papa was on the phone, pacing the room and trying to explain what was happening to, I assumed, a 911 operator, his face panic-stricken. Dad was kneeling beside Lisa, futilely trying to get her to stop wailing long enough to tell him what had happened.

I was frozen in place.

Did I do this?

Did my attack on Lisa send her pregnancy into distress?

My offhand thoughts about not caring about the baby came rushing back to me.

“I didn’t mean it!” I cried. “I’m sorry!”

Suddenly, I was out of my body. The scene became muted and I felt like I was watching everything through a scrim. My feet stayed on the floor, but my spirit lifted up and floated over the room.

Dad hung up the phone and said something to me. But he said it to my body. My detached spirit didn’t hear. He rattled my shoulders, trying to get a reaction. Unsatisfied, he ran out of the room in the direction of the front door. The ambulance must have been here.

A moment later, two men in EMT uniforms rushed in and pushed past my hollow body. One tended to Lisa, taking her pulse and listening to her stomach with a stethoscope. The other turned his attention to Dad and Papa, trying to get answers. Dad and Papa responded, gesturing wildly. But to spirit-me, everything lingered in perfect silence. The men lifted Lisa onto a stretcher and took her away. Dad and Papa followed close behind, their clothes stained with Lisa’s blood.

I remained suspended above the now-still room.

But then my gaze landed on something, and I was violently sucked back into my body. I pried my feet off the ground and ran over to Lisa’s bedside table, which Dad and Papa must not have noticed in the commotion.

Laid out on the table was an open, near-empty bag of cocaine.