The sight of Mark just lying there, looking so childlike and innocent, was heart wrenching when taken in context. How could such an angelic looking creature want to die? Could this really be my fault? Now I know what it must have felt like for him when I was in his place. Absolutely petrifying. Could that have contributed to this? Mark woke up, his eyes opening hesitantly, at first he looked a little confused, and then he saw Roger and I holding tightly onto one another, taking in the sight of him in the bed, the bandages, the IV, just crying and overwhelmed, and I recognized the look that crossed his eyes. It was the "oh fuck, I'm still here" look. His eyes locked with mine, and pure terror washed over him, which startled me.
"Maureen, I didn't want you to see me like this."
"What? And dead would have been so much better?" Rage started to build up within me against my better judgment. Roger, sensing this, looked at me with warning in his eyes. I sighed. "Look…Marky…I'm sorry that I fucked up your life like this. I really am. And I don't meant to sound selfish or anything, but I really need you. You stood by me through everything. I'm sorry that I am so needy all the time, that I keep dragging you along…but how can I know what you need if you won't talk to me? If you won't even talk to Roger?"
"I didn't want to keep hurting you. I didn't want to keep hurting everyone. And Roger and Mimi made it very obvious that—that my efforts have been wasted--"
"Roger didn't--" I realized that I couldn't think of anything to say, but thankfully, Roger spoke for himself.
"Mark, what I did last night was a mistake. I don't know what came over me."
"Grief, Roger. You don't know how to deal. I thought that rehab had helped you to find better ways of coping."
"But if you realized that in your absence I would resort to that—which I am not saying is completely true, but if that's what you thought…wouldn't it make you want to stick around?" Roger seemed livid now, enraged, which I had discovered long before April's suicide was his way of dealing with grief. He didn't want to show his weakness, especially in the face of something perceived as weak and pathetic as attempted suicide, which was why it had stuck me as being so weird that he had been compassionate after I had attempted it. I didn't think about why that might be, considering that I probably wouldn't have been satisfied at the answer, and just let it remain as a sweet gesture—an act of compassion. Those were rare enough from Roger that nobody ever bothered to analyze them. Roger had moved closer to the bed, and was talking in a reasonably calm manner, no longer holding my hand, so I left the room silently, going off in search of Joanne and Marcie, didn't know what else I could do, for the first time realizing I had been so wrapped up in concern for the baby's father that I had yet to spend any amount of time with her. It felt wrong that Joanne had such a strong bond with my daughter, while I had scarcely taken the time to hold her (and Mark hadn't even seen her), much less be a proper mother to the poor girl. I attributed this to my fear of failure, the knowledge that I would make a terrible mother. I never did find Joanne, but I found the room that Marcie had been put in, along with some other babies, but off to the side. I told the nurse that I was her mother, and she seemed to believe that much more than when Joanne had dropped her off, not that the nurse could really challenge the validity of the statement. Apparently Joanne had something about Marcie being adopted. I wonder if she wants to adopt her? I wonder how Mark would feel about that…who am I kidding? He would die…no, is death bad. Don't think about death… I took the tiny child in my arms, feeling like I was going to drop her, scared out of my mind. Have I even held her since I got out of the hospital? Have I even seen her when she was awake? At first glance, the child was hesitant, but when I spoke, she seemed to remember my voice. Well, at least nine months in my womb counts for something…when she began to cry, I didn't know what to do, realizing, of course, that I had never had to deal with it before. I tried everything that I could think of—rocking, bouncing, dancing around like an idiot as I had seen Joanne doing the other night, and nothing seemed to be working. Finally, I resorted to singing the first thing that came into my head, which ended up being the little song from my Cyberland protest, which actually managed to calm her down, to my surprise. God, I didn't even know that I still remembered that…so I was walking back to Mark's room, gently singing the lines of comical frustration that I had so passionately sung my heart out with so many years ago, this time so softly, so soothingly that if you hadn't been listening to the words, you would have thought it a lullaby, and just as I got to the part about mooing—the end of the "song", I walked into Mimi, being that I hadn't been watching where I was going very carefully, too enamored with my child to notice the rest of the world. Mimi looked distressed, out of sorts.
"Mimi, what's wrong sweetie?" She blinked a few times, as if registering the word that had come out of my mouth, recognizing that they were actual words, not just a dull murmur.
"Oh, nothing."
"You do realize that there is no way that I am going to believe that, right?"
"I was afraid of that."
"Meems, what's going on?" Marcie began to stir, although this time rocking seemed to suffice, which I sort of suspected that it would because I was still speaking—she seemed to be comforted by my voice, though I couldn't quite tell why, as I hadn't been around essentially since she had exited my birth canal, but it was ridiculously comforting to know that she recognized and trusted me at least to a certain extent.
"I don't know exactly…Joanne and Mark somehow managed to get into a fight after we managed to get let into his room—it's amazing what a little cleavage can get you in this place—but, anyway, she was saying something about you loving him more and something, something…before storming out. I was going out to try to find her…but I guessed I must have spaced a little." I can't believe that she would have the nerve to say something like that—suicide is not a matter to be taken lightly…and though I love her to death, is just doesn't seem to be a concept that she can comprehend, she can't understand how difficult it is for me—for all of us. She is awful in situations involving death and sickness, though I can't quite seem to figure out why—it's not like she's willing to talk about these things…I hope at least she can share these things with her psychologist because even though she has been seeing this person for a very long time, she still doesn't seem to be able to cope with anything. I worry about her…
"You feeling okay honey? No offense, but you don't look so hot…" She placed her hand on the wall in an attempt to steady herself.
"Yeah, I'm fine—it's just the smack, you know?" Marcie seemed to be quite upset with this response, and she wouldn't seem to settle down, no matter how hard I tried. Eventually I gave up and continued my conversation despite the wailing child.
"Why'd you use?" Mimi's eyes changed quickly from amusement at my plight, to a frighteningly dark, clouded and pained expression that I couldn't read. "Sweetie? What's going on?" She let out a massive sigh, her eyes dropping to the floor as she started erasing a scuff from a rubber-soled shoe.
"You know…I guess…I knew what I was doing…I know that stuff will kill me…I never thought that it was such a big deal, but…Roger and I…we can't…" Suddenly it dawned on me, and I felt like a complete idiot standing before her as I was with my dissatisfied daughter.
"Oh, honey…I'm so sorry…I didn't even know that you were--"
"Trying? Yeah."
"Oh, sweetie…you must hate me. Come here." I embraced Mimi with my left arm while simultaneously holding Marcie in my right. As soon as Mimi was within my embrace, she began sobbing violently as I tried to soothe her. It must have been quite a sight—Maureen, the Drama Queen comforting a screaming infant and a depressed ex-S&M dancer/druggie who couldn't conceive. I felt like I was drowning in quicksand, like the most horrible person ever to live. Here I was, a sad excuse for a mother, who couldn't even manage to console her child, who was born of an accidental conception from a one-night mistake, feeling sorry for myself while one of my best friends was trying desperately conceive a child, knowing full well that the delivery of the child could end her own life. How can I be so selfish?