Book Three_A Codependent Love Story Page 9

  Her prescriptions if my memory were correct, and I had an excellent memory, were a mood stabilizer, a sedative and an anti-psychotic. I looked at the slight figure of Celena alarmed these drugs were coursing through her body.

  “Celena come sit down, and I’ll get you another glass of water, okay? I’m going to talk to your Mom for a minute.” I sat her down at the table with a fresh glass of water and went to find her mother.

  I found her sitting at her desk in her office working on the computer. Mrs. Williams produced documentary films, usually social issues but sometimes political. I worried for a moment she would document Celena’s struggle but put that thought out of my mind. One problem at a time.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt your work Mrs. Williams but we need to talk about Celena.” I stood in front of her desk.

  “I know her condition is alarming... The medication will be adjusted. We’ll find the right balance.” She closed the laptop with a resigned look on her face.

  “May I ask what her illness is?”

  “She’s bipolar.” She looked away from me.

  “Celena doesn’t get depressed. She’s been misdiagnosed.” I felt relief that Celena wouldn’t be on the medicine anymore.

  “Your heart is in the right place, Serge, but there is more than one classification of bipolar disorder. Celena is cyclothymic, a milder form but as you have seen, no less debilitating. Her anger is her depression.” She wore a tight smile on her face.

  “She doesn’t need to be on the medication. We talked about it last night. She’s going to talk to me, and we’re going to work it out together.” I realized how naive I sounded as I spoke.

  “Serge she’s been like this her whole life... getting worse every year. We’ve tried everything... homeopathy, behavioral therapy, meditation. She’s been seeing a psychiatrist on and off for years without any improvement. I have fought this solution.” She paused to stare out the window, “Finding the perfect medicinal cocktail is not going to be easy. These drugs were not designed for kids.”

  “I can help her. She doesn’t need these drugs. She has a brilliant mind...” I stared out the window and knew my words wouldn’t be working any magic. Mrs. Williams was right.

  “She’s very lucky to have you as a friend.” She stood up but didn’t move from behind her desk, “This is the way it has to be, Serge.”

  “What about school? She can’t go in this condition.” I avoided her eyes.

  “We’ll be homeschooling her this semester and sending her to The Meadows in the spring.”

  The Meadows was a school for kids with learning and emotional disabilities. It sat right next to Zelda’s school up on Mulholland, The International School, which was for the bright and rich.

  “That’s a good idea, Mrs. Williams. Our school is too big for Celena, but I think The International School would be better for her. She won’t get a good education at The Meadows.”

  “Serge would you like me to call your parents and speak to them? It might be easier for them to explain this to you.”

  “No.” I couldn’t imagine such a conversation ever taking place. I had never spoken about Celena to anyone in my family. If Carolina knew anything about us it would have been second hand through gossip. “I understand everything you have said but you are forgetting the exceptional nature of your daughter. She doesn’t belong at The Meadows.”

  “She has a mental illness. The International School wouldn’t accept her no matter how gifted she is. Are you worried about the stigma?”

  “No.” Yes.

  “Maybe it would be best if you went home, and I’ll call you when she’s stable.” She came out from behind desk and attempted to lead me out of her office.

  “I’m not going to abandon her, Mrs. Williams.” I didn’t move.

  “This isn’t good for you.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine.” I left her standing in the doorway of her office and went back to a slumped and sleeping Celena at the kitchen table.

  “Hi Celena.” I ran my hand across her cheek to wake her up. “Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat.”

  “Hi Serge.” She opened her eyes and almost smiled. “My mouth is dry and my stomach hurts.”

  “Well that’s not good. I’ll take you up to your room, and we’ll watch movies… and eat toast okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I placed her gently on her bed, took off her shoes and sweater and put them neatly away in her well-organized closet. Satisfied she would be safe for a moment, I went downstairs to make her toast and get her a glass of water.

  “What movie would you like to watch?” I climbed on to her bed and propped the laptop on my legs.

  “I don’t know.” I had never heard her say those words before.

  “Okay, I’ll pick one.” I thought of one of Zelda’s favorites. “We’ll watch Love Actually. You’ll like it Celena.”

  When the film was over I changed the very slack Celena into her nightgown and loaded up another movie Zelda liked The Notebook. It was an unbearable film but easily digested. Celena was sleepy but restless. We stayed up until 2:00 having a mini-Zelda film festival, not that either one of them was aware of that.

  She woke up before I did the next day and had my guitar in her hands. I sat up next to her and she looked at me, making eye contact. She seemed more alert but still far from the lofty goal of flat. She put the guitar in my arms and moved my hands through the basic chords without speaking.

  I spent the day with her playing the guitar, napping but not talking much. Conversation was beyond her abilities. Her mother came in to her room with lunch for us and gave her the pills. I didn’t say anything to her instead I raised my eyebrow. She assured me she was only giving her the mood stabilizer and sedative to combat the side effects. Celena fell asleep about a half an hour later. I gave her a kiss on the forehead and went home.

  …

  I lay on my bed and relaxed into my all to infrequent free time. Zero expectations for the day, all my work was done, all commitments met. I thought of calling Brendan or Danny. Maybe not Danny. I wasn’t ready for that conversation.

  The weekend had sucked the life out of me. It began so well with my time with Celena, but had all fallen apart well beyond my control. People were going to do what they were going to do, right or wrong. Who even knew what those intangibles even meant? As I pondered the meaning of it all, Carolina came crashing into my room. I wasn’t going to get a break.

  “You wouldn't believe what Zelda just did.”

  “I find it hard to believe Zelda could do anything unbelievable. She is the definition of mental health.” I wanted Carolina out of my room.

  “What? I’ve never thought of her that way, but I suppose she has good mental health. Are you okay, Serge?” She sat down on the corner of my bed. If I were a different kind of brother, I would have kicked her off the edge.

  “I’m fine. Could we talk about whatever Zelda did later?”

  “No. You wouldn’t believe it... Danny came over for brunch. They stared at each other the whole time, but fine. We went back to her room, and I asked her if she wanted to do something after school tomorrow, and do you know what she did?”

  “She said no?” I couldn’t believe she was interrupting my time this way.

  “Saying no would have been okay. Do you know what she did? She looked over at Danny for the answer as if he were in charge of her schedule.” She crossed her arms and almost pouted. “Can you believe she did that?”

  I laughed very hard.

  “It’s not funny Serge. It’s not “mentally healthy” as you claim she is.”

  “Relax Carolina. It’s her first boyfriend. You’re the reason they’re together.”

  “The party? I didn’t think anything would happen. He’s always so sad when he asks me about her. I thought she was asexual.” She shrugged, “Anyway, I don’t mind them together, but her being so submissive? Blah.”

  “It was unexpected.” I hoped our conve
rsation was over, and she would leave alone.

  “She probably got tired of waiting around.”

  “Waiting around for whom? Mr. Darcy? What’s she reading now? Jane Eyre? Was she hoping Mr. Rochester would jump out of the pages?” I laughed finding the idea of what Danny would be compared to in her thoughts very funny.

  “Oh I don’t know, Serge... Maybe someone who has been walking around holding her hand for years, hugging her all the time, buying her little gifts, all that whispering in her ear. Maybe that person.” She said in her typical bad-tempered way.

  “Could you make up your mind? Is she asexual or crying tears in the corner over me? I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. It’s embarrassing and untrue. You two and your books. Not everything is a romance.”

  “She’s not asexual,” she laughed. “You’re right. She’s never spoken of you that way.”

  Both of her statements annoyed me.

  “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up for dinner. Bye Carolina.” I waved her away.

  “She’s tired from her long weekend and is staying home instead of coming over tonight. Are you sure you want me to wake you up?”

  “Thanks for letting me know. Wake me up when she gets here next Sunday.”

  She laughed as she closed my door.

  My words about waking me up next Sunday were a joke but in retrospect it would have been better if I could have slept until the end of April. I wouldn’t be of help to anyone and nobody would be of help to me. In fact, none of the players in my life would ever reach out to anyone for support or anything. We were destined to try to make the best of everything on our own.

  …

  Carolina woke me from the nap I never took. Celena was on my mind as a problem for which I could find no solution. Her care was out of my hands. Her state filled me with an unbearable sadness.

  She prattled on about Zelda and Danny as we walked down the stairs. I would normally have been interested or maybe annoyed by their new relationship but with my thoughts of Celena, their novelty had already worn off. Although Carolina telling me that Zelda had said Danny talked non-stop to her did make me laugh. I was sure that in his head, he had years and years to catch her up on.

  And here we go.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I saw our mother at the table, a large Vodka bottle to her left. Until this night, the bottle had stayed in the kitchen. She would go mid-meal for a refill but that was it. She sat in her chair at the head of the table with a look in her eyes not all that different from what Celena’s eyes had been a few hours before.

  I thought of sending Carolina back to her room. I ignored my inner voice that would prove to be correct. My Dad sat next to my mother and stared out the window into the void of space.

  Carolina was still talking about our missing tablemate as we sat down. She hadn’t noticed our mother. I leaned towards my sister in a way I hoped would obstruct her view but I knew that would only be a temporary distraction.

  “How’s my baby boy? I can’t see my baby girl,” My mother slurred.

  “Pancetta Pasta.” I picked up the bowl from the center of the table, blocking Carolina, “You’ve always liked this.” I scooped a ladleful on to each of our plates. “Salad, Carolina?”

  “Bernard, look at our babies… so big.” I could barely make out her words as her body swiveled in the chair.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Carolina whispered to me.

  “She’s drunk, Carolina. Same as she is every night. Take your plate and go upstairs right now.” I loudly whispered back to her.

  “This isn’t how she is every night.”

  “It’s escalated. Please Carolina. Go upstairs, and let me see what’s going on. I’ll be up soon, okay?” I gave her a falsely reassuring smile.

  “I don’t want to leave you alone.” She glanced over at our mother. “Okay” She stood up plate in hand.

  “Oh my, Carolina.” Our mother lurched forward with her hands outstretched, “Come sit next to me.” She looked over our father, “We need to have more babies.”

  My dad got up from the table without a word and went into his office or hideout as I always thought of it. An office meant work and work had never been part of his life unless you counted his daily trips to the market for my mother who hadn’t left the house in years.

  Carolina stood frozen halfway between the dining room and stairs. I assumed missing our mother’s previous anger. Anything would have been preferable to the baby mad, sloppy, sentimental drunk sitting in the chair of the woman who had somehow given birth to the two of us.

  “Up the stairs, Carolina,” I said to my sister as I moved my chair closer to my mother in hopes of calming her or at least taking the bottle away.

  “Serge my baby, look how big you are…” She tried to pat my head but missed, “Are there two of you? Did I have twins?” She looked around the room, “Where did everyone go?” She laughed and her head fell forward hitting the table. “Ouch” She lifted her head back up, still laughing.

  “It’s late Mom.” It was about 6:30.“Why don’t I take you up to your room?”

  “Where did everyone go, Serge? Where did all my friends go? I had so many, and now they’re all gone.” She began to cry.

  How would I know that? I thought as I lifted her from her chair. Maybe next time try not to move to a strange new city where you have no roots, I wanted to say to her.

  Instead, I lifted her sobbing body out of the armchair that was stuck in the groove of our wooden floor and purposely knocked the Vodka bottle on to the ground.

  “Don’t worry I have bottles everywhere,” she giggled like a teenage girl. I sighed, knowing I would be searching for bottles all night.

  I walked her up the stairs and put her onto her bed without any further problems and went back downstairs to have a few words with my father.

  “Dad” I knocked on his door. I didn't want to barge in and see whatever it was he did in there all day and night, “Can I come in?”

  “Give me a minute," he replied. “Come in.”

  “You have to do something about Mom. This isn’t good for Carolina.” It hit me hard exactly how bad it had been all these years for her growing up with a mother who had an inexplicable dislike for her. All the things I had said to defuse the tense dinners hadn’t helped. Nothing I had ever done had helped Carolina.

  I sat down on the floor and put my head in my hands. It was not the optimum position for the discussion I hoped to have with my disinterested father.

  “You worry too much son. You always have. Carolina has a thick skin, fiery girl. She’ll be fine.”

  How had we arrived to the place where borderline child abuse was acceptable? Where a drunken raving mother was okay? Those were the questions I didn’t ask.

  “If you can’t help Mom tell me how I can? How do I get her into a rehab? Does insurance cover it? Should I call her doctor? Should I call an ambulance?”

  “She has to find her own bottom. She’s the only one who can help herself.”

  “That would mean something if we had tried and tried to help her and failed but nobody has ever tried to help her before.” I yelled out disgusted at him for quoting what sounded like dialogue from a TV show. “Why won’t you help her Dad?”

  “Here’s what I’ll do Serge,” He reached out his hand to help me back up onto my feet. I didn’t take it, “I’ll research the issue. That’s all I can do right now.”

  I left his “office” and went back to the dining room to clean up the dinner mess and broken Vodka bottle that had created a stink and stain on our floor. I didn’t search for my mother’s stash of bottles. I trusted my father would do something about the problem that had been growing since the day we moved into this house.

  I stood in front of Carolina’s door not knowing what to say to her. “I put her down to bed and talked to Dad. We’re going to get her help,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel.

  “That will be good. It’s okay Serge, better than before at least. She wasn
’t hateful.” She smiled at me. It amazed me how low our standards for human behavior had fallen.

  “No, she wasn’t hateful.” I sat down on her bed, “Until she’s taken care of, I don't think you should have Zelda come over, okay?”

  “Okay. Do you want to play Scrabble?”

  “Yes” I said. We played late into the night. I let her win each game.

  …

  I went straight to the office at school the next morning to change my schedule. I needed more time to help Celena get better and get home to be with Carolina in case my father’s plans for our mother didn’t work out. I moved my tutoring to lunchtime. I could eat while instructing. I rearranged my Physics Club plan so the members would be put in charge of the recreation of the MIT project to record the speed of light through an oscillator, strobe lights and mirrors. My Isaac Asimov Club was easy and more for a mention on our college applications than any real discussion. We usually just ate pizza.