Sellevision - Augusten Burroughs [81]
She picked up the phone and immediately dialed Dallas. “Hi, Daddy,” she said when he answered. “Did you see my Greek Key showcase last night?”
Her father told her that of course he’d seen it, had watched every second of it, and had made Gunther tape it.
Trish applied a quick-drying top coat to her nails. “Well, guess what? I’m on again tonight!” She held the phone between her ear and shoulder as she waved her fingers in the air in front of her to dry them. “I know, and I thought my hair looked really good, too. Well, make sure you watch tonight, okay Daddy?” She blew across her fingernails. “Love you too, bye,” she said and hung up the phone. Checking her watch, she realized that she had to get over to the stage.
Trish Everheart, she said in her mind as she walked. I like the sound of that.
After Adele’s popcorn finished popping, she brought it back to her office, peeled the bag open, and set it on her desk. Three of the kernels tumbled out of the bag, and she popped these into her mouth. She sat down at her computer to check her E-mail when her phone rang.
“Hello, this is Adele Oswald Crawley,” she said. “Oh, hi Mom, what a great surprise, how are you?” Adele reached into the bag and plucked a kernel out, brought it to her mouth, and then paused. “What?” Adele set the kernel on the desk, pressing the telephone against her ear. “Oh my God,” she said. She closed her eyes. “Oh Mom, please tell me this isn’t true, please tell me.”
But it was true.
Her mother had been mistaken. There wasn’t any Native American blood in her at all. None.
Now she’d have to completely redecorate her apartment. The tepee, the birchbark canoe, the feather headdress lampshades—all of it would have to go.
“S
peak to the chair, Peggy Jean. The chair represents Zoe. What do you want to say to the chair?” Alice, the drama therapist, had instructed.
For a moment, Peggy Jean was gripped by fear. But she allowed herself to feel the feeling and then move through it, thus enabling her to perform the exercise. She approached the chair. “What did I ever do to you? Were you unhappy with a purchase? You could have sent it back—we have an unconditional thirty-day guarantee!”
Then feelings began to pour out of her and she pounded on the padded seat of the banquet chair. “I am not a hairy bitch and you have no right to come to my house and terrorize me and my family,” she screamed. “I do not have a hormonal imbalance—my endocrinologist said everyone has little hairs.”
When Peggy Jean collapsed on the floor in tears, Debby offered her a tissue, but Alice intervened. “No, don’t, you might interrupt the grieving process.”
After a small break, allowing Peggy Jean the time she needed to feel her feelings, Alice said, “I’d like you all to stand in a close circle.”
The patients obliged, creating a tight, safe space.
“Now, Peggy Jean—I’d like you to stand in the center of the circle, close your eyes and fall backward.”
“What?” she cried.
“And group, when Peggy Jean falls, I want you to all reach out and catch her; show her that she has support.”
“I don’t think I can,” Peggy Jean whispered.
“I know you can,” empowered the therapist.
And so, trusting the process, Peggy Jean closed her eyes and, going against instinct, fear and pride, she allowed herself to fall backward; backward into the outstretched arms of the other patients at the Anne Sexton Center.
Tears welled in Debby’s eyes.
Then a smiling Peggy Jean was raised to her feet, and as she opened her eyes, the whole room applauded. “I hope I wasn’t too heavy, what with all the patty melts and pudding cups I’ve been eating.”
A kind-hearted man who wore a small, reflective codependency awareness ribbon pinned to his hospital smock said, “You weren’t heavy at all, Peggy Jean— the only weight you carry is on your shoulders. I wish I could carry it for you.”
Indeed, the progress Peggy Jean had made was