Manic Part Two.

Deborah stood on the balcony hugging her arms around herself. She just put Kate to bed and promised to stay the night and help her get packed up in the morning. It scared Deborah to see Kate so out of control that she seemed on the verge of insanity. It took Deborah two hours to finally calm Kate down. Once Kate was sedated, she told Deborah about Hank's gambling problem and how for almost two year, she tried to cover it up, but she couldn't do it anymore. When Kate tried to talk to Hank about it, he dismissed it and accused her of always finding fault with him when all he was trying to do was give her nice things. He even had the audacity to turned the tables on her and ask what she was doing all those nights when she had to 'work late'. Kate exploded at his accusation, everything she had done was to help him and he refused to see.

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Kate was mentally and physically burnt out and two days ago, she finally told Hank she was leaving him. Hank got violent and screamed at Kate for not supporting him and his addiction, he tore up their apartment with his anger, and although he never laid a finger on her, his rage was enough confirmation for Kate that her decision to leave was right.

Deborah sat down and stretched her legs out resting them on the railing. She noticed Kate's pack of cigarettes sitting on the table and was tempted to smoke one. She opened the pack and put her nose to the cigarettes and took in a deep breath, the smell on tobacco was intoxicating. Deborah reached for the lighter, took out a cigarette, and put it to her lips. She hesitated just a second before lighting it, and in the moment, she decided against it and tossed the cigarette back on the table.

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Deborah didn't know what she was doing. Kate's situation made her so upset. But in a way, she felt proud of her sister. She knew it wasn't easy to take such decisive action and leave, but it was the best thing for Kate. And so what if Kate was moving back in with their parents, it would only be temporary until she got back on her feet. Kate was right. It did look bad, but the way Deborah saw it, things could only get better from here.

* * * * * *

Little did Deborah know, Kate's situation didn't just look bad, it was bad. The first man in her life, her father, made sure that she knew she was worthless. It was no secret that Kate had complications when she was born and every year on her birthday her father would say that he wished they were celebrating her death instead of another year of an ungrateful mouth to feed.

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Then he would get drunk and beat her until she too wished she was dead. Kate never knew why her father took a particular interest in making her life miserable. Everyone got it, but she got it the worst. Getting married to Hank was her way out. But nine months into their marriage, Hank started drinking and gambling and using her to pay his debts. Hank thought that he rescued her and assumed she would take anything he dished out. Somewhere in the two years that Kate started working three jobs, she started relieving some of her pain and exhaustion with pills. It started innocently enough, her back was aching from being on her feet all night, so her doctor prescribed her with vicodin.

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When that prescription ran out she used the three extra refills and by the time that was gone, Kate needed it every day. She went back to her doctor two more times before he got suspicious. Now, she was like a junky and found different avenues to get her pills. Two with breakfast, two with lunch, and three with dinner because it was a very hard day.

Kate heard Deborah come in from the balcony. Kate sat in the dark on her bed and reached for her bottle of pills; one, two, three, four, and five because it was an extremely hard day.

Manic. Part One.

"I'm on my way. Don't do anything til I get there, yes, I'll be there in 5."

Deborah toss her cell phone into the passenger seat and accelerated with just enough speed to make the light before it turned red. Kate needed her. She sounded absolutely desperate on the phone. Deborah's mind raced with reasons why Kate might be in trouble, but no matter what the scenario, it always came back to Hank. Deborah knew that Kate and Hank were having problems; from the outside it always seemed like Kate had things under control, but what Deborah heard in Kate's voice was a woman on the verge of collapse; a woman, her sister crying out for help. Deborah could not help but picture the worst case scenario, Kate bruised and beaten to a pulp; if Hank lay a finger on her sister, Deborah wasn't sure what she would do. Could she kill him? No, that was crazy.

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As Deborah's thoughts got more erratic, she didn't notice that her speedometer was racing closer and closer to the end line. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Deborah pulled in front of Kate's building and maneuvered into a guest parking space.

"30th floor, penthouse," the mechanical voice said as Deborah stepped off the elevator. The talking elevator always gave Deborah the creeps. One minute the elevator was saying, 'going up' and without any indication that the elevator actually went up, the voice was announcing that they arrived. She shuttered as she walked up to Kate's door and knocked.

"Deb!" Kate threw her arms around Deborah's neck and pulled her inside. Deborah looked around Kate's home and her heart sank. The once lavish home now felt like a dirty dive bar. There was a stale smell of alcohol in the air and a layer of thick smoke clung to the ceiling. As she set her bag down next to half empty packing boxes, Deborah saw dozens of empty wine bottles scattered throughout the room. Then, Deborah noticed that some of Kate's most cherished clowns were broken to pieces in a corner.

"Sorry about the mess, Deb," Kate said as she leaped over a pile of clothes and grabbed her wine glass.

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She lit a cigarette and manically continued between puffs,

"I know it looks bad, Deb, but you caught me right in the middle of the big stuff. See since I'm moving back in with the parents, I'll only have one room, so I thought what better way to get rid of all this useless shit, then to give it to charity. See here," Kate motioned as she walked to one corner of the room.

"This stuff is all going to the American Lung Association, I mean I figure, if I'm going to keep smoking like a chimney, I'm going to need them to find a cure for lung cancer right?? Or at least I'll get some good karma and never get cancer so I can keep smoking til I'm 102! Oh my gosh, and Deb look at this, it's sad right, I mean, what's more sad than broken clowns, but see look, look what happens when I smash them, see, it makes me happy, these broken clowns make me smile."

Kate finally stopped talking a mile a minute and began frantically throwing her clowns against the floor. Deborah shrieked and ran to Kate's side.

"Kate stop. Please stop,"

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Deborah pleading as tears streamed down her face. She wrapped her arms tightly around Kate until Kate broke down and froze, clutching the clown she was about to smash against the wall. Kate collapsed, sobbing as Deborah cried and rocked Kate in her arms.

Bankruptcy. Part One.

For those of you following my blog, this is another installment of the fictional story. Enjoy.

Kate sat at her kitchen table with her head in her hands . She ran her hand through her hair, then began clutching fistfuls of hair and pulling hard until tears started forming in the corner of her eyes and even then, she kept pulling; she pulled and pulled until she felt a clump of hair separate from her head. She dropped her fists to the table and threw the strands

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across the piles of papers and receipts. "Arghhhhh!" Kate screamed at the top of her lungs and slammed her fist on the table and kept pounding and pounding, scattering the paper to the floor.

Kate stood up suddenly and knocked her chair back. She grabbed her glass of red wine from the counter and went out to the balcony. She took a long sip of her drink and went to the railing and leaned over. From the 30th floor, the people down on the street looked like tiny speaks, like little porcelain dolls that Kate could pick up and throw against the wall. Kate closed her eyes and thought of the comforting sound the the shards of porcelain would make as it hit the wall and the

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kaleidoscope design the pieces would make as it shattered to the floor.

A displaced smile crept across Kate's face as she set her wine glass on the table and climbed up on the adjoining chair. She reached down for her cigarettes on the table and lit one. Standing on top of the chair, Kate closed her eyes and sucked hard on the end of her cigarette , then deeply exhaled the smoke. She swayed back and forth and wondered what it would be like to fall; just free fall from the 30th floor.

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She wondered if she would be faced down as she fell and if she would she keep her eyes open until the very end. Kate thought that if her face was towards the sky she would have one last chance to see shapes and patterns in the clouds before she hit the ground. She thought that would be a nice last image to have. Kate wondered if there would be enough time to do a flip in the air, or if she would fall too fast.

Kate leaned forward with her arms outstretched, imagining the fall, but then she lost her balance and felt herself being hurled towards the railing.

Bankruptcy. Part Two.

The sensation jolted Kate's senses and she jerked herself back right away and fell into the chair. Kate's heart was racing and her palms were sweaty. Her knees felt weak and she was breathing heavily. Kate reached for her wine glass and finished the rest quickly. In that moment, as Kate felt herself falling, she got really scared and decided that it wasn't the way to go. She lit another cigarette and curled up in the chair, hugging her knees close towards her chest and rocking herself gently.

Kate didn't know how any of this happened. Three years ago, she got married to the man of her dreams. She did everything the right way and it was perfect. The wedding was lavish and beautiful.

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The honeymoon was magical and exotic. The condo was penthouse level and the car was sleek and sporty. So what went wrong? Kate's prince charming turned out to be a gambler and a thief, promising these thugs that he could double their money in a week if they just fronted him the cash, while begging the other thugs for just two more weeks, you know I'm good for it. Kate's fairy tale ending didn't turn out happily ever after after all. But instead of playing the damsel in distress, Kate took up freelance work and also got a night job waiting tables, in addition to her 9-5 job. All the money that came in went right back out to to pay the loan sharks and the mounting debt that never seemed to go down. She was stretched as thin as it was and felt like she couldn't handle much more. The way Kate saw it she had two options, she could jump or she could declare bankruptcy. The former sounded simple and easy, and would solve so much more than just the money problems, but she still felt uneasy at the way her stomach dropped when she lost her footing on the chair, and Kate knew she didn't have the guts to do it.

Kate lit another cigarette and smoked it quickly, then went back inside to face her reality. As she walked into her apartment, the sliding door slammed and shut out the murmur of cars and engulfed herself in silence. She got another glass of wine and began pacing around the living room, thinking about what to do; just one step at a time, one step at a time she kept repeating to herself. The more she paced, the more she drank; the more she drank, the more clearly Kate began to see things. During one of the laps around the room, she paused to admire the massive display case that tactfully decorated the sitting area with her clown collection. She eyed each and every one, noting the details on the painted faces and thought how she too painted a smile on her face everyday just to come across as normal; as happy. Kate lost the ability to smile freely a long time ago, but she didn't forget how to fake it and her clowns reminded her everyday that you're only as happy as you look, so she look the liberty of painting big red lips with a bright happy smile

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and no one knew that deep down she was ripped and torn to shreds by a disappointing and worthless existence. As Kate studied each clown, her face softened and her eyes brightened and a big happy smile spread across her face. She just needed to take things one step at a time, one thing at a time and she could dig herself out of this mess.

When the wind blows. Part four.

A blank screen.
A blank screen that reflects.
A blank boxed screen that sees all,

And I have seen; I've seen them laughing, sharing and revealing. But have they seen? Have they ever stopped to look; to really look at their reflection in a blank screen? What do you suppose they'll see? Would they see that this tension is eating them both up? Would they see that they both want to remedy this malady?

But even if they did look, they would see a reflection of lies. I lie to them. I show them things; idealistic and fake things. I show them stories of other people's lives; carefully constructed stories that always seem to work out in the end. They think I have it all together, but I don't. I form something that looks cohesive, but my picture comes from separate parts; pixels that come together to form a whole. Why can't they come together?

They watch me. But do they know that I watch them too? Do they know that I'm watching them now? In my corner of the living room, my blank screen comes to life with their stories. And I realize that these two people are just like me. They are just like the pixels that come together when I'm turned on. These two people are separate, disconnected but when they're on they come together perfectly to form one friendship; one whole. Why are they turned off now?

Out of the left corner of my blank screen, I see Amy emerge from her room in her blue t-shirt and yellow and pink poke-a-dot shorts. She seems bothered and exhausted; and she should be. I understand. I've seen her come home and just sit. She just sits and stares out the window. She sits and stares at my blank screen. What is she looking at? She needs to see herself in my blank screen. I desperately want her to see what I see. I want her to see that just like my pixels, she and her roommate need to be cohesive then she can be happy; then they both can be happy. Maybe it will happen today; hopefully it will happen today. I haven't' seen them both together for so long. But I've seen them both. Alone. Sitting and staring. LOOK AT ME! Look at me; look at your reflection and see, see yourselves and see each other. Turn your friendship back on.

Amy goes to the opposite corner to use the phone. Just then the right corner of my blank screen spies Mercedes coming out of her room. Freeze Frame. What we have here is a reflection: two different people expressing the same kind of frustration. Amy tenses at the sound of the door opening; she angles her back to Mercedes. Mercedes is surprised at seeing Amy, she glares at her back, then looks hopeful. Action. Amy rushes to dial someone's number while Mercedes goes to the kitchen. And in separate instances I see the reflection of both Amy and Mercedes getting their hopes up at reconnecting their friendship. But instead of someone making the first move, they both slam their stubbornness trump card on the table. WHAM!

The TV stand that props me up shakes as a gust of wind blows through the house. I silently pray that it blows me over and shatters the blank screen - then maybe they'll both come out and put the pixels back together.

When the wind blows. Part Three.

Amy lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Through her closed bedroom door, past the bathroom, across the living room, and behind another closed door, she could hear the faint sounds of her roommate''s alarm. It was going off for almost two hours now. She rolled over and stared through the blinds, out the window. Amy tried to focus on the cars on the streets below. She tried to drown out the constant wailing of her roommate's alarm. But every nine minutes without fail, she was made aware of the person on the other side of the closed door. Every nine minutes rang in the reminder that something had changed.

She sat up in bed and looked at the clock. 12:30. Church in half an hour. While tugging on her yellow and pink poke-a-dot shorts, Amy looked into her closet. Nothing. Her eyes wandered. There in the corner was the laundry basket over flowing with not so clean clothes. She rummaged around and without much effort picked out an outfit that combined comfort with style. Admiring the creation laid out on her bed, she patted herself on the back for making something out of nothing. Now if only she could make something out of the mess that exploded between her and her roommate.

Amy could always do things effortlessly, but her roommate presented a problem. Mercedes was hard. Amy began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth. She walked out onto her balcony. Finally; she escaped her ringing conscious. While smoking her morning cigarette, Amy remembered: she remembered that she was different from Mercedes. Amy always knew this, but now that she was living Mercedes, she was constantly reminded of the one thing that set them apart from each other. Mercedes was comfortable being alone, in face she relished in the time that she spent by herself, while Amy liked to surround herself with other people, being alone meant dealing with things that she wasn't ready to face. Amy's thoughts drifted in and out of the previous night. In: inhaling, Out: rows and rows, In: glasses and glasses, Out: more wine please, In: people, Out: friends, In: Mercedes? Amy thought that one of their friends called Mercedes to came and hang out. Maybe she should have called Mercedes? Or maybe Mercedes should drop the guard she's holding up so high.

1:00. Where's my sister? Amy went to the living room to call her sister to see if she was giving her a ride to church; she hoped Mercedes was there. If they were both in the same room they would be forced to talk to each other, right? She extended her had to the door knob, preparing herself for a confrontation. Nothing. Amy went to the corner and picked up the phone. Then she heard a sound. Mercedes was opening her door. This is it.

"Ugh." That was it? That's all she could do? That's all I could do? My sister's not coming. No church. Amy heard a door slam; then felt the chill of the wind shaking the house.

When the wind blows. Part Two.

Mercedes' body twitched like an addict craving its next fix. She tossed and turned as if the Captain of a ship battling a storm. She was having a nightmare. It was as if with each furrow of her brow, she revealed that this was more than just a bad dream. The worry and conflict that her face expressed in her unconscious sleep gave way to her inner turmoil. As the blaring alarm slowly made its way into the background noise of her dream, Captain Mercedes realized that the rescue siren was actually her alarm clock begging her to relieve it from its duty that had gone on for over two hours.

The effects of the previous night's self-pity pride parade were beginning to tune in as Mercedes sat up in bed and looked around. Two jugs of cheap Carlo Rossi Chablis wine. One empty jug of cheap wine; one half empty jug of wine; one wine glass. It disgusted her that she had consumed so much wine in one night and by herself too. What had brought her to such a low point? She reached for her big mug and cherished the few drops of water that were left. As she mad her way to the door, mug in hand, she saw a little plastic baggie,reaching for it she cringed at seeing just a tiny nug of weed. She just bought this sack and in one night she had smoked so much and by herself too. Why did she feel the need to do this? Her had finally reached the door knob, but she stopped. Lying on her desk was a rolled up dollar bill; residue of white powder stained her desk top, a razor blade peeped out from under her mouse pad. This made her feel guilty. She abused these pain killers that abused her nose. With every line she hoped to relieve some of her pain. She had snorted so much and by herself too. Why?

Mercedes opened her bedroom door to confront the reason for all this self destructing behavior. Standing hunched in the living room corner was her roommate. Mercedes stood in her doorway perturbed at the sight of Amy with her back towards her. In the dim light, Amy just out bed with her blue t-shirt and yellow and pink poke-a-dot shorts seemed incapable of causing the torment and grief Mercedes had experienced the night before. Looking at Amy on the phone made Mercedes heart sink; but everything changed once Amy turned around and they stood standing face to face.

"Ugh.' And with that they both turned and went in opposite directions. In the kitchen, Mercedes turned the faucet and watched her pain and frustration pour into her over sized mug. It bothered her that within two weeks the relationship she had with her roommate did a complete 180. Mercedes lingered in her doorway pining after a friend that lay behind closed doors. She tried to remember how this all started; she couldn't quite pinpoint what it was but ever since school started, something was different about Amy. Amy was never home and didn't have a cell phone, so she couldn't be reached. It almost seemed like Amy was purposely avoiding her, but why? Mercedes considered knocking; making amends.

She heard the wind rumble, shaking the whole house. Then she went into her room and closed the door.