The Unbalancing Act Page 13

This guy’s an idiot. I’d like to take his tie and wrap it around his nuts and hang him from the door frame. Then as he would hang there by his scrotum I would smack him eight times in the face with his clipboard. It would be like a really fun piñata, except the only thing that would probably fall out may be an ink pen and a script pad. Hmm...This is sounding even better!

  “For example, you were supposed to have had a session with your eating disorder group last night and you didn’t show.”

  Well, you dummy, I was helping in the kitchen with Loretta so we could do the job you incompetent doctors are supposed to be doing with Lauren. You guys are failing because you all suck.

  “Oh, I must have been confused. I had the worst headache! I’m so sorry. I’m over the bulimic thing really. I don’t even think about barfing anymore, sir.”

  “Dr. Ames and I have a concern Vada, but we will discuss that as a group with you this evening. Now listen, I am not saying you are a prisoner and we’ll keep you here for much longer, but we just need to work through a few kinks.”

  “Okay...I think. But just so you know I am going to check my legal rights and make sure this is all legit.”

  “Whatever you say, Vada. The clock is ticking, so can we just start your session?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’d like to read from a blog post you wrote about...oh...a month ago. Yes, here it says, February 12th.”

  Doing the Mom Thing

  Okay ladies,

  This is a short post today, because I’m busy busy busy! But I have a question for you lovely ladies out there. Do you have those days where you feel like your house is actually shrinking? Does it ever seem like the contents inside of it may actually be growing larger? Why is it, that as the day goes on and the hour turns noon, your house’s walls have grown twenty-five percent closer together? Then by five it’s at fifty percent of its regular size. If your husband is an ass who doesn’t come home, or a hard worker who works late, or if he’s traveling, or if you’re a single mom...it’s practically collapsing on top of you by bedtime.

  It’s called cabin fever, my friends, and there is no cure for it other than getting the hell out of your house! So here’s my answer to your cabin fever woes: Get the kids safely out of the house, grab a few of your precious belongings, and then burn the fucker to the ground!”

  Thanks for listening,

  ~V Bow

  He sets the paper down. “I’m going to stop there, Vada. You wrote this blog post and then there was an incident that took place that following day.”

  Oh, holy hell. I know exactly what he’s talking about and I don’t know why Eric had to divulge every freaking crazy thing I’ve done during my assessment! It was a chaotic week at my house. All the kids had taken turns being sick and I was behind on all the chores. Laundry was piling up and the whole place was cluttered. Having the kids sick for so long, we weren’t able to leave the house and I was feeling so suffocated. Eric had been traveling. I hadn’t had a break in what seemed like weeks. My house did seem small. My stuff seemed so big and disorganized and I just wanted out of my house. I have to admit that I kind of lost it that day. Eric was on his way home from a business trip in San Francisco. The two big boys had found some quiet time, finally, by playing Xbox and computer games. I figured I had a little bit of time, so I would straighten up the place. But I couldn’t. No matter how much I picked up or cleaned, it still looked like a tornado had ripped through the house. Before I knew it, I was throwing shit in boxes and plastic tubs. The big boys even stopped their games and helped me. I’d taken the stuff out of the closets and put it in trash bags. I had my neighbor girl come sit with the kids while I ran to the store and I bought For Sale by Owner sign and stuck in my front yard. I was going to get out of there one way or another.

  Needless to say, when Eric came home that evening, he was totally freaked out to see our house up for sale and our possessions practically boxed up. I had even taken the pictures off the walls. We had a long talk that night and unfortunately I had to unpack and take the sign out of the yard. I argued that I had already had a person call me for a showing, but he just hugged me and told me he would try to make my life easier. Hearing him say that he was “committed to improving my quality of life” made me fall in love with him all over again in that second. We had a great life already, three healthy children, a great marriage, great friends, but he wanted to make it even better. Yes, I know I freaked out and went a little haywire, but who doesn’t have a breakdown now and then?

  “Dr. Lipton, that day was a glitch. It was one moment of weakness where I may have gone a little off my rocker, but I’m better now. Besides, I’m going to wait and sell my house when property values go up.”

  “This is not a joke, Vada. This kind of behavior is irrational. It is not healthy. You have to realize that before you have any hope of recovery.”

  Really, you stupid? Do you honestly think I am proud of that? I’m not. Now shut the fuck up and let’s be done.

  “Dr. Lipton, I do not think this is a joke at all. I don’t know what to say. I would never do something like that again. I have a headache.”

  I am lying about the stupid headache in hopes he’ll wrap this up quickly. Dr. Lipton goes on and on like a blithering idiot asking me questions and talking about my feelings and I do my best to be polite. I let him think he is just doing his job.

  Finally he shuts up and says, “Alright then, Vada. Don’t forget your session this afternoon with Dr. Ames.”

  “I won’t,” I said rubbing my forehead.

  “How’s the headache Vada, on a scale of one to ten...and do you need a pain reliever?” he asks as I’m leaving.

  I just want to leave, so I pick a number. “Eight, and no, I’ll rest it off.” I see him write something down and I give him a smug smile and out the door I go.

  I believe the smug part came in because what had started as a light hearted therapist-patient relationship has now taken a turn towards more of a get the hell out of my face this is none of your damned business relationship. I’ve got more important things to do, like go back to my room and rest.

  Back in the comfort of Room 109, I find a note slipped under my door. I seem to be quite the popular one.

  Thank you for coming to my birthday...Love, Lauren

  That makes me happy. Now, what to do? I need to check on this legal crap and see if I can just sign myself out of here, but I’m so tired for some reason and I just want to have a teeny tiny nap. Besides, it may be the last one in a long time if I am going home. My next session with Dr. Ames isn’t for another two hours, so I’m just going to rest my eyes....

  “Wake up Vada” I hear a voice.

  “For what? Who caught my zebra?” I yell and sit straight up.

  “Oh my gosh Vada! You need to lighten up on that Xanax. Vivid dreams are a common side effect.” It is Katelyn. “You are late to your Ames session, now scoot. Don’t get me in trouble. I’m supposed to be keeping you on track!”

  I force my body out of my bed and look in the mirror. I look like Ozzy Osbourne. My hair is frizzed and all over the place, and my face looks like I need some de-puffing eye cream and a lot of make-up. I think I’ve been a little more stressed out than I realized. I twist my hair up in a knot on top of my head. I have no time for make-up so I just splash my face with water and flip flop my way down the hall and into the bowels of psychotherapy with Dr. Ames.

  Cheating Ames

  “You are late,” Dr. Ames says sternly when I walk into the room.

  “Indeed I am.”

  “Can you explain?”

  “Of course I can explain. I was busy sleeping.”

  “You aren’t committed to recovery, Vada.”

  “You aren’t committed to your wife, sir.”

  “Excuse me? I have no idea what you are talking about.” He looks guilty. I know he is, not only by what I witnessed, but just by the look on his face.

  “You know exactly what I am talking about.”

  I wasn�
��t going to say anything, but how dare he question me? I look at the picture of him and his wife on his desk. She’s a middle-aged woman with dark shoulder-length hair. She looks like a regular lady. Poor lamb probably doesn’t have a clue that her husband’s been getting some on the desk in his office. Oh well, at least his paychecks are probably good. He glances over at the photo and his face turns into a splotchy mess. Perhaps I have struck a nerve. Who would want to sleep with this guy anyway? Not even with the lights off and bag over his head. No way! Maybe Gerri’s eyes have been pulled back so tight, she can’t see properly.

  Seriously, though, what is wrong with me? Why am I saying this to this man? This is not at all my personality. I am not the kind of person who says things like this or gets involved in other people’s business. I think maybe this place is making me mad, as in basket case mad.

  “I thought that was you who sneez...umm…I don’t know what to say. I am your doctor and we need to continue. I believe it’s time to begin our session.” He looks at me like he’s got a rock about to be thrown at his head. He knows that I know something. This may work in my favor.

  “Okay sir, let’s do this.”

  Dr. Ames goes over the whole “find your happy place” crap and does the countdown. The next thing I know he is snapping his fingers and I’m looking at him like I just woke up naked with a guy after getting blackout drunk the night before.

  “Are we done?”

  “Vada, do you remember anything from hypnosis?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then, thank you for coming and I’ll talk to my colleagues this evening and we’ll see where we go from here.”

  Okay, now I am freaking out. Why does he need to talk to his “colleagues”? I don’t like the fact that he knows I heard him sexing, this does not feel right. I’ve got to get out of this room. I can’t look at this cheating man’s chins any longer.

  Busting Out

  I know I am supposed to meet with these idiot therapists tonight, but I really need to be there for Jessalyn and Sabrina. Surely, I’ll be back in time. I’ve been so busy that my escape plan has been put on the back burner. But I think I have an idea and it involves a certain janitor.

  I head to Room 74. He’s not in there. I search up and down the halls and in the community bathrooms. I decide to check and see if he’s paying a visit to Bath Salts Mary. I knock only once and bingo, I find him...getting a little afternoon delight. The sounds coming from inside the room are making my mouth fill up with warm water and I can taste puke in the back of my throat. It sounds like they are going to be done soon—for crying out loud this has to be nearing the climax. This chick sounds like she’s getting a fully conscious colonoscopy, and he sounds like he is moving furniture. What the hell could they be doing in there? Mental picture...go away! I wait patiently as I realize they probably can’t stop at this point. An elderly gal walks by me in a blue nightgown and slippers and growls at me. She was pleasant. Okay, I’m hearing a sound like a horse is giving birth...and now for the grand finale...Mary lets out a yelp like she just got her vaginal warts burned off with a lit cigarette. I wonder if it was as good for them as it was for me. I hate to be immature but all I can think is gonorrhea..cha cha cha.

  The door finally opens and Jeremiah walks out grinning from ear to ear.

  “Was Mary a dirty girl Jeremiah?’ I ask. “Because you seem to have forgotten your cleaning supplies. I guess you two are back to the sex thing. Whatever.”

  “Oh, hey there, crazy lady. Uh...I was just saying goodbye. I’m off in thirty minutes.”

  “Really? Hmm...Good to know. Do you have big plans for the night?”

  “Aww...not really. Just goin’ home to drink beers and goin’ to sleep.”

  “Jeremiah, I think I may have just changed your plans.”

  “What in the hell are you talkin ‘bout?”

  “You are going to get me out of here...just for a while. I need a ride and I have no one else that can do this for me.” He looks at me like he thinks I am messing with him. “I’m serious. Just drop me off somewhere. It’s not far, only about ten miles north and then bring me back. Only an hour tops. They won’t even know I’m gone. They’ll think I am resting.”

  He starts chewing his fingernails. This makes me want to vomit because there is probably some type of bacteria-ridden body fluid hidden under the nail beds. I’m actually pretty sure of it. Eww...

  “What makes you think that I’m gonna risk my job to take you outta here?”

  “Well, lover boy, if you don’t...then I’ll tell the administration that you are fucking Mary Weaverton and to prove it, I have a note from her saying how you guys are quite the happy couple.”

  “She said that?” He blushes like an idiot. I wish he’d quit licking the secretions under his fingernails.

  “Yes! Now, I’ll meet you by the employee exit in thirty minutes. We have to walk out like it’s no big deal. If we just blend in, they’ll never know.”

  “I guess if I have to. But just this one time, crazy lady. And only an hour.” He knows he has no choice. I don’t know why he’s bothering with conditions.

  “Okay,” I say. “See ya in thirty...and knock off the crazy lady shit, I already told you once. And Jeremiah, wash your hands and then use hand sanitizer, twice!”

  I go and put on the nicest pair of insane asylum fashion that I have with me. I brought along a black dress. Not a fancy dress, but one of those comfortable cotton sleeveless dresses, the kind I would wear to run errands in. It’s not exactly country club material, but it will have to do. I have to wear my flip flops, because it’s the best I’ve got. My Nike’s would look a little odd. Finally, I see him coming down the hall with his goofy looking smile. He doesn’t say a word. He swipes a card on an electronic panel on the side of the door. It beeps and I hear it unlock. The next thing I know...we are free; at least free to walk through the parking lot.

  I can spot Jeremiah’s car not because I have ever seen or heard what he drives, but because it looks like Jeremiah, if he were a car. Let me explain. It’s an early 80’s white Pontiac station wagon with a red hood and red and orange flames on both sides. The windows are already rolled down and there is a bumper sticker that reads, “Balls.” I can’t help but laugh on the inside, because it just works for him. I walk around to the passenger side and he immediately stops me.

  “Uhh...sorry ‘bout that, but that door got busted and it don’t open, ‘fraid you gonna have to crawl through my side.”

  Charming. I crawl through and am already regretting my choice of chauffeur. The car reeks of cigarette smoke and the seats are vinyl and sticky. I try my best not to touch anything with my hands and crawl in as quickly as I can, so that I can breathe out the open window. There is a smell coming from the back seat. It’s either a dead body or rotten meat of some kind. Probably a dead body. I try to be nice and hope I am wrong.

  “Nice car,” I say. “You know where we are headed?”

  “Uh…thanks and not a damn clue, lady.”

  “Okay, it’s the Bristol Glenn Country Club just north of here.”

  “Oh yep, I know where that is. My twin brother used to caddie there.”

  Oh my! There are two of these mutants. I can’t imagine another Jeremiah. But he’s out there somewhere, probably just mixing up more stupid into the world. We are on our way and I glance in the mirror on the visor and put on some lip gloss and fix my hair. I am going to a country club after all.

  It doesn’t take long and I am dropped off in style, super awesome station wagon-valet style. I see Sabrina’s car in the parking lot, which is a huge relief. I tell my driver to be back to get me in an hour. He agrees. I walk in nervous, but I’m glad I made it. It’s a beautiful swanky place with cherry wood paneling and circular tables with white tablecloths. There is a slide show playing and pictures are flying across the screen to some old time songs I am not familiar with. I spot the head table where the old man sits as the guest of honor. He looks larger than I expected and very
“with it.” He sure doesn’t look ninety to me. He’s no spring chicken, but doesn’t look like he just crawled out of a grave or anything. Jessalyn and Sabrina are sitting at a round table just to the left. I am not even kind of dressed appropriately, but what do you do?

  The girls see me and immediately smile and wave. I wish I looked as cute as Sabrina in her flowy green top and brown pants, and Jessalyn, who is still rocking her black and white skirt and top combo. They can’t believe I actually made it and truthfully, I can’t either. I am officially an escapee from the psych ward. They are both so excited to see me, and I am glad for that. I know it’s a nervous night for Jessalyn. I’m grateful to Sabrina for coming to meet a total stranger for moral support. But that’s kind of our rule. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine and vice versa. That is...unless the friend tries to take either one of our places and then we ditch the bitch.