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CORRINE ~ PRESENT DAY

"C
orrine? Sweetie? Did you take your medicine this morning?" I look over my shoulder at my mother as she dries her hands on her worn fruit pattern apron. I don't answer. I continue to look out at the sea grass and water from the back porch of my parent's house.

She sighs, and I hear her footsteps on the wooden decking coming closer. She places her hand on my shoulder.

"I could fix you something to eat in case you haven't taken them yet. I know you've been having a reaction to them if there's nothing in your stomach."

My hands twist in my lap. I don't want anything to eat. I never want anything to eat. I know I need to because she's right—the medicines I'm on do upset my stomach if it's empty.

"Maybe just some toast, thank you." I don't look at her when I ask. I feel like a robot when I speak. I feel so empty. I appreciate how she’s taking care of me, but words are so hard for me to get out. Each one takes effort.

She taps my shoulder, and I hear her shoes trail off in the distance. I look out into the backyard again and close my eyes when the sea air blows my hair, the scent of it engulfing my nostrils. I hear the sounds of the seagulls in the distance, and feel the air changing. The crispness of the fall will be here soon. I can smell it.

The months are going by so fast. The seasons are coming and going like the wind. My mom comes and places a small plate in my lap and a glass of juice beside me on a small table. And my pills. The medicine.

The new bane of my existence.

I count them.

Five pills. I stare at them. All colorful and sized differently. They look like candy, but they're not.

"Corrine, please eat both pieces. I put peanut butter on them. I know how much you like it." I look up at the beautiful woman beside me. She smiles without showing me her teeth. She can't smile like she used to either since there's not too much to smile about. I see her graying hair and the creases near the corners of her eyes, but she's still youthful looking. Must be her Italian heritage. Good genes. Mediterranean skin.

She pulls up a chair to sit next to me—no doubt she wants to make sure I eat everything and take all the prescribed medication resting next to the juice on the table.

I take a bite of the toast. I chew without a lot of strength in my jaw.

"Where's Dad?"

"He took Jocelyn over to Merrick to pick up Haven." I nod.

"It's not her week."

"I know. Haven’s grandmother is going on one of those fifty-five and older cruises with her church friends. She asked if Joce could take her for the week."

Instantly annoyed, I shake my head in disgust as I attempt to take another bite of my toast.

"Figures. I don't know how she can be so carefree and just go off on a cruise and leave Haven. Not that I'm complaining about Haven being here but . . .” My voice trails off.

"Corrine, people like Grace think that moving on from the past is best. She’s very spiritual and has found peace in her church, so I think that may have something to do with it."

I put down the toast and brush off a few crumbs that landed in my lap.

"I guess that's what you do when your daughter dies after choosing heroin over her own child.”

"What is it you do?" my mother asks with confusion in her voice.

"Find Jesus." I look at her with a corner of my mouth curling upwards.

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes disapproving of the way I just went there. Yes, I went there because I'm angry. I will always be angry.

"Seriously, Mae. Grace was always the one who turned the other cheek. Even when Haven was born and she had to go through detox as a newborn. Grace still didn't believe her own daughter who was at fault."

I angrily take a few more bites of my toast and finish the first piece. Mae holds the glass of juice and two out of five pills inside the palm of her hand above my lap. I call her by her first name when she annoys me. I love my mother, don’t get me wrong, and I mean no disrespect—especially at such a crucial time, but we’ve always had a sort of turbulent relationship. I’m the only child—a girl, and she has pretty much disapproved of everything I’ve ever done. Except when it came to Haven. My dad isn’t crazy about me using her first name in most instances, and for my mother—well most of the time she just lets it go.

"These are the two you need to take with something in your stomach. Take them now, then finish the other piece of toast."

I look up at her, irritated. I don't hold out my hand to accept them. She gives me a warning look and shakes her hand slightly, urging me to take them. I let out a puff of air and open up my closed fist, begrudgingly. She places them in my hand, and I look at them.

"Which ones are these?" I ask, still not sure which is which.

"Pink is Effexor. Seventy-five milligrams. The yellow is Clonazepam, one milligram."

I look at the pills in my hand. Thank God for the yellow. I know the yellow one. I'm familiar with the yellow one.

"Ah, this one." I hold it up to Mae and wink at her. "This one is my friend."

She grazes my cheek with her thumb. "I know, baby. I know."

I thank God and the good Dr. Arnie Fishburn for the yellow. Anti-anxiety meds are not for the weak. They are for the discouraged, the lonely, and the lost. I am all of the above. Dr. Arnie Fishburn, psychologist, tells me so.

I glance down at my hand again, grab the juice glass from my mother's hand, throw the pills in my mouth, and swallow. I feel them go down into my throat in a swan dive. Smooth sailing.

I look up at her and grin—sarcastically of course. Mae points to the other piece of toast and demands I eat it.

"That wasn't so bad was it? Now finish that other piece before Haven gets here. You know she's going to make a beeline for you as soon as her little butt gets out of the car."

I think about Haven and how much she looks like her dad. Same eyes, same color hair, same sloped little nose, and same silly laugh. It's her, and only her, who can bring a smile to my face.

"Yeah, I know. I'm glad I got washed and dressed before I came out here then. I don't think I have the energy to get up right now and, knowing Haven, she'll have me going till sundown."

Mae laughs. "Oh, that girl. So much like her father. Full of energy."

I swallow the lump that formed in my throat when she says that. Even though she doesn't say his name, it doesn't matter. Haven is like her father. Just like him.

"Corrine, please finish that toast and take the other pills. She'll be here soon and you know you get tired in the afternoon. It takes a while for your body to adjust to all of them. It's not going to be like this forever."

I could have said something else to her—something shitty, but I chose not to. She and my dad have been my rocks. They have been Jocelyn's too. Thank God for my parents. I respond but only thinking it in my head.

That's what I fear, Mom. That it will be worse and everything will be forever.

"Yes, I know. I just have to give it some time."

My mom bends down and kisses the top of my head as I take another bite of my toast.

In the near distance, I can hear the sound of my dad's car on the gravel and sand of our driveway. When I see the car curve around the back of the house and pull up, my mom grabs the other three pills and reenacts what she did a few minutes ago.

"Corrine, please? Take the pills. She's here."

I take them from her, throw them in the back of my throat, and drink the rest of the juice—chasing down the blue, green, and large red pill.

“Good girl,” she whispers.

The back door to my dad’s Jeep swings open and she runs out. Full sprinting across the grass towards the back porch and, my God, she is the spitting image of him at that age. Her bouncy brown hair and tanned skin come towards me along with a huge smile on her face.

"Rinny!" she yells to me. I lied. Haven is the only other person allowed to call me that.

I smile broadly at her and wave. She's the only thing that allows me to smile.

Haven.

It's almost as though it's him running towards me, and with that image I'm transported to the past.

MACK & CORRINE ~ 1996

"W
hat kind of name is TLC for a girls group?”

Mack tosses me the ball and I catch it in my newly oil-rubbed glove my dad bought for me. I throw the ball back to him.

"Well then, what kind of name is Hootie and the Blowfish for a band? Sounds like something that a restaurant in Port Jefferson serves."

He rolls his eyes as the ball hurdles towards me once again.

"Don't make fun of one of the greatest rock groups that will ever exist."

I hold on to the ball tossing it in the air then catching it again.

"Gimme a break, dude. They suck."

"Corrine!" His voice raises, and he calls me by my first name, not my nickname.

"What'd I say?"

"Suck. You said suck. If your mom and dad hear you say that, you're gonna get in big trouble."

I laugh at Mack and shake my head, pointing at him with my free hand. "Don't tell me not to say suck." I look around realizing I said that pretty loudly, and I'd get in trouble by my mother if she heard me, so I whisper back at him, "You said crap. That's a curse word. It's worse than suck."

He shoos me with his hand and lets out a sound that’s a cross between a puff of air and a raspberry.

I throw the ball back to him at full speed. When the ball hits his hand, he winces when it appears the force of the ball hitting the glove hurt his hand. He takes off his glove and throws it to the ground.

"Jeez, that hurt!"

I place my hands on my hips and smile proudly at him.

He looks mad. Then he hears the song change on the radio, and his eyebrows go up.

"Oh, here's your girly song now." He starts to sing "Waterfalls" and begins to do a strange dance. Wiggling his hips and wildly throwing his arms around and spinning in a circle.

Twelve-year-old boys are so annoying. He sticks his tongue out at me, and I run full sprint and tackle him to the ground. I know how to make Mack Cooper pay.

Tickle him till he wets his pants.

That's what I do and that's what he does.

"Corrine, get off of me. I can't . . . Stop, Rinny . . . Rinny, I'm going to . . .”

Mission accomplished. He will never make fun of my music again.

At our usual Sunday night dinner together, my parents, and Mack's parents start to grill us on how we feel about starting middle school next week. Mack is fine with it, but I'm a wreck. I don't let Mack or my parents know I feel like this.

A million things go through my head. What do I wear? Will girls from other schools think I’m a dork? Will boys think I'm a dork? Am I a dork? Do I wear glitter nail polish? Do I wear one of those flannel shirts everyone is wearing nowadays?

Mack, of course, eases into the conversation. He thinks he's so much older than I am by the way he talks. He's only a few months older.

"I'm fine with starting middle school, Mae. I plan on making the baseball team and writing for the school newspaper." I roll my eyes.

"You can't write for the school paper in seventh grade, doofus. You have to wait till eighth grade."

I take a bite out of my fried chicken and shake my head. Mack looks annoyed.

"Whatever, smarty pants. At least I can try out for the baseball team. They don't even have one for the girls." Mack picks up a piece of chicken and inspects it, twirling it around his fingers, as he says, "Guess you'll just be stuck throwing the ball around in the yard with me till you get to high school. Unless you cut your hair and saran wrap your chest, then you can try out for the team." He laughs. His parents yell at him for saying what he said, while I pick up a tater tot and throw it at him. It hits him right between the eyes, and it feels so good when I see him flinch. I'm so angry but I also feel like I could cry. Lately my emotions have been all over the place.

I hate feeling like this! I want to cry all the time, and my boobs hurt when the shower water hits them. These damn boobs. They popped out overnight, and I don’t want them. They're always in the way. And back to the crying. Mack and I saw Sleepless in Seattle last week and I cried. And I don't mean sniffled. I sobbed!