Accidents Happen
I’m out. I’m free. I can say goodbye to Dr. Tanaka, group sessions,
the roommates that would come and go. I’ve gotten used to saying
goodbye. I’ve had practice.
My parents and I up and moved a week after I first heard the voices
in the park. A quick note to friends about Grandma Carter needing us,
and we were gone. But I knew the real story. The night before, I’d
heard Mom and Dad arguing. Voices – theirs this time – filtered
through the walls. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could
feel the passion. I’d never heard them argue like that.
They always said they were meant to be together. They met in college
at a Rush Week party. Love at first sight? No. Mom comes from a
“nice” family. Old money, maybe, or just there used to be money and
they like to pretend it’s still there. But Dad’s family, well…
Grandma Carter was an activist in her day. Liked to shake things up.
Dad inherited some of that. Guess I did, too. Mom thought he was
brutish; Dad thought she was stuck up. But Mom and Dad were meant to
be together, so they fell in love.
Mom’s family didn’t approve. They didn’t go to the wedding. I wonder
if they went to the funeral.
I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there.
The accident, they said, was painless. An electrical short started
the fire. The alarm never went off, and Mom and Dad died of smoke
inhalation in their bed. That’s what Dr. Tanaka told me in the same
breath he said I wouldn’t be going to the funeral. Bastard. So that’s
what I’ve had to live with, the story of how they died.
Except that’s not what I remember.
Grandma Carter will know what happened the night of the fire. I’ve
never asked her – in the short visits we’ve had together, it didn’t
seem like the right time. But now we have time. She’ll tell me like
it is – like she always does. She’s the only one I’ve never had to
say goodbye to.
-cc ;-)
The Voices
Since the day the voices came, this secret notebook has kept me more
sane than the diary I write for their benefit. I hide that one, too,
but not well. I slip it under my bed at night. The next morning,
it’s still there, but just a few more tiles further than where I left
it. It would be enough to drive me crazy, if I weren’t already there.
They take it, read it, think I don’t know.
I write what they want to see. Sometimes angry words, sometimes
contrite, but always about how I’m getting better. Believable lies.
But today, I will write the same thing I write here: I am feeling
better, optimistic for the first time in seven years. Maybe there’s a
chance of a normal life for me, for friends and school and movies and
laughter, somewhere outside these walls.
And family. Grandma Carter is the only one left, but she loves me, I
think, despite everything that’s happened. My mom and dad loved me.
How many people can say that at Moorehead? I don’t think even the
doctors can, so they poke at my brain, trying to convince me there was
no love, so they can nod knowingly to each other afterwards. They
don’t believe me when I describe the big red balloons at my fourth
birthday party. Or the way my dad used to pick me up in his arms and
I’d feel the stubble of his beard against my cheek. So I stopped
telling them, telling them what a loving family is like. I can’t solve
their past for them. I can’t even solve mine.
-cc
Happy Birthday
My name is Crystal Carter.
Today is my 15th birthday.
It’s been 9 years since I first heard the voices in my
head. It wasn’t the last time and thanks to them I was
sent here. Here being The Moorehound Hospital for the
care and rehabilitation of the adolescent psychologically
disturbed. Quite a mouthful for what is basically a daycare
center for a bunch of Zombiefied med filled teens. As their
saying goes it’s “A Place To Find Yourself” or as I like to say
“a place to forget who you are.”
I suppose I should tell you how I got here.
It’s complicated.
You may not believe me.
Half the time I don’t believe it myself.
All I can do is promise to tell you what happened
as truthfully as I can.
Unfortunately the truth scares people.
The Doctors at Moorehound want to convince me that
what I’ve experienced didn’t happen.
They say I can’t trust myself.
They say I’m crazy.
You be the judge.
-cc
