Remember Todd? The old best friend I told you about? He lives a few streets over from my house, and in kindergarten we both had the same Batman lunch box. We used to ride our bikes together.
Back when I was first diagnosed a year and a half ago, I told him everything. For a few days after that, he was still my best friend. He didn’t act like anything was different. Then my mom got a call from his mom. I couldn’t tell what his mom was saying, but my mom was using language I couldn’t believe. She listened to Todd’s mom for a few seconds and then said, “He is nothing to be afraid of.” Her words came out of her like a low, dangerous hiss, and when she hung up, she was shaking. I was in the hall when this happened, just watching her through a crack in the door. We didn’t talk about it after it happened. I just suddenly understood that I wouldn’t be seeing Todd anymore.
But anyway, there he was in the grocery store. I didn’t notice him at first; Rebecca did. I just sort of followed her gaze to where he was standing next to the breakfast foods. He was twirling the keys to his mom’s Acura around his finger in a distracted sort of way while he looked at cereal, so that meant he already had his license and he was running errands. He pretty much looked the same. He’d started growing a beard. If we were still friends, I would’ve told him it looked like his chin was growing mold, but we weren’t, so I didn’t.
He was wearing a weird anime T-shirt from some obscure Japanese cartoon, and he had an open bag of gummy bears propped on the child seat of his grocery cart. It always bugs me when people eat things in the grocery store before they buy them.
The last time I saw him, he’d acted like nothing was wrong. We’d talked about the stuff we normally talked about and played video games. But after that phone call from his mom, I stopped seeing him.
I secretly hoped that it was his mom who’d made him stop coming over, but Todd always did stuff his mom didn’t like. He hid candy under the floorboards in his bedroom because his mom wouldn’t let him have processed sugar, and he snuck out of the house all the time. He bought Playboys. I’d seen him smoke weed. So I knew it wasn’t because of her.
As I stood there, I made a list of all the stuff I wanted to say to him, every snarky thing that ever crossed my mind about him. But then Rebecca just looked at me and shook her head. She raised her middle finger in Todd’s direction, and I smiled.
I got into a checkout line and left with the four items I needed. I know he saw me before I left, because there were only three people behind me in line. I’m pretty conspicuous. He knew it was me. He definitely knew.
I turned around for a second when I got to the exit and noticed that Todd was deliberately looking away. He didn’t want to make eye contact. So I left and didn’t tell anyone I’d seen him. Definitely not Maya, because then I would’ve had to tell her why we weren’t friends anymore.
I wonder if someday he’ll tell people that he had a friend who was schizophrenic and that it was too difficult to maintain the friendship because of the severity of the illness. He might get a few sad nods, and even some sympathy from strangers who think he was a nice person for trying.
I thought about keying his mom’s Acura in the parking lot for a second, then just walked home instead. Rebecca did cartwheels.
DOSAGE: 4.5 mg. Begin to taper off.
MARCH 20, 2013
I feel fine.
As you know, my doctors made a decision to keep me on the drug for the time being, but to taper it off gradually. We won’t be increasing the dosage or changing the medication, which is a relief. None of the really harmful side effects have manifested, and the blood tests are still inconclusive, so my mom insists that I stay on it until something else can be arranged. Not sure how familiar you are with the nasty side effects of coming off a drug you’ve gotten used to, but that is also a lovely spilled bucket of diarrhea.
The other doctors have mandated weekly blood and urine tests for now, but that’s hardly difficult. They probably talk to you a lot, too.
One nice thing about you, Doc. You never make me pee in a cup. That’s why you’re my favorite.
Oh yeah, it’s a blast being Jesus. Our last Stations of the Cross practice is next week. I think I’ve mastered the role.
I bow my head when Pontius Pilate washes his hands of my death. I let the girl playing Veronica put a cloth against my face to leave an imprint with my blood. I let two Roman soldiers nail me to a cross without screaming (because it was determined in years past that a screaming Jesus being nailed to a cross is really quite distressing to watch). Then I die with dignity after another soldier pokes me with a spear and proclaims that I truly am the Son of God, sort of like the way an old lady pokes meat at the grocery store and asks Is this fresh?
Dwight, as the narrator, leads the church in prayer, and I rise from the dead. So yeah, I’m ready to be Jesus. It’s nice to have a distraction from the baby.
Paul is really overwhelmed with all the baby preparations. If I had to describe him, I’d say he looks a lot like a crumpled umbrella. When he leaves for work in the morning, he already looks defeated, but he also looks kind of relieved to be getting out of the house. My mom has been making him go to a bunch of classes. Lamaze. Baby first aid. Breastfeeding.
It’s been a while since my mom had a baby. Obviously.
Actually, I don’t think she ever thought she’d be in this position again. She thought it was going to be just me. But now that she’s “with child,” her friends from work and book club are throwing her a baby shower. They are handling the games, the decorations, the invitations, and everything cutesy.
I’m in charge of the desserts. Cream puffs with pink and blue filling. Tiny baby-bottle cookies. Layered carrot cake, because it’s my mom’s favorite. And a vast assortment of cupcakes.
Our house has become a shrine to tiny, ridiculous things. Gifts have started pouring in even though the party is still a few weeks off.
Since my mom refuses to learn the sex of the baby, everything is yellow—the color for parents who wish their babies to be sexually ambiguous and confusing for people who look anxiously into strollers expecting to know immediately what they’re looking at.
It’s amazing because now that we don’t live in the Middle Ages, I think it would probably be a good idea to take advantage of the scientific advantages available to us. But when the doctor asked if they wanted to know the sex, my mom said that they wanted to be surprised.