I’m not sharing a room here at Sunset House, I have my own. It’s not big, which is okay ‘cause I have to be responsible for it. This morning when I was makin’ my bed all I could think about was what Shi would think if she saw me tucking in the sheets. I’m not real good at it, and there’s always something that’s not quite right about how I do it, how it looks when it’s done, but that’s not the point. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it just has to get done. And no clothes on the floor. Everything in the drawers and closet. Shi would die laughin’.
So I’m alone in my room listening to the quiet.
It’s nice, this quiet. I don’t feel like I need to fill it with anything. It doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable the way the quiet in California used to.
I had another good day today. It was one session after the other. Three groups and two private one-on-ones. I feel sorta, I dunno, soft inside now. Dreamy. Half of me is tired; the other half feels more aware than I’ve felt since my last week in rehab. Even in the dark, with my eyes shut, I feel like I can see the stars outside. I feel light.
One of the therapists here walked me through the drawings I made yesterday. Not just the self-portrait, which there wasn’t a lot to talk about at all other than to say it was a pretty good likeness. We went through them all. The stars, the mountain, the Shi fairies. Well, the Shi fairies were in all of them. I was kinda embarrassed when this guy asked me about it. But afterwards, once I talked about it, it was okay that she was in them. I don’t have to feel bad about the way I feel for her. I mean, they, all the people, all the therapists and the guys in group, everyone, they kinda made a point to remind me that it wouldn’t be too smart to try and make anything more out of this thing with Shi than what it is. Caution. They told me I should be cautious, but not to try and block the feelings.
I know what they were really saying.
Don’t go there. Don’t try to make her a lover. Keep my distance. Try to deal with the feelings on my own. Wait.
Don’t fuck up like I fucked up with Sarah.
I open my eyes and look at the unfamiliar shadows in this room. When these same kinda people tried to tell me the same thing almost two years ago, I wasn’t up for listening. What did these people know? What did they know about me, or Sarah?
Obviously, plenty.
There’s a lamp by the bed on a low table, and I turn in on. There’s a notebook there, too, and a pen. We’re supposed to write everything down. I should have been keeping a notebook like this since I left rehab. I never bothered. Stubbornness. I had it all covered then. I had all the right answers, all the right responses, I knew the rules, I knew fuckin’ everything. I was so completely confident in that what I was doing was right. Being with Sarah, cutting all ties to my life in Florida, putting up walls between me and anyone who didn’t see things my way, the houses, the cars, the ‘new life’, the fresh start; the ‘new me’.
Well, the ‘new me’ then is the ‘old me’ now. That person I was, that person was an idiot.
I open the notebook and begin to write. I begin to pour out my feelings about Siobhan onto the pages. Most of it doesn’t make sense; it’s just word after word after word. But writing it out, putting those words on a page so that they’re real and not just so much bullshit floating through my head, it helps. The same way that being here, that talking with people, that even making my fucking bed, helps.
I write until I can’t think of anything to write anymore. The thoughts about Siobhan flow into thoughts about my life; where I’ve been, where I am. I put it all down, from the good to the bad and back again. When I’m done, when I can’t squeeze out another thought, I close the book, and I feel even more at peace than I did when I laid down tonight. I can close my eyes again, think of the stars, and feel Shi’s arms around me. It makes me smile.
She’s been with me the whole time I’ve been here. It didn’t take me too long to figure that out. I didn’t need the doctors or the groups to tell me that Shi’s my guardian angel while I’m here. She’s flying through just about every picture I drew, hell, she’s flying through about every thought I have. She might even be my guardian angel when I’m home.
Well, tomorrow is my last day. I have a private session, an AA meeting, and a group session. Then I’m outta here. I have a golf tourney on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. I have another charity dinner on Tuesday. I can chill for a few days. And then Shi and Tish come.
Then Shi and Tish come. I gotta remember to have Juliette get the tickets.
Gotta make sure that my angel has her wings… God, it’s good to fall asleep laughing.
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I’ve turned one of the spare bedrooms into a lounge. Even though Alex has a master suite, it’s not really a suite; it’s just a very large room. This room, the one closest to his, is going to compliment the bedroom. I’ve brought the same color scheme into it, the same reds and blues. The same burnished gold. It’s funny, what you would think would look dark and enclosing is really very light and brightening when the ceiling and at least one, if not two walls are kept white.
I think these rooms are not only sensual now, but they’re cheerful, too. And while they’re uncluttered, I’ve added the depth through texture and color.
I hope he likes this. I really do.
All of the carpentry is complete now. The beams add substance to what were echoing halls. The artwork I’ve chosen, all bought on consignment and awaiting Alex’s approval, has been hung. I chose things for style and color, opting for modern painters with a Latin flair. Palette overrode substance.
This lounge has quite a bit of shelving in it. I had the carpenters split some of the beams to make thick, free standing ledges that jut from the walls as if they had no means of suspension. Enormous dowels are fixed into the walls and the shelves are ‘slipped’ onto them. They could hold anything. Right now they’re holding a small collection of silver and tin work. Nothing fussy, just a few pieces. Maybe he’ll like adding to the collection. I found a cabinet, too, and have loaded all of Alex’s video and camera equipment into it. There were also some developing supplies that I stored in the bathroom that’s connected to this room. If he wanted to, he could use it as a dark room.
I still find it funny that there are vestiges of some other life in this house. Bits and pieces tucked aways in drawers and boxes, stuffed to the back of closets and forgotten.
I wouldn’t have taken Alex for a photographer. I think it requires an eye, and he’s shown no signs of having an eye for anything. His sense of design has never reared its head. I can’t imagine him being artistic in any way. But maybe that’s just something else I don’t know about him?
The same as how I don’t know why he felt he needed to go back into, into, heck, I’m not even sure I know what he went back to. I don’t even know that. And I can’t help thinking that I let him down. That me saying ‘no’ to flying out there this past weekend triggered something and prompted this. I knew he was disappointed, but THAT disappointed?
Maybe. I don’t know, and not knowing is eating at me.
And I still can’t make myself pick up the phone and call Denise McLean and ask her pointblank as to what’s going on. I can’t. I got the distinct impression that she didn’t want me to know any details. She wasn’t forthcoming with much in the way of details. So that makes me think that I’m in some way responsible.
I wonder if he’s lapsed in some way?
Denise intimated that wasn’t the case, but she could be lying to me. I understand it, in a clinical, practical way. The less people that know that Alex is having difficulty, no matter how slight, the less chance of Alex’s life being dragged out for everyone to see and pick over. I understand that perfectly. And I suppose I understand why she wouldn’t trust me. I’m new to Alex’s life, and I don’t know HER at all.
But why didn’t HE just tell me? He had me on the phone less than twenty-four hours before he checked himself in, and he didn’t say a thing to me. And why, WHY does that bother me? David was right, as was Nyle. I got the same reaction from both of them, only couched in different terms. Basically, what Alex is doing is good, a positive step. He sensed a problem and acted on it in the best way. Not by ignoring it, or hoping that whatever was bothering him would go away, but by putting himself in an environment where he could get the kind of help he needs.
I suppose I hate to think of him out there in Florida feeling alone and having all of his anxiety about the trip rise up to meet him like some self-fulfilling prophecy. I keep seeing him in those last few moments before the car took him to the airport. I keep feeling the way he clutched at me in that hug. He was nervous about the trip then; he’d been nervous about it all along. Did the pressure of going back there eventually become too much? Did my refusal to join him push that pressure to the boiling point?
All I have is questions, and no answers. I want some answers.
I walk down to the kitchen, noting all the changes that have come about in the house during the past two weeks. It looks like someone might actually live here now. And everything gleams.
My cigarettes are on the kitchen table. I take one and light it, taking a deep drag before picking up the phone. I check my watch. It’s not VERY late in Florida.
Let’s chat, Denise.
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“Alex, are you awake?” It’s Father Mike and he’s stickin’ his head through the bedroom door. I wasn’t awake, but I wasn’t really asleep, either. I was drifting and it was nice.
“Yeah?”
“You have a phone call.”
I’m awake now. It’s my mother calling. Even though you’re allowed to have a cellphone here in the outpatient part of the House, I left mine with mom ‘cause I didn’t want to be disturbed or tempted by it. I wanted to be alone. It’s not unusual for people to get incoming calls, but it’s not usual, either. My heart is poundin’ in my chest though, ‘cause I figure somethin’ must be wrong. She wouldn’t call unless it was important.
The phone is in Father Mike’s office. He holds the door for me and then closes it as he leaves. Oh shit, this isn’t going to be good.
“Ma?” My voice sounds far away as I speak into the receiver.
“It’s Siobhan, Alex, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
Her voice is like a whisper, as if she didn’t want to wake me if I was asleep. I’m so not asleep now it isn’t even funny. I practically climb over the desk to get to the chair. My heart is still doin’ double time, but I can hear it in my ears now.
“No, is everything okay?” I’m whisperin’ myself now.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you,” she says.
“I’m fine, Shi, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Because I couldn’t get a hold of you, and when I called your mother she told me that you were, well, where you are.” There’s a pause. “Are you SURE?”
“Oh, man, yeah, it’s fine, it’s cool,” I tell her. I would kill for a smoke, but it’s not allowed inside the building.
“It’s not like you to not be answering your phone. I got, hmm, concerned.”
I know she did, I can hear it in her voice. My heart does another little dance in my chest, but it’s a better dance than what it was doin’ five seconds ago.
She was worried. She cares.
“I’m okay. Are you okay?”
“Yes, everything is fine.”
And then there’s quiet, this incredible quiet where I can hear her breathing on the other end of the line, and I know she can hear me. I don’t say anything and neither does she. I’m stunned and thrilled and, and blown away. And I’m tryin’ to maintain my cool. Not easy. Not easy to not tell her everything on my mind in a big rush of words.
There’s a tap on the door and Father Mike pokes his head in. I just smile, and nod, and he leaves once more.
“Shi, I gotta go. You’re not allowed to use the phone here. It’s kinda like... well, it’s kinda like nothin’ else I know. I’m goin’ back to my mother’s tomorrow, so I’ll call you then, ‘kay?”
“Oh, sure, sure. I’m sorry, I didn’t know that I shouldn’t....”
“It’s cool.” Another pause and I rest the receiver on my forehead, squeeze my eyes shut, and breathe deeply. Then I bring it back to my mouth. “I’m glad you called.”
“Me, too,” she says. And there’s relief in her voice, so clear. I can hear it so clear. I wonder if she can hear it in my voice, too? “Sleep well, Alex.”
“You, too, Shi. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“’Night.”
“’Night.” I hang up the phone and sit there for a moment before going to find Father Mike and my cigarettes.
She cares. Not just about the job she does for me. Not just about the house and the groceries and the furniture and all of that. She cares about me.
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions
