I heard Mom and Dad talking last night. They thought I was in bed. I went downstairs for a glass of milk...they always said milk was good for my bones, and I still listen, even after disreguarding most of the other things they tell me...and they were in the den.
Mom took me to work with her yesterday. I had off from school. I got to see all of mom's friends again..it's been a while...since I started High School...they're all pretty cool. She told them to treat me like a patient, and Dave...he's the craziest...took my blood and made me wear a hospital gown..mom was just kidding though...she got mad when Dave wanted to take X-rays. Yelled something about wasting money. Mom and Dad worry about money a lot.
That's why they were fighting last night. Dad told Mom that my medication is too expensive and we can't afford it. I have to take 2 pills each day, one for my athsma, and one for...well, Mom said it was a vitamin, but she has them in a prescription bottle. Says she got them at work, but I was only 8 when she told me that...I don't really believe her anymore. I don't want to ask her though...there's got to be a reason she's not telling me. I hate not knowing, but I trust Mom.
Dad wanted Mom to get the pills from work. I know that's a big no-no. She asked him why he didn't do it, and he muttered something about it not being his fault. That made Mom cry, and she replied that it was no one's fault. Dad said, "Tell Daniel that!" and Mom cried harder.
I had no idea who Daniel was, he didn't work with Mom and Dad anyway. He seems to upset Mom though. Dad apologized to her, and she said she was going to make coffee. I tried to get out of the kitchen before she saw me, but she caught me on the stairs.
"Aly?"
"Mom...I was getting milk."
"You OK?"
"Yeah Mom."
"How much did you hear?"
"Mom..."
"Tell me."
"Enough."
"Aly, don't worry about the money."
"K Mom."
"And your dad and I are fine...I don't want you to worry, really."
"It's getting late, Mom. You'd better make that coffee decaf." I grinned and started back up the stairs.
"Aly, wait."
"Yeah Mom?"
"I need to talk to you."
"K, I'm listening."
"Come, sit."
"Mom, you sound serious."
This is pretty serious.."
"OK. Go on, tell me. Please."
"Aly, you remember your grandma, Maggie, right?"
"Yeah. She was sick, but you wouldn't tell me what was wrong with her. Is she OK?"
"Yeah, but um...no...she has a problem, Aly. She's bipolar. That means she..."
"I know what it means. Manic periods followed by deep depression. I...I asked John Carter about Grandma. Told him she was sick again..."
"Got him to talk, eh?"
"He didn't mean to give up any secrets. He wouldn't tell on purpose, Mom. I made him." I felt like a child justifying my actions.
"It's OK...he always looks out for you. For all of us."
"So what about Maggie? Is she getting worse? Do you have to go see her?"
"No, Aly, hon, it's...genetic, and I'm a carrier, and..."
"Yeah, but it's X-linked and recessive." I had asked John to explain it all. "And Dad's not bipolar..is he?" The thought that Dad could be sick and I didn't know frightened me.
"No Aly, Luka's not bipolar..." Mom never called Dad Luka. I looked at her and then it hit me. Like a slap in the face. The glass of milk slipped from my hand, shattering on the tiled floor. Barefoot but not caring, I stepped through the clear blue shards and the puddle of milk. I could faintly feel the glass pushing its way into the soles of my feet as I backed away from Mom.
"Aly! Aly! You're getting glass in your feet! Aly, stop it, come on, Aly, let me clean this up, don't move, let me get a broom...Aly, you're getting glass in your feet." Mom spoke with a quiet desperation, then trailed off, sobbing. She bent down and started picking up slivers of glass, their sharp edges gleaming in the light. Blood poured slowly out of the tiny cuts on her pale hands.
"Mom...stop it...Mom...I'm not...I don't care...God Mom, will you just stop! I won't care if you just stop...you're cutting yourself, Mom." I snapped out of my shocked and angry state, seeing that it was upsetting her, seeing what she was doing...seeing that she didn't feel the pain.
Dad...Luka..appeared at the door, coming behind Mom. "Abby, stop. You're hurting yourself." His heavy accent echoed through the kitchen. Almost 20 years in Chicago and Mom says his accent hasn't faded a bit. She looked up at him, palms dripping. "Alyson, get a..." He stopped when he saw my bloody bare feet, then stepped over the glass and got 2 dishtowels from near the sink. He wet them with warm water and handed one to me.
"Sit down, Alyson. Put this on your feet." I did as he said, feeling like I was barely controlling my body. Like a puppeteer was pulling my body along on strings. I tried to stop the blood, but I couldn't even feel it flowing quickly now out of my feet and soaking the dishtowel.
Dad lifted Mom up to a standing position. She held out her hands to him, seeing for the first time the rivulets of blood pouring from her cuts. He placed the towel over her palms and pressed them together to keep pressure on the wounds.
"Alyson, we need to get you both to the hospital. I'm going to carry you out to the car now." He placed a hand on my shoulder and I flinched, but let him lift me.
I pointed to the mess on the floor and he shook his head. "I'll get it when we come home. Your mother has very deep cuts. I need to get you both to the hospital right now." Dad lifted me into the car as if I were a baby, no small feat, as I am 15. But he lifted Mom into the car as well, and sat behind the wheel, face set in stone, driving through the dark night it by the few streetlights. Mom and I sat silently as well. There was nothing to say. Nothing could change this. Nothing.
AN(again):hey, hope you liked it, this one will have a sequel...i promise...up next: Alyson Kovac part 2~~~Thena