I wish I could find a good mental balance. I want to do things, see things, live a normal life. And sometimes there are stretches where I do that and it’s all fine. But then I have days or weeks where the illness reminds me that I’m not in full control.
Sometimes I feel like I’m two different people. I’m Maggie, the girl who chases down items on her bucket list at one hundred miles per hour, the girl who turns down hot doctors because she wants to be single, the girl who sneaks out of hospitals because she enjoys the thrill, the girl who broke up with her boyfriend of six years because she wants to live her life and not be held down.
The girl who feels full of life, despite her illness.
And then there’s this quieter version of Maggie, who’s been looking back at me in the mirror these last few days. The Maggie who lets her worries consume her. The Maggie who thinks she’s too much of a burden to date a man she’s completely into. The Maggie who has moments of regret for ending a six-year relationship, even though it absolutely needed to end. The Maggie who allows her illness to make her feel like she’s dying, despite being very much alive. The Maggie whose doctor was so concerned about her today, she called in a prescription for anti-depressants.
I don’t like this version of myself. It’s a much sadder, lonelier me, and luckily only appears once in a blue moon. The original version of myself is what I strive to be at all times. Most of the time that’s who I am. But this week…not so much. Especially after the visit with my doctor today. She’s never seemed as concerned for me as she was today. Which makes me more concerned than I’ve ever been. Which is why I just pulled out my IV, am changing out of this gown, and am about to sneak out of this hospital.
I need to feel like the original Maggie for a few hours. The other version is exhausting.
The walk out of my room and down the hallway is surprisingly uneventful. I even pass one of the shift nurses in the hospital, and she just smiles at me like she has no idea she refilled my IV solution an hour ago.
When I step off the elevator and into the lobby, I can see Warren’s car idling outside. I’m instantly filled with adrenaline as I rush across the lobby and out the doors. Ridge steps out of the passenger seat and opens the door for me. He forces a smile, but I can see it all over his face. He’s angry that I’m leaving before being discharged. He’s angry that Warren is encouraging it. But unlike pre-breakup Ridge, he says nothing. He holds his tongue and holds the door as I climb quickly inside. He closes my door, and I’m putting on my seatbelt when Warren leans across the seat and kisses me on the cheek.
“Missed you.”
I smile, relieved to be in this car. Relieved to see both him and Ridge. Relieved to be getting the hell out of this hospital. Warren reaches between us and holds up a Twix and a Diet Dr. Pepper. “We brought you dinner. King Size.”
I immediately open the package and pull out one of the bars. I say, “Thank you,” with a mouthful of chocolate. I hand Warren one of the four bars just as he hits the gas and drives away from the hospital. I turn around, and Ridge is sitting in the middle of the backseat, looking out the window.
His gaze meets mine, and I hand him one of the Twix bars. He takes it and smiles at me. “Thank you,” he says.
My mouth falls open so far, chocolate almost falls out of it. I laugh and cover my mouth with my hand. “You”—I look at Warren—“He spoke.” I look back at Ridge. “You’re speaking?”
“Pretty cool, huh?” Warren says.
I’m dumbfounded. I have never heard him speak a single word. “How long have you been verbalizing?” I sign.
Ridge shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. “A few months.”
I shake my head, completely in shock. His words are exactly how I imagined they would sound. Our relationship with the deaf culture is what ultimately brought all of us together. Warren’s parents. Mine and Ridge’s hearing loss. But Ridge’s hearing loss is much more profound. Mine is so mild, it doesn’t even hinder my life in any way. Which is why, for years when we were together, I did all of his speaking for him. Even though we could both communicate using ASL, I still wanted so badly for him to learn to speak out loud. I just never really pushed him because I don’t know what it’s like to have profound hearing loss, so I didn’t know what it was that was holding him back.
I guess he figured it out, though. And I want to know every detail. I’m excited for him. This is huge! “How? Why? When? What was the first thing you said out loud?”
Something immediately changes in his expression. He becomes guarded, like it’s not something he wants to talk to me about. I glance at Warren, who is staring straight at the road like he just purposefully checked out of this conversation. I look back at Ridge, but he’s looking out the window again.
And then I get it.
Sydney.
She’s why he’s talking now.
I suddenly feel envious of them. Of her. It makes me wonder what it was about her that made him overcome whatever obstacle it was that held him back. Why wasn’t I enough of a motivator to ever make him want to say things to me out loud?
And here she is again: the insecure, depressing version of myself.
I grab the Dr. Pepper and take a drink, trying to drown this sudden onslaught of jealousy. I’m happy for him. And I’m proud of him. It shouldn’t matter what spurred him to want to learn how to communicate in more ways. All that matters is that he is. And even though my chest still burns a little, I’m smiling. I turn back around and make sure he can see the pride in my expression.
“Have you cussed out loud yet?” I sign.
He laughs, wiping the corner of his mouth with his finger. “Shit was my first cuss word.”
I laugh. Of course it was. He liked watching me say that word when I was angry. I realize speaking words out loud without being able to hear them probably isn’t as satisfying as being able to hear your own voice, but it has to feel a little good, finally being able to cuss out loud.
“Call Warren an asshole,” I say.
Ridge looks at the back of Warren’s head. “You’re an asshole.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, completely in shock that Ridge Lawson is verbalizing. It’s like he’s this whole new person.
Warren looks over at me, taking the steering wheel with his knee so that he can sign what he’s saying for Ridge. “He isn’t a toddler. Or a parrot.”
I punch Warren in the shoulder. “Shut up. Let me enjoy this.” I look back at Ridge and rest my chin on the head rest. “Say fuck.”
“Fuck,” he says, laughing at my immaturity. “Anything else? Damn. Goddamn. Mother-fucker. Hell. Son of a bitch. Bridgette.”
I die with laughter as soon as he includes her name in his string of profanity. Warren flips him off. I turn around and face the road again, still laughing. I take a sip of my drink and then relax against the seat with a sigh.
“I’ve missed you guys,” I say. Only Warren knows I’ve said it.
“We’ve missed you, too, Maggot.”
I roll my eyes, hearing that nickname again. I look over at him but make sure my headrest is a barrier between me and Ridge so that he can’t read my lips. “Is Sydney mad that he came?”
Warren glances over at me briefly and then stares back at the road. “Mad isn’t the right word. She did react, but not like most people would have reacted.” He pauses for a moment and then says, “She’s good for him, Maggie. She’s just…good. Period. And if this whole situation weren’t so damn weird, I feel like you would really like her.”
“I don’t dislike her.”
Warren looks at me out of the corner of his eye. He smirks. “Yeah, but you won’t be getting manicures together and going on road trips with her anytime soon.”
I laugh in agreement. “That’s for damn sure.”
Ridge leans forward between the seats and grips both the front headrests. He looks at me and then he looks at Warren. “Rearview mirrors,” he says. “It’s like a sound system for deaf people.” He leans back in his seat. ?
??Stop talking about us like I’m not right here.”
Warren laughs a little. I just sink into my seat, ruminating over that last sentence.
“Stop talking about us like I’m not right here.”
“Stop talking about us…”
“Us.”
He refers to himself and Sydney as an us now. And he speaks out loud. And…I take another sip of my drink because this isn’t quite as easy to swallow as I assumed it would be.
I don’t know what’s more awkward: watching Ridge leave to go stay the night with his ex-girlfriend, or sitting in his apartment, alone with Bridgette.
As soon as Warren and Ridge left, Bridgette’s phone rang. She answered it and walked to her bedroom without acknowledging me. It sounded like she may have been talking to her sister, but that was an hour ago. Then I heard her shower start running.
Now, here I am, cleaning their kitchen and doing their dishes. I know Ridge told me not to worry about it, but I won’t be able to sleep if I know there’s food out all over the counter.
I load the last of the silverware when Bridgette walks out of her room with pajamas on. Her phone is to her ear again, but this time she’s looking at me. “You aren’t like gluten-free or vegetarian, are you?”