I add lying on the couch and watching movies and reruns on TV to my routine. I move from bed to the windows to the couch, then I start over again. Meredith texts about Magnus. I tell her to drop him off in the lobby and have the concierge bring him to me. She wants to know if I’m okay. I tell her that I’m great but have a head cold.
She buys it and a few minutes later I open the door for Magnus. He heads to his bedroom and I head to mine.
Oliver doesn’t buy it, though. After a few short back-and-forth texts, he shows up in the lobby. He tells me he wants to see me to make sure I’m doing okay. I tell him I’m fine and refuse to see him. On good days, I am empty and I have nothing to give or say to anyone. On bad days, I relive every excruciating detail of my time in Marfa. Thoughts of I should have done this different and I shouldn’t have done that plague me. Momma and Daddy walking away in their old coats plays in my head like a painful film clip, and the pain doesn’t end there, because I realize Daddy is right. Momma can’t heal her grief if I’m there trying to fill my old place in her heart.
I don’t want to cause Momma grief, but where does that leave me?
My daddy borrowed money for my funeral, and I can’t financially provide for my parents. I live in a multimillion-dollar penthouse, have more designer clothes than should be allowed, and pay two hundred dollars to have my dog groomed like a sissy, and my mother’s coat hangs off her. I am tortured by thoughts of Momma and Daddy having so little when I have so much, but there’s nothing I can do now. There are no more plans. No more lies. Nothing.
Who am I? Without my home and my family, I don’t know. I’m one woman’s soul in a different woman’s body. No one really knows me. I stand alone. Screaming in silence. A speck in a window. I pull out my composition notebook to write about my pain, to let it pour from my wounded soul onto the page, but the only word I get out is lost.
Every day I change from one pair of pajamas to another and crawl back into bed because I can’t manage more. I stare at the ceiling and Magnus barks at me from the doorway. “Food’s in your dish,” I say without looking at him. He barks again and I roll my head toward the door. The concierge took him out not long ago, but I know what he wants by looking at him. “Pee on one of the trees downstairs.” I don’t care. They’re a pain in the ass and belong outside anyway. He doesn’t move, but his beady eyes drill holes into my brain. “Pick one. Pretend it’s a Douglas fir and that I spent hours making paper ornaments. Pretend it’s a Christmas tree that made me happy.” I return my attention to the ceiling, but he barks two more times. “Good God almighty!” I could call downstairs again, but I don’t, and I
throw the covers back. “I just changed into clean pajamas.”
He yips and spins around like he’s got to go bad. “Fine! Why I bother with a hateful dog, I surely don’t know.” I brush my teeth and tuck my pajama legs into furry snow boots and my hair into a furry hat. By the time we walk to the elevator, Magnus is in his blue parka and I’m in a long wool coat and scarf. I put on big dark sunglasses and wear them through the residents’ lobby and out into the overcast gloom of Detroit in January.
Magnus stops on the welcome mat and I have to carry him to the park so his paws won’t get frostbite. The sidewalks are busy. Everyone has someplace to go. Their world hasn’t stopped. I am surrounded by people, and I’ve never felt so alone. I look at them as they walk past, and I’m angry that they get to have good lives. I want to yell, “Y’all suck!”
I set Magnus down and he finds a patch of pristine snow and pees all over like he’s writing his name.
“Dogs are not allowed to urinate in this part of the park.”
I turn to look at a woman whose hair is brushed and who isn’t wearing pajamas under her coat. If I had the energy, I’d hate her. “That’s exactly what I told him, but he never listens to me.” There isn’t a bush or tree or planter in the entire park that hasn’t been peed on by every dog in the area.
“You are the owner.”
“I tell him that, too.”
She raises a hand, pointing toward Magnus, who hasn’t stopped peeing yet. He must have really had to go.
“Make him stop.”
“There’s no stoppin’ once he gets started, but you’re welcome to try.”
“I bring my kids to this park!”
I couldn’t care less. “Well, tell ’em not to eat the yellow snow.”
Her mouth drops open and she makes a sound of indignation. “That’s disgusting.”
“You should have been here after my niece snuck him her tuna sandwich. That was disgustin’.” Magnus finally shakes his leg. “You’re a good boy,” I gush, and pull my roll of poop bags from my pocket. “Do you have to go number two?” He answers by standing on the tops of my boots. I scoop him up like a baby, and he looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. He’s right. I lost it days ago. “Yes, you are. Oh, yes you are.” I shove the bags in my pocket. “Such a good boy, Momma’s buyin’ you a good-boy treat.”
I walk away without looking back. If a dog peeing in the snow is that woman’s biggest concern in life, then she doesn’t have any real problems. I find just enough cash in my pocket to buy Magnus an organic treat with special dog icing. He gobbles down half by the time we’re back home inside the penthouse. My coat is covered in dog-treat crumbs, and I drop it along with Magnus’s parka inside the front door. Behind me I leave a trail of hat, scarf, and boots on the way to the couch.
I went outside. I got fresh air. I don’t have to do that again. Tomorrow, I’ll make arrangements for hotel staff to take Magnus to the park twice a day. Let one of them get harangued by a stranger.
An ASPCA commercial comes on; just like the kind that always made Momma’s eyes get all watery. I used to turn the channel really quick so she didn’t have to watch it. She’d always say, “Thank you, baby.”
I curl up in a soft throw blanket and lay my cheek on a blue pillow with tassels. My life is pointless. I think of Edie and the decision she made at the Plaza hotel in El Paso. Feeling hollow yet filled with pain and wondering how she can be both. Lost in what went wrong and not knowing how she can face another day. Lost in despair, a pain so deep she tried to carve it out of her veins and just wanted it to be over.
I would never cut my wrists, but I understand getting lost in pain. There’s no way out. No reason to believe it will ever change. Just a speck in a window.
I reach for my stash of Kleenex and blow my nose. I choke on my tears and cover my eyes with my forearm. I would never cut my wrists, but I think of drifting away to my sparkly pink path. No back-and-forth this time. Just a straight shot toward Jesus.
I’ve had one goal, one single purpose since the switcheroo and I was given a different life. That purpose is gone. The dream of being back with my family is over and done. I think I’m over and done, too.
Something wet and sharp licks my cheek. I lift my arm and Magnus licks a tear from the corner of my lips. “What do you want?” I roll onto my back and he takes that as an invitation to stand on my chest and stare at me. If I ride my path to heaven, who’d buy Magnus special dog treats with blue icing? Who’d take him to the groomer so he can get his sissy haircut and a new bow in his topknot?