Falling

The sound of voices mumbling filled the space in between the turmoil of my never ending thoughts. I had been here three weeks and nothing had changed. I hadn’t changed. 

Why wasn’t I better? 

I should be better by now.

My jaw clenched. Unconsciously, my toes began to move up and down, creating a soft nervous rhythm.  I slowly placed my left hand over my right; a futile effort to stop the shaking in my fingers. I didn’t need another reason to stand out. 

I just needed to get through this. 

But for what?

I turned my head and looked out the window. At this point home felt like a distant dream. A memory stolen from someone else that I had enveloped into my own thoughts. And yet, here I was aching for a place that I for so long undervalued.

As people around me took their seats, the echoes of footsteps on hard wood floors began to lessen. I scooted my chair back in an effort to enlarge the circle. The room went silent as someone took center stage. Another story to share, and yet, weren't we all just the same? It felt like I was listening to the same broken record over and over. Just another person who lost their balloon to the winds of life. 

But could anyone truly find their balloon?

Repatch a life that had blown so far out of proportion they didn't even know where to reach anymore?

“Alice.” I turned my head as Simon, our group counselor, called my name. “Did you hear the question?”  My heart began to thrum in my chest. I could feel my cheeks redden. I hated when it was my turn.

“No.” I could see the disappointment in his eyes, but he didn't know what I had been through. He didn’t know how hard this was for me.

It wasn’t fair.

“When do you think your struggle started to get out of control?”

➖

“Mom, mom. Will you play with me?” Ben’s voice barely registered as I edited the pictures from my last photoshoot. I was beyond excited. It was my first brand deal on instagram and I had been guaranteed to make at least $5,000 on the post. It had been my dream since high school to become an influencer and I was finally starting to be appreciated online.

“One sec, honey. Mom’s working.” I felt a soft tug on my arm. I looked up from my spot on the couch and saw my five year old son’s big, pleading, blue eyes. “I know, give me like 10 more minutes, why don’t you go play with your toys or on the swing okay?” 

“Okay.” There was a slight furrow between his brow. I knew he was disappointed, but I was so excited and I played with him all the time. I shouldn’t need to feel guilty for taking a break.

I couldn't believe an hour had passed and I already had over 1,000 likes. Far more than I ever could have wished for. All my hard work was finally starting to pay off. A small smile tugged at my lips as I scrolled through my page. An effervescent feeling stirred in my chest. My thumb slowly moved up and down the screen, fueling my need to see more content.

Then the sound of a crash rocked me back into reality. 

What was that?

I put my phone on the side table and slowly stood up. 

Where was Ben? He was just here right? The sound of the cuckoo clock went off. No, it couldn’t be six pm. It wasn’t that late. Two hours hadn’t passed. 

“Ben? Ben?”

I ran outside the house. 

“Ben, where are you?” I closed the door behind me, and looked up to find the branch of our small oak tree gone. Shards of wood were scattered on the ground next to a crying Ben. 

“Oh no.” I rushed over to his side. “What happened sweetie?” I whispered, wincing as I looked at his swollen arm. 

“I think I broke it.” He cried out, pain contorting his features.

“It’s going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay.” I gathered him in my arms and rushed back to the house to dial 911.

➖

I sat in a chair staring off into the distance, as someone else shared their story. My eyes were still glassy from earlier. 

I just want this to be over.

Because how much longer was I required to rip the remaining parts of my soul to shreds?

I began to think of an article I read once about whale falls. Right before a whale is about to die, the whale travels hundreds of kilometers away from home, ostracizing itself from its habitat. Once the whale reaches the deepest part of the ocean and dies, it sinks into the abyss.

I began to wonder if I was starting to drown. 

To sink with the weight of my mistakes.

Trapped in a daze, Simon’s voice registered. The only sign that I was still here. Ten minutes passed and someone else began to speak, bringing a smile to the other patients' faces.

How can they smile when I am haunted by every choice I make?

My face a reminder of my worst mistake.

No one here deserved to smile. It wasn’t fair. Not when he couldn't. I turned away, hiding the hatred on my face and walked out of the room. 

I couldn’t handle this. 

My eyes became glassy. My lungs felt constricted, matched by the symphony of my pounding heart.

“One, two, three…” I tried counting to slow my breathing as I pushed my way into the bathroom.

“It's okay, it's okay, it's okay.”  The tears came flooding. Uncontrollable and relentless sobs racked my body. 

I wasn’t okay.

I sat on the floor and held my hands in my face.  I whispered, “Sometimes I wonder if it's possible to rewrite a life, where I don’t hate what I’ve written. ” I looked up, holding my hands in prayer.

“Am I a bad person, or was my mistake magnified by the storm of the season? God give me a reason.” I dropped my hands into my lap and cried.

“Alice, I understand this can be a lot to handle. This support group is here to help, but in order to do so you need to share what it is that you are struggling with.” Simon gave me a pleading look.

I wonder if Simon knew that there were 187 tiles on the ceiling? My eyes were locked on the dull, grey, squares. How sad. There is never any color in psychiatric buildings for adults. Do they think children grow up and become void of imagination? I began to count again.

One , two, three…

“Alice, I know this is difficult for you, but you were sent here to get better. You can also choose to learn from your mistakes.”

➖

Hm, which song? Too many to pick from. I scrolled through the playlists on my phone. I couldn't just decide on one right? I loved listening to music when I cooked. It made every task feel a million times faster. Taylor Swift it is. 

I put my phone down and washed my hands. I reached for the pot and grabbed the noodles to boil. Wait. I grabbed my phone and decided to video pouring the noodles in the pot. Maybe I could make some sort of cooking vlog? That would certainly boost my follower count. I watched through my screen as the noodles slowly entered the pot. Perfect. I placed my hand on the stove knob and turned the dial all the way up. 

A few minutes passed and the soft hiss of the water filled the air. I looked up and saw the pot start to fill with bubbles. I grabbed my alarm and set a timer for ten minutes.

“Mom?” Ben walked into the room. 

“Hey honey.” I looked up from my phone at my six year old. “What's up?” 

“Would you want to play with me?” He inquired as his action figure dangled between his figures. A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. I snatched him into a hug, provoking a laugh.

“You know I do Benny-Boo, but mom has to cook right now. How about after, okay?”

“Okay.” he giggled as I ruffled his hair. 

I heard Ben's light footsteps leave the room. I looked back at my phone and decided it was time for a new song. The hiss of the water grew louder.

“Hmm.” My eyes scrolled up and down the album. I clicked on “Seven” and soaked in the sound of the music as it began to play.

A high pitched scream knocked me out of my trance. I dropped my phone and looked up to find the water boiling over the pot. 

“Ben, Ben!” I screamed as I watched the water fall onto my son at the foot of the stove. I dove across the kitchen. I quickly yanked Ben into my arms and pushed the pot off the burner.

“It's okay, it's okay, it's okay.”  I scanned his arms and watched as blisters began to form from the hot water.  Tears rolled down his cheeks and his puffy eyes matched the color of his arms.

“You're going to be okay.” I swallowed as I reached for my phone to dial 911.

“Why didn’t you go play with your toys Ben?” I whispered, my lip shaking.

Why didn’t you play with him Alice?

Why didn’t you realize he was in the kitchen?

I slowly put the phone down. It was an accident. 

That's all it was. 

An accident that I could fix. With Ben still in my arms, I stood on my toes as I reached for a first aid kit in the cabinet above the sink. I pulled out the neosporin and dabbed his arm as I held my tears back. This wasn’t my fault. It couldn’t be my fault. 

Not again.

➖

Someone was saying something, but who cared if I listened? Right? I tapped my foot on the wood floor. One, two, three. One, two, three. 

We all knew we were up at the stand. To be proven guilty. Not innocent. I know my subconscious doesn’t deserve due diligence. 

I rolled my neck and snapped all my knuckles. My foot continued to tap on the floor. One, two, three. One, two, three. 

 I was angry.

 I was angry because how could this happen to me when there are so many others who are transfixed with their screens? 

Locked into a different world. 

I know I deserve to be indicted, but how is it fair when there's still perpetrators who are innocent? Does no one else find the jury pointing fingers insidious?

I shut my eyes and just wished for it all to go away. The clock struck 4pm. I took a deep breath. Two more hours till this was over and I was free. I clasped my hands together and rested them on my lap. 

But was I truly free, if I could still feel the weight of my misdeeds?

Stay silent, with no means to an end?

My conscience to forever be filled with dread?

I stopped tapping my foot. A stillness filled the room. “I would like to share.” I blew out a long breath.

➖

The sun kissed my golden skin. I felt like I could lay here forever. Paradise was the only way you could describe a perfect summer’s day next to the pool. I took a sip of my diet cola. The flavor created a delightful sensation on the tip of my tongue. I set the pop bottle down next to the book I was reading. The perfect photo opportunity for my next post. 

“If I could just get it right…” I urged as the book kept sliding down. Then a splash of water hit my skin. “Ben!”

“Sorry mom!” He smiled as he popped up from the deep end of the pool. He threw the football in the air. The brown ball spiraled all the way to the shallow end. 

If that boy kept with it I swear he could go pro one day.

I shook my head and grinned. 

“It's fine, just be careful.” I called. I propped the book back up against the bottle. I angled my phone so just the right amount of light would be reflected in the image. A light breeze tickled the back of my neck. 

“Did you see that? Did you see that?” Ben jumped out of the water knocking over my setup.

“See what?” I drawled, somewhat unenthusiastically. 

“My throw! It made it all the way to the road!”

“Nice. Just be careful getting it.” I said with my eyes on my phone as I attempted to reangle the photo. 

“I’ll be right back.” He called, running across the lawn. 

The book was so close to staying in place. “Almost, almost.” 

A loud thud caught my attention. “Ben?” I stood up from my chair and walked over to the front lawn. A truck was stopped in front of our house. I would never be able to erase the image from my mind. Lying on the road was my eight year old boy. An unconscious Ben. I felt like I was dreaming. This couldn’t be real. 

Or was I screaming?

➖

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I finished telling my story to the group. “And what happened to him?” Simon whispered with concern in his voice.

A tear escaped my glassy eyes. It was the first time I had truly acknowledged the reality of what I had done. “He died.”