Crystal Lies - Melody Carlson [2]
My promise to Dr. Abrams was to ask myself how I got to this place. I know she wasn’t referring to this physical place, but as I sit here in this shabby, two-bedroom apartment that still smells faintly of pets I have never owned, I have to wonder. Day after day I look out at the busy street below and watch others. I study those people who have places to go and people to see as I make a feeble attempt to chart the series of events that have dragged me to what seems an almost certain dead end. Still I am determined to try to make some sense of what feels completely absurd and almost random at times. Or perhaps I will simply follow my best friend’s lead and take up smoking to cope with the losses in life.
It’s hard to believe that less than three years ago I was actually living out the American dream. A spacious and beautiful home on the hill, in-ground pool in the backyard, a Porsche and a Range Rover in the garage, a dog and a cat, and neighbors who not only knew our first names but had celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, and various milestone events with us over the years. It seemed so, well, perfect. There’s no other word for it really, and that’s what makes it all so ironic.
During our last year of “normal,” Jacob was sixteen and quite handsome. My brown-eyed, blond boy, a reflection of his father, lived and breathed basketball, soccer, and baseball. Academics were another thing, but that had more to do with his lack of motivation than IQ—or so the academic counselor assured us. Sarah, on the other hand, had just been named valedictorian of her senior class and consequently was offered several impressive scholarships. My husband, Geoffrey, was a senior partner in his law firm. And life was oh so good. Or so I made myself believe by skating on the thin surface of it all.
How quickly things change when you’re not looking. How easily we can be blindsided just when everything seems to be going well. And the harsh reality trickles down into every decision I make. Now when I set down my pen and go back for another cup of coffee, it’s the kind that comes in a tin can and smells vaguely like tuna fish. I can no longer afford the good stuff I never realized that grinding whole beans costs about five times as much as this generic brand in the big blue can. So many important things I’ve been learning lately. Still, I assure myself that I will forget those little luxuries in time. I will move on.
I sip the acidic coffee and absently glance out the window to see two young children playing on the sidewalk next to the busy street. I know their names now, but I still remember the first time I saw them down there, a girl about four and her little brother, who’s still in diapers. It was shortly after Jacob and I moved into this place, about three months ago.
Naturally, I went dashing down the cement stairs like a maniac, afraid that the small children had slipped out of their apartment unnoticed and would now wander into the street and be hit by a passing car. I’m sure I thought I was going to save their little necks. But when I got down there, breathless and on what felt like the verge of a heart attack, I noticed a young woman with bleached-out hair just sitting on the steps and complacently painting her toenails an iridescent shade of electric blue.
“Are those your children?” I gasped as I clung to the wobbly metal stair railing, attempting to steady my shaking knees.
“Uh-huh,” she muttered without even looking up.
“Aren’t you worried about all that—that traffic?” I pointed to the busy thoroughfare, four lanes of nonstop