A week before I was supposed to leave for NYU, Sarah, my
mother, and I were having morning coffee. I had just finished telling my mother about the expensive restaurant Eddie and I had gone to the night before. I described it right down to the steak tartar. Sarah slammed down her coffee cup. The spoon clanged onto the table. “Holly, you are so full of shit.”
I expected Sarge to jump up and defend me. He sat in my head listening to his music.
“Sarah, a lady does not use that kind of language.” My mother tut-tutted.
“Holly is not going out on dates. She’s stoned all day and parking with Eddie at night. I think he probably
would
take her to a nice restaurant, but all Holly wants to do is have sex.”
“What?”
I closed my eyes. The debris and smell of the Committee’s room were overwhelming. Sarge’s head kept nodding.The Silent One slept on the couch. I didn’t see the Boy anywhere.
I hope Ruffles hasn’t sat on him.
I giggled.
“She thinks it’s funny,” said Sarah.
I opened my eyes. Slack jawed, my mother sat frozen across from me. Her smile slid into that mean line I hadn’t seen since my father left.
“You are just like your father.”
My shoulders tensed. Still no reaction in my head.
“You are forbidden to leave this house.”
“But Eddie?” I said.
“You will not see him again. You will pack your stuff and we’ll be on that plane for New York next week.”
I seemed to be falling through the floor.What did she mean, never see him again?
I climbed out my window late that night and called Eddie from a pay phone. He picked me up, we had sex, and then he told me his girlfriend was due back tomorrow and it was over. He
dropped me off in front of my house at four in the morning. My mother found me vomiting up gin in the rosebush.
“How dare you embarrass me like this,” whispered my mother as she dragged me into the house.
“I think I am going to be sick again,” I said.
“If you throw up anywhere in my home you will regret it for the rest of your life.”
That threat and her ability to make good on it gave me some inner strength, and I managed to quell the retching. In my drunken haze, I remember her dragging me into the bathroom and putting me under a cold shower. She alternated between slapping me and screaming at me. I fell asleep on the wet tiles.
“Get up,” said my mother. I opened my eyes. Everyone remained asleep in my head. She stood in front of me. The disgust on her face made the bile rise again in my throat. “I said get up. Your sister and I want to speak with you.”
“Can I change into something dry?”
“No.” She turned and left the bathroom.
I sat down at the kitchen table, shivering. Sarah and my mother sat opposite me.
“You disgust me,” said my mother, “wandering around in a daze all the time.What is wrong with you? And drinking like that. How can you expect to get anywhere in life? If you do not get a handle on yourself, you will not be allowed to go to New York.”
“Mom, we talked about this,” said Sarah.
“No, I have had it with Holly and her nonsense. I put up with your father so that you girls could have both parents. I sacrificed for you, and for what? So that your sister can get drunk and sleep around? So I can receive alimony checks signed by Linda?”
Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. “She signs your alimony checks?”
My mother ignored her and focused on me.
“You will never make anything of yourself, Holly. And that is your only hope, because you do not have my looks or grace. Sarah was lucky enough to get them; you were not.You’re like Anna. Awkward, with your head in the clouds.” Anna was my mother’s younger sister. They called her eccentric. I’d always liked her.
“Are you even listening to me? You had better get a foothold on your life,” said my mother.
“Who are you to talk about getting a foothold?” said Sarah. “You’re the one who buries her head in manners and appearances, enabling everything that went on around here.”
My mother opened her mouth to say something but no words came out.
“Holly is going to NYU,” said Sarah,“and that’s final, Mom.”
My mother left the two of us in the kitchen. Sarah told me she went to therapy while she was in college. Nobody ever asked what the extra money was for. She thought our father knew, but they didn’t talk about it. “Holly, when you get to New York, find a therapist.You need to get some help.”
I went into my room, changed into a dry T-shirt, and got into bed. I curled up around a pillow I held close to my stomach.Then I fell asleep.
I woke up the next day with a wicked hangover, a spotless house inside my head, and a new sheriff in town by the name of Betty Jane.
My mother bought us first-class tickets to NewYork with my father’s American Express card. Sarah came along as mediator. We spent another five thousand dollars on clothes and miscellaneous stuff for my dorm. Before Sarah and my mother left for home, my mother handed me a credit card.“Use it whenever you like,” she said. “Your father pays the bill.”
“Make sure you put that where we can find it,” said Betty Jane inside my head.
“I remember it so differently,” said Betty Jane.
“Of course you do,” I said. “What is it you remember? All I remember is that life was so much better before you.”
“Life was so much better?” snapped Betty Jane. “You were a drug- and booze-addled teenager without structure or guidance. How do you think you finished college?”
“I got into college and finished it because of Ruffles, not you. Where is she?” I demanded.
“ ‘Where is she,’ ” mimicked Betty Jane.
I started to cry.
“Holly,” Milton interrupted, “you called Betty Jane the ‘new sheriff.’What did you mean by that?”
“Before her, we were one big, happy family.We got along.We had fun.We laughed.We shared things.We were best friends. She brought rules, and etiquette, and appearances, and Charmin.” I kicked my bag. I hadn’t yet liberated myself from Betty Jane’s toilet paper of choice.“But most of all she brought strife and dissension. We had to sneak around, whisper, tell secrets.Things just changed after she arrived. In a very bad way.” I glared at Milton, but it was meant for Betty Jane.
“Oh, how they do forget,” said Betty Jane.
“It sounds like Betty Jane’s arrival marked the need for someone to be in charge. Someone to help all of you manage life on your own,” said Milton. Betty Jane nodded inside my head as my mouth dropped open. How could he say that?
“We were managing fine,” I said defensively. Then a fresh rinse of shame over the summer of alcohol, pot, and Eddie drenched me.We hadn’t managed fine, but I wasn’t about to admit that in front of Betty Jane. I wiped my cheek with the back of my
hand. Milton handed me a box of tissues.“The chairwoman of the Committee,” I muttered. “She’s a cruel leader.”
“Most are,” said Milton. He sat back and lifted his finger church, and I waited for the ensuing sermon. “The mind is a wonderful thing, Holly,” said Milton. “It can create an organized system to manage almost anything.” I looked away. “The appearance of the first Committee members marked how your mind coped with trauma. With the door already open, each time you experienced a new trauma, your mind created another Committee member to help manage it.”
“There was no trauma before Betty Jane. She brought it, remember? She brought it by arriving, she brought it by leaving, and she brought it by returning without Ruffles. I want her to give Ruffles back to me.” Then I said directly to Betty Jane,“Give me back Ruffles.”
My head shook.
I closed my eyes tightly so I couldn’t see either Milton’s office or the Committee’s living room. I was afraid this was another one of Betty Jane’s tricks. Then my head dropped over to the left.
I heard a tearing sound followed by a loud crunch, and my whole body felt like it would burst. I relaxed my eyes and found Ruffles sitting on her pillow inside my head. I watched her hand dive into the bag of chips next to her.
“What was that about a sheriff and much-needed authority?”
{ 16 }
W
hen I heard Ruffles’s voice I didn’t think about anything but getting to her. I wanted to put my hands on her, touch her to know she was real, to know she was really here. Without another thought, I dropped into the Committee’s therapy room so fast that my feet hit the ground moving; then I dove at her with outstretched arms.
When I was a small child, I used to wait at night for the sound of my father’s car.When I heard it in the driveway, I’d run to the front door and leap into his arms as he came through. Even a preoccupied person can’t resist the joyous greeting of a small child. Ruffles reacted the same way. She embraced me tightly. I broke into sobs.
Without letting go, she yelled, “Don’t even think about it. Sarge, don’t let her move one more inch.”
I turned. Betty Jane stood stock-still with her hand on the door.
I heard Milton calling my name.“Get out of here,” said Ruffles. I resisted. She pushed me. I clung to her. Milton called my name again.
She pushed me harder. “Holly, I can’t keep her from taking over for much longer.You have to get out of here.”
I didn’t move. Milton called my name again.
I wanted to huddle there in the Committee’s therapy room, where it felt safe. I wanted to stay with the Committee members I loved. Let Betty Jane have control. Tell her she could deal with the outside world on her own for two weeks. I guarantee she’d be begging me to change places again before twenty-four hours passed. Betty Jane opened her mouth. Even though I hadn’t uttered a word, my thoughts were still an open book to all of them.
“Holly,” screamed Ruffles, “get out of here!”
I tried to move forward to take control. My desire to stay and Betty Jane’s desire to take over became two opposing forces and I was caught in the middle. I panicked. I noticed Ruffles’s face was purple with strain and Sarge sweated with effort.
Am I too late?
I tried to move my foot. I couldn’t. Betty Jane smiled. No, I thought, oh, no.
I fell to my knees and crawled. The floor felt as if it were covered with shards of broken glass. The tunnel back to control continued to draw in. I kept crawling. “I can make it,” I kept repeating to myself.
“Squeeze your toes,” said Ruffles. I did and I felt the foam of the couch cushion against my back and butt.
I opened my eyes. Milton stood before me. “Don’t ever do that again,” he said. His face remained impassive as always, but his tone held a mixture of alarm and anger that I’d never heard before. “If I cannot trust you to stay here, we’ll pursue an alternate course of treatment that does not include the Committee.” Those words might sound innocuous to you, but trust me, Milton’s speech was always layered with meaning, and I knew
alternate course
meant,
Try that again and no more Committee. Ever.
“But, Ruffles . . .” I said weakly. I closed my eyes.
“Holly, what you just did violates the agreement between Betty Jane and me. You willingly disrupted the balance of power between the two of you. Doing so gives control to Betty Jane. Once given, it is not easy to get back.”
Milton knew my life was no picnic lately. I couldn’t believe he thought Betty Jane would not let go of control freely given. Besides, the rest of the Committee would help me.
“Holly, you have to trust Milton on this one,” said Ruffles. “Not even together could we take Betty Jane on if you hand her control. I’d lose if I tried.We all would.” A satisfied smirk danced across Betty Jane’s lips. I didn’t quite understand, but I knew Ruffles was telling the truth.
I nodded at Milton and he got that I knew I’d barely made it back across a very dangerous line.
Nobody said a word for the remaining ten minutes. I didn’t argue when Milton called the hour, and my journey home echoed my earlier journey back to Milton’s couch.
My days were reduced down to the two hours a week I had with the Committee and the two or three evenings a week I had with Peter. I still hadn’t directly addressed that day with the blonde. Instead I repeated,“Peter didn’t know it was me,” enough times to view it as a grant of judicial absolution toward Peter. I couldn’t afford to lose yet another anchor in my life, even if it was rusted with deception and betrayal. But every action of mine indirectly touched on that day over and over again. Peter’s taciturnity meant either he really hadn’t seen me, or he was playing our usual game of chicken.
The rest of the time passed unnoticed. Friday through Monday was the hardest. Four weeks, twenty-eight days, or six hundred and seventy-two hours passed before I was able to tolerate
seeing the Committee on such a limited basis. Given the difficulty of coping with life outside of Milton’s office, Milton and I agreed that for the time being, I should focus all my energy on our work. He even offered to arrange payment so I could stretch my money to cover basic expenses like food and heat without having to take a job or ask my family for help. I agreed because I didn’t know what else to do.
Fortunately, Sarge’s imprint remained, and I used it to create a routine to keep me sane. Cleaning became one of the best ways to pass the time. After four weeks of this, it occurred to me as I raked the scrub brush back and forth across the kitchen tiles that if I cleaned my apartment any more I’d wear the finish off the furniture and floors. I decided to rebel and have a cigarette off schedule. Smoking seemed to be the only thing I could do without causing any harm.
I sat on the windowsill, so the smoke could float up and out, lit my cigarette, and inhaled. Cat One trotted into the room, sniffed, wrinkled his nose, and turned tail and ran. His claws clicked on the floor in the hallway between the two rooms. Then silence. I imagined Cat One was busy whispering to Cat Two, “Avoid the bedroom and secondhand smoke.” I made a halfhearted attempt to blow the smoke out the crack in the window.