Call Me Crazy by Quinn Loftis
I was dripping with sweat by the time I threw the last bale. It had worked for the most part; Tally had only come to mind every ten unbearable seconds instead of the excruciating five. What was even more ridiculous about my reaction to her leaving was that I hadn’t even held her hand; hadn’t kissed her, hugged her, or run my fingers through her hair. I didn’t even know what she smelled like. But that’s how strong our connection had been. Just being near her, listening to her talk and laugh, she was such a bright spot in my day. I was able to talk with her about my mom and I wasn’t afraid to tell her my fears, my anger, and my worry.
“Five damn days, Trey,” I growl into the empty barn. “Five days and I did exactly what my father warned me not to.” I close my eyes and hear my father’s voice. I respond as if he can hear me, I gave my heart to a woman who I believed could love me just as completely and she just might be the wrong woman.
She might be the right one the, voice counters. My eyes snap open. There is no way that I just heard my father’s voice. No, I reason, it has to be because I want him here, need him here to tell me what to do.
When the eagle goes hunting, he does not expect to catch his prey quickly. He is patient and he chooses carefully the one he will take. Then he watches, follows, and watches some more. This can go on for days. He is patient, waiting for the right time to swoop in and take it.
My eyes widen and my mouth falls open. I try to reason out how on earth my father’s voice just said something that my father would indeed say. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s said it to me before. “Dad?” I ask out loud, waiting for it. Several minutes tick by and still no voice. Deciding not to examine it right then, I decide instead to focus on what he said and what he is trying to tell me to do. It’s very straightforward, but also very eye opening. Tally is who I have set my sights on; she is the one, out of all the others, that I have chosen. He’s telling me to be patient; to realize that what we want the most in life does not come easily.
The revelation does not take the hurt away. The ache that has made itself comfortable in my chest is there still. But it’s given me perspective. Candy said that Tally couldn’t breathe without me, so at some point she’s going to need air, and that means she is going to need me. And whether she knows it or not, I need her.
Chapter 12
“Have you ever done something, and literally two seconds later realized that it was the wrong something? That’s not when I realized it. I realized it the moment that I met Trey Swift. I realized that ever walking away from him would always be the wrong something.” ~Tally
“Tally, you’ve been sitting in that same spot since Running Eagle left. You have got to get up.”
I pull my head up from where I it lay on my knees. My eyesight is blurry from tears, so I blink several times before she finally comes into focus.
“I know. I’m sorry, Candy. I can go back to my room.” My movements are slow and my muscles ache from the intensity of the last few hours.
“What time is Nat picking you up?”
“The earliest she would agree to was eight, and that was after begging.”
Before I make it to the door, Candy suddenly wraps me in a hug. It catches me off guard because Candy, like me, only touches out of necessity.
“I don’t do goodbyes. So don’t expect me to be standing outside waving to you, saying good luck, throwing rice, and what not?”
“Rice is for weddings, not leaving mental institutes, you old bat.” I’m trying to sound playful, but with my voice dry and hoarse, I only sound like an old smoker.
“Brat,” she mutters.
We step back from the hug at the same time and I see Candy’s eyes glistening. She looks away and wipes nothing from the wall. “We didn’t get to do all the things on the ‘really live’ list,” she pauses and eventually looks back at me. “You do them, Tally. You go out there and really live. If not for yourself, then for those of us stuck here, trapped in our minds. I know you’re scared that you will have to come back. You won’t. You’re young and you’ve started treating it so young. You fought the worst of it and you won. Just stay in front of it, okay?” she takes a step back not realizing that she had moved closer to me. I see the pain and loss in her eyes and I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. Sometimes that’s best, to just not say a thing. I pat her gently on the arm and turn the door knob, just as I step in the hall, I hear her say, “I expect pictures, and I don’t mean boring ones with you and your friends painting your toes. Make’em good ones.”
~
It’s seven fifty in the morning. I have not slept at all and for some reason I can’t get my legs to stop bouncing up and down as I sit on the edge of my bed. I haven’t cried since I left Candy’s room last night. I don’t know if it’s a defense mechanism or if I have simply run out of tears.
I hear a knock on my door and jump up so quickly that I fall forward, but catch myself before planting myself face first. “Stand up much?” I mutter.
I pull the door open slowly. The reality that I’m leaving has really sunk in. There is relief, a little, but mostly there is fear and the dull ache of love lost.
Nat’s smiling face is on the other side of the door. “You ready to blow this joint?”
Her perky voice and cheerful face make me want to vomit, preferably on her. Then we’d see how perky she would be. Holy crap! Did I just think that? I feel my heart speed up as I consider that maybe I’m not ready. Maybe I only seemed ready because of Trey.
With him I felt. Sounds weird I know, but before him, I was surviving, just surviving. The meds are working, yes. I haven’t been crying all the time, recent events notwithstanding. I haven’t had the urge to play ‘cut the crazy girl.’ I’m eating, sleeping, and socializing, even though it’s been mostly with the black sheep of the hospital. I’ve been doing everything they needed to see in order to release me. But I didn’t feel anything, not until him. In my letter to Trey, I had told him that I figured out what he gave me and I meant it. So why am I feeling like this if I have hope?
“Tally? Hello?”
I turned to look at her and realize that she’s asking me a question. Okay, Tally, I tell myself, put on your big girl panties, and, as Candy would say, add a garter just in case, and go back to your life.
“What did you ask?” I lean in so she knows I really am listening.
“Is this all you have? Just the one bag?” She looks mortified that I didn’t have a year’s worth of clothes to choose from every day.
“Yes, Nat, just the one.”
She stands up straight and looks at me, really looks at me. It’s a rare moment for her not because she doesn’t care, she’s just easily distracted.
Her lips tighten into a straight line and she pulls her shoulders back, “You’re going to be okay, you know. And I’m not saying that because I want you to be different or get over it, or whatever other crap your parents spew. I’m saying it because you are my best friend. We’ve made it through tough times; we will make it through this.” She follows her statement with a curt nod.
I’m touched and I know she means every word, but I know something she doesn’t. I’m tired of being just okay and there is only one person who makes me better than just okay.
I’m surprised when Dr. Stacey comes out of her office and gives me a hug. I’m going to see her once a week for a month and then she said the sessions wouldn't be so close together, so a goodbye isn’t really necessary. As Candy promised, she is nowhere in sight. I feel that absence already in my heart.
~
The drive to my house is a quiet one and I appreciate that Nat seems to know that I need that silence. As she pulls into my driveway, I gather my bag and purse, ready to climb out. Her hand on my arm stops me. She has tears in her eyes and she bites her bottom lip trying to hold it in. I know that feeling well.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I just want you to know that I’m so glad you’re home. And I don’t think any differently of you. You are still my Tally,
I swallow back tears of my own. Apparently, I haven’t run out.
“Oh, and I bought a book.”
“A book?”
“About bipolar disorder. I don’t want it to be the elephant in the room with us, Tal. It is what it is. You have bipolar disorder and I want to know how to help you and when I can. I mean, I’ve read some of it already and I know there are going to be times that I can do absolutely nothing and that’s okay, but I won’t know if I don’t understand.” She’s talking fast which is something she does when she’s nervous. I’m looking at her wondering where my flighty best friend went. She squirms in her seat and once again, I’m just sitting in silence.
I say, “Thank you,” but it sounds so inadequate to my ears, “I mean it, Nat. I don’t want it to be awkward either. It’s going to be hard enough with my parents.”
The smile is back and though I can’t return it, I hope she sees the gratefulness in my eyes.
“It’s okay. I know. You have more going on than just your BP, and I have a feeling it has to do with a certain tall and yummy guy you met.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I’ll talk to you about it. Just not today, okay?” I say tentatively.
“Okay. I’m here when you’re ready.”
Impulsively I reach over and pull her into a hug. I need this. I need someone who would accept that this is me now. She hugs me back and I hear her sniffle. The hug ends and there’s something different between us, something stronger.
“I’ll text you later,” I tell her as I climb out of her car.
“Sounds good.” She waves and backs out of the driveway.
I turn to look at the large house that my attorney parents bought, even though they only have one child. I love my parents, I do, but somewhere along the way they got caught up in the lawyer way of life; work too many hours, stay after and have a few drinks to unwind, wake up early to get to court or wherever they need to be, and repeat. It’s why they didn’t notice my slide into depression and it’s why they won’t be any help in what Dr. Stacey calls ‘shoring up.’ Basically, ‘shoring up’ is building a support system. Have people around me that I trust, that I can call if I get into a crisis situation, people that care. “Well, crap. I left all those people at the damn mental hospital,” I tell the empty yard. The humor lasts about ten seconds and then I realize exactly how alone I am.
I knock on the front door and then turn the knob. It’s open. I step in and I’m a little creeped out that nothing has changed in three months. I mean, I don’t know what should have changed, but it’s almost like even the dust hasn’t moved, like the house is holding its breath. I square my shoulders trying to fortify myself to face my parents.
“Mom?” Even though I don’t say it very loud, it sounds like I’ve yelled into the high ceiling that travels up with the staircase. I walk towards the kitchen, my footsteps too loud to my ears. The silence is making the hair on my neck stand and my palms are beginning to sweat. My eyes land on the kitchen counter, on the little pink paper that has a B at the top of it. I have to bite my cheek to keep the tears from coming. Now I wished I had run out of tears. I snap up the paper from the counter and see my mother’s unusually pretty handwriting for an attorney:
Tally,
Dr. Stacey called us and told us you would be coming home today and your father and I are so sorry that we couldn’t be home. We both had to be in court and it wasn’t something that we could reschedule. I hope you understand. There’s some money for you in your room along with your car keys. You know the rules, be home by curfew. Love you,
Mom
As soon as I read the last the word, I drop the paper and run for the foyer bathroom. I get the lid up just in time to throw up. I groan when I realize my hair has fallen forward. “Ugh, gross,” I mutter. You know you’ve hit rock bottom when you have no one told hold your hair while you puke. I’m not sure if I’m done yet, so I don’t get up. I’ve come home from being gone three months, and not on some vacation or summer camp. I’ve come home from a freaking mental hospital and my own parents aren’t home to greet me. How’s that for building a support system?
After several vomit free minutes, I slide down on the floor and lean back against the wall. The cold of the tile seeps through my jeans and I fight back a shiver. I’m really not sure what to do and that’s beginning to bring on the familiar shortness of breath and clammy skin.
“Okay Tally, think about what you learned. What do you do when there’s no plan, no order?” I’m talking out loud now because I can’t stand the quietness. I’m so used to the noise of the hospital that the lack of it is suffocating.
“A list. She said to make a list of things that I need to do and then mark them off one by one.” The other tidbit that doc shared with me about the list is to only leave one task showing at a time because there are days when just looking at a list can cause you to just give up and go to bed. I push myself up to my feet, wipe my mouth on the hand towel, and then head back to the kitchen. I grab the pink letter my mother left me and flip it over quickly so that I don’t have to see her words again. There’s a pen lying haphazardly nearby, as if she had written the note quickly and then tossed it down.
“Okay, what do I need to do?” I ask out loud. I click my tongue as I think of something.
One: Stop talking to yourself
I chuckle as I think about Candy and what she would say to that, “but it freaks people out and that is totally worth being deemed crazy.”
Focus, Tally. I don’t say this out loud. I tap the pen against my cheek and try to get my thoughts in some semblance of order.
Two: Shower
The longer I stare at the paper, the more frustrated I get at not having anything to write down. Finally, I drop the pen. I’ve already accomplished number one, so it’s time to take care of number two. I let out a small laugh as I realize how that sounds. “Take care of number two, that’s awesome.”
Damn, I think, maybe number one is going to be more difficult than I thought.
~
Clean body, clean hair, and clean clothes, that about covers it. Holy crap! I’m an old person. I’m ticking off the little things I have to do and the most difficult one is to not talk to myself.
I sit down on my bed and pick up the money, my keys, and my phone. I stare down at them in my hand. I have a choice: go out and be social or curl up in the bed I haven’t slept in for three months and let sleep swallow me. For most teens my age, it’s a no-brainer. Go out, duh. But for me, the bed is looking very nice. I’m about to set the contents in my hand on my bedside table when the song Stronger, by Kelly Clarkson, comes blaring out of my phone. I smile because I know that Nat had to have been the one that programmed it. I look at the screen and sure enough, her silly face is on it.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hey, I know you just got home, but I was wondering if you wanted to have a sleep over.” She laughs, “That sounds so ‘junior high’, doesn’t it?”
“Regardless of how it sounds, yes, I would like that,” I tell her and inside I do a teeny, tiny dance. Don’t judge. I’m celebrating my little victory.
“Your parents won’t care?”
I swallow hard to keep from blubbering all over the phone. “They aren’t here.”
I have to hold the phone away from my ear to keep from busting my ear drum as Nat breaks into a string of expletives.
“What happened to your parents, Tal? They weren’t always asshats.” She finally says now that she has calmed down… somewhat.
“I don’t know. They just both have really busy jobs.” The excuse sounds lame, but it’s all I have.
“I’m going to head over now, so I’ll see you in a few.”
“’Kay, see ya.” I hit the end tab on my phone and take a deep breath and let it out. We’ve never been a religious family, but in this moment, I am saying thank you to God for Natalie. You could have had Trey, too, I hear that little voice that sometimes pops up at the
I realize I have another thing to add to my list;
Three: Don’t respond to the nagging little voice
Nice.
~
“Can I just say that your parents are asshats”? Nat tells me as she flops onto my bed.
I laugh, “You already have. Twice.”
“Oh… Well I’m sure I’ll say it more. You should make an asshat jar. That way every time I point out they’re asshats, a dollar goes in the jar.” She looks pleased with herself and I find myself smiling. It’s small, but hell, it’s a smile, and that means a victory dance. Of course, I don’t bust out dancing in the middle of my room.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks me.
I think about it for a minute, then shrug. She said she wants to know and learn, so here goes.
“I’m doing an inner victory dance,” I tell her and hold my breath, waiting for the laughter to come. It doesn’t.
“What’s the dance for?” she asks and I can see in her eyes that she’s genuinely interested. She’s not laughing. Man, three victory dances in a few hours. That’s got to be a record or something.
“Get comfortable,” I tell her as I stretch out on my stomach on my bed, head propped up on my hands. “You’re fixing to get the cliff notes on pretty much every therapy session I’ve been in.”
~
“Wait,” Nat interrupts me for the umpteenth time in the last forty-five minutes. I’m surprised to realize that she really wants to know what is going on with me. What’s even stranger is that I want to tell her.
“You actually told your psychiatrist that you had lied to Trey? And that he thought you were skinny dipping with mixed company, but really you were rescuing an old, crazy lady from a pond?”