Chapter 12: Liar!

I could feel it building within me. A slow, steady creeping. Calling DHS was like a drug. It was an obsession. Suddenly, I could sleep again. Suddenly, I didn’t feel alone. It was an amazing feeling to not be alone. I cherished it, because so far in life, I had already learned that good feelings didn’t last. Often, they washed away quickly. I grasped onto each phone call and sucked it for all of it’s strength.

After I brought Juliet home, all of it was lost. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. Suddenly, I felt alone as ever. Why? What made it so I couldn’t sleep? I’d never take Juliet out drinking again, that was for sure. I took a whole day working up the effort to get out of bed and grab my phone. My aunt barely ever noticed me. She forgot things so often, it was hard to see her ever remembering me when she did. So, naturally, I was not remembered, so I was not noticed. That made me feel even more alone.

“Hello?”

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

“I’ve got cancer.”

“This is the suicide line, right?”

“No, this is for fatal illnesses. I would never kill myself.”

“Oh. Sorry, I’ll just-”

“No, it’s fine. I just need someone to talk to.”

“Alright.”

“So, about you.”

“Oh, no, you go first, please.”

“No, honestly, why do you want to kill yourself?”

“You’re actually interested?”

“Very.”

“Alright... where do I begin...”

“When did it all start?”

“The suicidal thoughts?”

“Yes.”

“Just once I moved to Maine.”

“Does it have something to do with that?”

“Bah! That’s doubtful. My birth is a better starting place.”

“Well, start there then.”

“Um... well, I never knew my mother.”

“Why not?”

“She killed herself right after she had me. She was... I don’t know, probably fifteen.”

“Really?!”

“Yes. I mean, that doesn’t bug me that much. You know, the fact that she’s dead bugs me, but I never knew her, so it’s not too bad. It’s just, I really could use an adult right about now... God, I never thought I’d say that I actually wanted an adult around. They’ve always been... a sort of enemy.”

“Why?”

“They’re... just.... I don’t know.”

“When you think of an adult, then who comes to mind?”

“My father.”

“Not your mother?”

“She was a teenager.”

“But what makes an adult?”

“Age?”

“What would you call yourself?”

“W-w-what?”

“What would you call yourself?”

“I’d call me... well, ‘me.’ I am myself.”

“You wouldn’t call yourself a teenager?”

“I’ve gone through a lot, sir. A lot. The rest wouldn’t understand.”

“So you’d say that you’re... sort of.... mentally older.”

“What?”

“I mean, you’re an adult.”

“No. I am Ida Cambell.”

“Just as I am Louis Gregory Smith. I am ‘me.’ I am also a forty-seven year old therapist.”

Of course he was a therapist.

“And?”

“And would you not call me an adult?”

“Yes.”

“So, again, what makes an adult to you?”

“You’re forty-seven. That’s an adult.”

“Well, yes. I will agree, I am an adult. What comes with adulthood?”

“Um... I don’t know.”

“If I am an adult, then you’re a teenager.”

“No.”

“So what makes a teenager separate from an adult?”

“Um... responsibility?”

“Yes! Now you’re catching on! Perfect! So would you not say that your mother had a lot of responsibility? She had to raise you.”

“Yeah. But she clearly couldn’t handle it, could she? She was a teenager. What are you getting at Mr. Smith?”

“Please, call me Louis.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You said it yourself, you wanted an adult. But you also said you hated adults. What I’m saying is, wether you like it or not, adulthood truly comes with the responsibility your mother clearly had.”

“Alright, and your point?”

“I’m merely trying to find you here. It’s what I do, you know.”

“Alright, so adults aren’t so bad.”

“Why does your father the symbol of adulthood?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re connecting adulthood with something else. Something fearful, or mean. Something you clearly don’t like. Something your father is.”

“An asshole?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is he an asshole in your mind?”

“He raped her! He’s worse then an asshole!”

“Well, I’m sure he is. He raped her?”

“Yes!”

“Are you sure?”

“W-why would you even ask that? Yes, I’m sure!”

“How old is your father?”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Or how much older than your mother was he, I don’t care which.”

“Well, he’s sixty-something now.”

“You don’t have a close connection with him, do you?”

“No. He was always drunk. He killed my aunt. Now I’m stuck in Maine. Stuck in Saco. He’s an asshole.”

“Saco isn’t bad. And what I’m getting to is the connection. It’s there. Maybe you’ve got reason to, but it’s to the point of stereotyping. Do you know what stereotyping is?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s... er... it’s like... grouping people.”

“Fair enough. I’ll take that. Good.”

“Thanks.”

“And-”

“What about you?”

“What?”

“What about you? Your story.”

“I have terminal cancer. That’s that. I’ve accepted it. Before, everything was blurry. I’m not here to talk about me. I’ve gone past that.”

“So what are you here for?”

“To help others. Strangely, that’s all I need to get me through, as it seems. To help the others.”

“Wow...”

“Strange. Isn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

“Ida?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to die, Ida. But for now, I will be here, helping others before I go, because I know they’ll always listen to me. And I know you’re listening intently. And I know you won’t forget it.”

I felt sympathy. My heart felt like it was in my throat, and I choked on it.

“I’m listening, sir.”

“Louis.”

“I’m listening, Louis.”

“Listen good. You have a choice. I don’t. I can greet death, because it’s the best thing I can do with my limited options. You have choices, and I know you know that the world isn’t so bad. You know. We both know. It’s not so bad to be on this world. You’ve seen it’s good. And I know you’ve seen it’s bad. You’ve seen some of the worst of it. Trust me, you’ve seen it as bad as it gets. But it can always get worse. Just keep your head up, it’s worth it. I know you know it’s worth it. You do, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Exactly. I could infer that right away. Keep your head up.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Actually, I’ve got things to do.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“It’s night?”

“Actually, it’s early morning.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ve got a long drive to see some family.”

“Don’t leave! Please!”

“I’m sorry. I’ve got to, Ida.”

“Bye.”

“And remember, I know it. You, Ida, are an adult.”

“Am I?”

“You’ve been through enough to be emotionally there. You’ve been through more than enough. You’ve probably reached it long ago. Bye, Ida.”

“Bye.”

I didn’t believe him. I was just a stupid child. I always was. I was always who the police didn’t trust. Who parents banished from their children, not like anyone ever liked me too much anyway. I was a child. Those were the behaviors of adolescence. Not adulthood. People trusted adults. I was no adult. Not even emotionally. I cried. I cut. And I couldn’t handle things. Adults had to be strong. Sure, I had to give him one thing. That is that most adults are not bad. Though, there are some like my father out there. Still, he was no adult emotionally. Physically, yes. He was a physical adult. He was no mental adult. Not with all his beer. Not with his escapes. Even in my childhood stupidity, I could tell that. Was my father strong? No. Was I? No. We were not adults. I had never seen another adult cry besides him. The fact that I had come to learn was that adults did not cry. Ever. They were strong, and that was what I grew up on.

I was a stupid child. Eventually, I ended up feeling worse than I had started out feeling. Some therapist that he was. He was just a liar. A filthy liar!