August 24th, 1998…
I'm back from my little hospital stay and just arrived in time for my second day of sophomore year! With any luck I'll return without any of those pretentious "I miss you" from bitches that didn't even bother to hit me up all summer to see how I was holding up. Though since pretty much Illinois in its entirety knows about my sister, thanks to the Daily Herald making her dead a headliner, I'll probably be cut a shitload of slack; it'll work to my advantage.
Pops is a ways off center. He's the reason for my recent hospital imprisonment. Threatened to beat the daylight out of me should he be called at work for more scar issues. The one time he speaks to me, he fucking threatens me. Not only that but he actually smashed my face in while spitting every and any degrading word in the book. It'd been brutal but I, in my heart, know I'd deserved every ounce of pain. In his fury he admitted wishing that it'd been me. He obviously blames me for the loss of his star child, as do I. She wasn't as expendable as me.
Uncle Vidal, he had to fight my father off; he was beating me into unconsciousness. That man is my security blanket. He baked a cake for me since I'd spent my birthday amongst troublesome teen and scumbags.
She stays on my mind. Fannie. Not a flash, not a moment, not a daydream – she's everywhere. She terrorizes me at anytime of the day; whether I'm awake or half-asleep. Fannie constantly asks me why I didn't save her. At times, it's as though I can feel her presence. When I cut, I envision her blood running down my arms. Maybe I'm losing touch with reality – I don't know.
I'm terrified at the thought of waking up at midnight to see that Caro hanging from the fan in our room, or going into the bathroom and catching her down a bottle of meds. She's my only living sibling, the one I was closest to. Chaparra doesn't utter a single word, not even a nod. She doesn't function; her body goes rigid when I try to pull on her clothes or bathe her. I think she's afraid of me.
My life is crashing down. I'm really just living on a dead line. Punk would make me feel – he'd see me through. He hasn't hit up my line – not even a fucking letter. It's almost as though he vanished off the face of the world. He promised that we could've made it work…we could've. Maybe people were right, maybe I shouldn't feel guilty for screwing his brother, maybe I was just another spoke on his wheel…maybe.
Life sucks dragon balls.
-Marleene
ΔΔΔΔ
Guilt. There's a reason I kept this stack stowed away with Mackenzie and it is guilt. They reveal a part of me I always wished to lock away. I did just that when Noah came around. Now after flipping through aged pages, my past has come to life. It sounds dramatic but it did. These pages resurfaced withered emotions. They, somehow, revived my inner-guilt over Fannie's death. 1998 was a whirlwind. I've unlocked Fannie. If and when I keep reading, I'll probably relive more buried feelings and memories.
What about Punk? That's what fucks me. Wes mentioned it at the parlor months ago. Could it be Phil the one who goes by 'Punk' or some other jerk-off that I decided to nickname that? Chances are that I'd remember, I'm only twenty-two…I can't be going senile, can I?
A faint knock trips me out of my musings; I turn to see an elder woman with a clipboard standing in the doorway, "You must be the escapee."
Shoving my notebook aside, I sit up, "And you're…?"
The old lady languidly strolls over to the chair beside the lamp, "Dr. Azalea, I prefer Betty as if keep me feeling not a day of sixty," she responds, shooting me a coy smile.
"Marleene, they call me Soto 'round here so…feel free?"
She chuckles, "One of those twits sent me here. The cluster was on edge about having a patient roaming around unattended," her brown eyes rake over me, "You seem rather harmless, save for those fresh wounds…"
I look at what she's talking about and quickly cover them, "Suicide attempt they deemed it,"
Maybe talking about Fannie will keep you from licking those wounds. Twiddling around with my thumbs, I sit as Betty looks on. Maybe I should just spill the beans. She's a shrink; she probably sees right through me. That's all quacks and shrinks do: analyze. Should I?
The clock chimes announcing that it's six, "I've got a clear schedule, dear. You seem like you need to talk," as I said, they have x-ray vision or something.
"It's kind of a long story…"
"I just told you, clear schedule."
You're paying for their service either way! Checking outside the hallway for any unwanted attention, I exhale, "Okay, It was just supposed to be another party, maybe a little more since it was the celebration of graduating, finally, high school. I…I never expected that with a couple words from some stupid bitch, my sister would end up dead by the end of the night…"
My mouth keeps opening, regurgitating bits and pieces of truth, sometimes only stopping so my lungs can cling onto some oxygen, or tears to be brushed away. I rant for what seems like years, millenniums, and though I never rely on people outside my inner circle, pouring my heart out to Betty is like second nature. She listens, nods, listens, and doesn't judge. Nothing is going out the other ear either. Finishing, I'm a wreck: heaving to catch my breath and sobbing because there's no alcohol.
"Sweetheart, it's important for you to understand that whatever happened that night wasn't at your will. Everyone dictates their life and choose paths that will affect them later on. Your sister's choice wasn't in your hands. We can't live in 'What if's', we have to grieve and move on," the doctor waits for me to check myself, "Let's try an exercise, yes? You'll write a letter, no length requirement, to your sister. You can say anything and everything you want: feelings, memories, etc," she hands me her clipboard and pen, "I'll give you as long as you need. In the meantime, I'll be giving these jumpers a piece of my mind…I was enjoying my all-time favorite, Casablanca," she huffs and leaves me with a gentle smile.
Staring after her, I drum the pen on the pad. This is stupid, useless, and stupid but I follow along…doctors know best after all.
ΔΔΔΔ
"Is this some kind of hospital-style prison break?" I ask the shrink as she leads me through yet another "Employee Only" doorway, "Are you even a certified shrink or just an escaped whack job?" I ask grown impatient as she keeps putting off my queries. We're finally outside; the brisk air that hits me almost makes me forget how to breathe, "Are you going to kidnap me?"
As we slip through employee vehicles, Betty comes to an abrupt halt and leans against a silver Buick; catching her breath, "You…you ask a lot of question, dear," her hand snakes into her pocket making keys jangle until they make contact with the car door and unlock it. Old lady's packin'! She slides onto the driver's seat and unlocks the passenger's, "I usually don't sneak off with patients but those damned nurses always follow procedure and protocol…I'd have to wait, wait, wait, and wait. I surely am not getting any younger so we're on the wild side, dear. We're personally delivering that letter of yours to your sister. Now, get in!"
Look at her with an expression of "What the fuck?", I roll around the car and get in either way. Senility has a way of getting to us, "My sister's dead, Doc."
The car backs up and we're off. To where? I don't really care, anywhere is much more preferable than that rotten room, "I know, dear. I should be more specific, we're going to her grave."
Hell to the no! In a haste effort to break out of the moving vehicle, Betty autolocks it. I'm hyperventilating, sitting with a feeling of restraint. It's upsetting. Going to the grave where my sister is resting. Her body is probably beyond decomposing…just a bunch of well preserved bones that maggots nibble on. The thought is what keeps me from visiting her. Last time I paid her a visit was just before Dad and the fam-bam upped and outted…four years ago.
"Do tell me which cemetery it is…"
"Oakwood," I manage to whisper.
Roads converge and diverge as we keep near our destination. I just take in the scenery that races by me and try not to feel a guilt ridden and disgusted with myself as I do. Outside this glass, snow flurries about replacing the dew or freezing it. Dr. Azalea blasts some rather nifty tunes on the radio while drumming away on her steering wheel. The air isn't awkward as I thought it should be.
"This will set you free, child," she murmurs taking a left entering the rusty golden gates of Oakwood Cemetery.
"I don't think I deserve that luxury...I'm tainted. That's what got me in that ward. Out in the real world, Doc, I'm a two cent whore. I tried to write myself off because of that…because I have nobody. Remembering her, finding her, holding her ruined it…"
Betty sighs, "You're guilty because you're angry that she besmirched you."
Shaking my head, "I'm angry because…I'm living without direction…I dunno…"
The car yields, "Whatever it is, doing this will free you and let you move on. Where is her grave?"
Nnn
Shaking and shivering, I wave of Dr. Azalea and plant myself directly in front of Fannie's tombstone. Moss has grown around the edges and the faux rose Pops set down for her all those years ago still remains, "The day this rose dies is they day I'll stop missing you," Dad had said.
Trembling hands unfold my letter and I begin to recite it because pneumonia doesn't sound like an awesome way to go, "He…hey, Fan. How are you, baby girl? I…I miss you so…from here to the moon and back," tilting my head skyward as to avoid letting my tears fall on her resting place, "Seven years have come and gone, Fannie. Seven. Some days, it's easier to think you exist somewhere where you could only wish to live, somewhere like Florida. Other days…Noah was there to help me get through. Micks kept those notebooks. I wanted to forget you," I cover my mouth with disgust at what I've just said, "All I wanted to do was have fun and get bat shit wasted! I…I should've saved you! I should've…but I didn't it!" tears spill uncontrollably, "I am wholeheartedly sorry, baby girl. So, so, so, so sorry," minutes pass by as I keel over, a sobbing mess. I cry 'till my ducts dry up, I cry 'till I'm numb and sober, "Maybe if I ever see you again, I'll kneel at your feet and ask for forgiveness. I miss you, Fannie. I love you so fucking much. I appreciate all that you did for us, for me. You've done your part, rest up. Caro…she's not mute anymore. The rascal popped out two muffins out of that oven," I caress the tombstone, "You're probs rolling over but she's a great kid…she's almost have the brainiac you were. And Pops…he, he forgave me. Little birdies told he's got a girl under his arm," I manage a teary laugh, "Uncle V is still doing himself…we're fine. We'll be fine," I observe the eerie environment in wonder. Is my sister even listening to my incessant blubbering?, "And me? I'm trying to let you fly…you'll set me free. Don't you ever think I'll scrap you out…whenever I pass by all the places we roamed and played together…no, you'll be with me," I kiss her tomb, "I love you. We were never close but I love you, always and forever."
Hopping off my shivering knees, I stare at her grave once more before heading back. For a moment, a second, I swear I feel somebody lightly place their hand on my shoulder, for moment. I feel the feather-light weight of force. Be it a figment of my imagination or reality - it doesn't matter. The world is a mystery. Cemeteries in my mind were always a portal between this dimension and the unknown. A smile, a true one, graced my face. Though tears still drip no longer was my blood going to. Not for the reasons it did anyway. Empowered, I felt that I was gonna be able to look at the world differently…or at least have one less demon walking next to me.
Was this some mopey dopey corny shit? Yes. Did it help? No…at least not right now. Will I get over this bump in the road? I have to.
A/N- Revelations! Eh, i feel like this is a filler... then again, Fannie was a big part of Marleene. Sorry if it ended off corny but our girl is going loco!