Misty (Wildflowers 1)

"After she left the room, I remember I found one of those pills and thought if she could change things, go back in time, and use one of those little pills to keep me from growing in her stomach, she would. Even then, that young, I understood that. I took the pill and crushed it under my foot.

"What I didn't understand was that was the beginning of the end way back then."

I sat back and thought for a moment. No one spoke. Doctor Marlowe sipped some of her lemonade and waited.

Gazing at the floor, I went on talking like someone in a hypnotic state. I could hear myself, but I sounded as if I was talking through a radio.

"It's like you're living in this magical world inside a big balloon and slowly the air is leaking out. As time passes, the walls and the ceiling begin to close in on you. It gets stifling and all you want to do is break out."

I gazed at the others. They all looked lost in their own thoughts, each of them really looking sad, but not for me, as much as for themselves, I thought.

Doctor Marlowe looked pleased, very pleased about how everyone was. It was as if I had proven she was a good therapist or something. Great, maybe I'll get a certificate of achievement at the end of the session, I thought.

I took another deep breath. Why did I feel like I was lowering my head under water each time I spoke?

"When I was almost fourteen, it really began. My father's trips began to take longer and longer. I seemed to notice and care more than my mother did. He missed my birthday. He called from New York, but not until very late in the day. He asked me how I liked my present, but I sensed that he didn't know what it was, what my mother had bought.

"'Was it something you were wishing for?' he wanted to know.

"The only thing I was wishing for was for them to love me and go back to loving each other, but I said yes and he was relieved:'

I gazed at the others again. My eyes had a film of tears over them.

"We make everything so much easier for them when we tell them what they want to hear," I said, "but that doesn't stop it. It doesn't stop the static. Suddenly, there were more and more arguments. It was like some kind of disease infecting everything. Daddy never openly complained about the bills before. Now, he would toss them on the dinner table and question Mommy like some prosecutor, demanding to know why she needed this or that and always asking, when was it going to end?

"'It's never going to end, Jeffery. It's called living,' she told him and that would set him off ranting about other husbands and wives, mostly about how other wives were more economical and efficient.

"They both seemed to look for reasons to complain. It was as if . . . a pair of magnifying glasses was suddenly put in front of their faces and they saw the little mistakes and blemishes in each other. One of Daddy's favorite topics was Mommy's salon bills. She also has a masseuse twice a week, facial treatments every weekend and, of course, the personal trainer. I didn't understand the comments he muttered under his breath, but he would say things like, 'Why are you making yourself so beautiful for me? It's just a waste.'

"She would cry and they would stop arguing for a while, Daddy looking like he felt just as terrible.

"I knew they weren't fighting because Daddy was making less money. Shirley Kagan told me that was why her parents eventually got a divorce, but Daddy bought a new car that year, an expensive one, a Mercedes, and he bought an expensive new big screen television set. More and more it seemed to me they were looking for the arguments, lifting stones to see what they could find that was wrong about each other.

"They even fought over food. Daddy

complained about the choice of breakfast cereals. He hadn't cared much before. He only had juice, toast and coffee anyway, but there he was rifling through the food cupboards criticizing what Mommy had bought at the supermarket.

"Sometimes, they made me into a referee. They would both turn, to me and ask my opinion. I felt like I was being held over a raging fire and if I gave the wrong answer, one or the other would cut the string and I'd fall into his or her rage.

"My mother started to say things like 'Your father's a narrow-minded fool.'

"Daddy would say, 'I only hope you don't become like your mother.'

"I started doing badly in school. Often, in the middle of one of their arguments, they would both spin on me and complain about my work, my clothes, my friends. I think it made them both feel better to have me available. It was like I was a test target or something On more than one occasion, I told them I hated them both and ran upstairs, hysterical, tears streaming off my face.

"Then one would blame the other for failing me and that became a whole new round of battling.

"The gray had come seeping into our house. I hated coming home and hated to go down to dinner when Daddy was there. I could feel the lightning in the house, that damn static, crackling all around me.

"What I really remember is how quiet it suddenly became. I didn't hear music or even the television going. We had become a family of zombies, shadows of ourselves, gliding along the walls, avoiding each other.

"When Daddy came home, Mommy wouldn't even greet him He would say something like 'Hello to you too, Gloria, and she would mutter something under her breath.

"And then finally one day, on a weekend, Mommy and Daddy called me into the den and asked me to sit on the sofa. Mommy was seated in the cushioned, red leather chair and Daddy stood by the window. I remember every detail of that day. It had rained in the morning and the sun began to appear between thick, dirty looking clouds, puffs that looked bruised and stained. The whole world seemed to have turned angry. I had a little stomachache, some cramps that told me my period was getting ready to make its usual spectacular entrance. Lately, they had become more severe and less regular. The school nurse told me it might be due to stress I think she was fishing for good gossip.

"Anyway, I joined them in the den. Daddy was wearing a dark sports jacket, no tie, slacks and his light brown loafers. Mommy had her hair perfect as usual, her face made up as if she was going to an evening affair. She wore one of her pants suits and matching thick, high-heel shoes. On her wrists and fingers was her usual array of expensive jewelry. She also wore her gold leaf earrings with small diamonds on her lobes. I remember thinking how well dressed they both were.

"I was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with sneakers and no socks. My mother hated it when I didn't wear socks.