Abby
By Elizabeth Smith
“Do you think it’s just a phase?” Carla asked.
Zack kicked a stone on the path. “Like when she was obsessed with saving the planet? Timing our showers and sorting through the bathroom trash?”
“It kind of evened out.”
“Shouldn’t she be doing something tonight? I mean what kid wants to lounge at home on a Friday?”
Carla pushed their little son, Lucas, in the stroller. “We’re the party animals, going for a walk.”
“Hey, it’s better than the couch.”
They came to a fork and picked the path to the left, which led them past some wild rose bushes and crabapple trees. There was the clicking sound of a bicycle chain ahead. Three cyclists leisurely rolled toward Carla and Zack, nodding and smiling as they passed. The last, an older man in a recumbent bike, donned a small rainbow flag on a tall wire. Zack averted his eyes. They walked in silence to the edge of the brook. Carla unbuckled Lucas, who collected pebbles and tossed them in the river.
“So,” Carla said, “what are we going to do?”
“I don’t want to talk about it or even think about it.”
“C’mon. We can’t just dance around.”
“The whole thing. It’s sick. And it’s my fault.”
“What?”
Zack took off his shoes and waded in the river with Lucas. “She says something is wrong with her body, that it doesn’t match her mind. Well, I gave her that body and that mind. And even though I tried my best, I screwed up. I must’ve screwed her up somehow.”
“Do you know if anyone in your extended family has anything like this going on? Any of your cousins’ kids?”
“I haven’t heard anything, not that we talk much.”
“What about Penny’s side?”
“Not in her immediate family, at least. I’ve no idea about her cousins either.”
“Maybe we should call her.”
“I don’t want any more to do with her than the court mandated.”
“Then maybe I should call her.”
“No. Please. If she gets involved…” Zack grimaced.
Lucas complained that his feet were cold, so Carla brought him back to the stroller and replaced his tiny socks and shoes. They continued along the path. This time Lucas’s father pushed the stroller.
“I’m just relieved she’s told us,” Carla said. “What if she bottled all that up? Or told some friend instead?”
“I feel sick.”
“We could find a therapist.”
Zack snorted. “Yeah, have you heard how they treat it? They don’t even know what causes it.”
Carla wiped her face with her hand. They paused on the bridge over the shallow, rushing water. The bridge was hardly more than a boardwalk, but they all looked down over the railing. Lucas came out of the stroller again to throw leaves and watch them float downstream.
“I read that even after all that ‘therapy,’ the suicide rate is still high,” Zack said. “It’s almost for nothing.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Carla trembled.
When they came to the hill, they took turns pushing the stroller. At one point, Carla extended herself, aligning her shoulders and back to her arms, bringing herself to a position almost parallel to the slope.
“So what are we going to do?” Carla repeated, catching her breath at the top of the hill.
Zack shook his head and took a swig from his water bottle. They viewed the reservoir, where a man and boy fished from a canoe. The golf course was busy with visitors yet crisp and clean. There was the neighborhood and, beyond that, the mountain range with snowy peaks.
“What if…” Carla began, fixing her ponytail. “What if we trust her?”
“Trust? We can hardly trust her to make her bed.”
“So? What if you and I go to her and say we trust her and love her and have no idea what to do?”
“Then what?”
“Then I don’t know yet. Then she takes it from there, I guess. We work as a team.”
Zack wiped his sweat with the inside of his T-shirt, and he welcomed the light breeze. The boy in the canoe snagged a fish on his line. And overhead, a flock of geese flew to the north.
“Do you think it’s just a phase?” Carla asked.
Zack kicked a stone on the path. “Like when she was obsessed with saving the planet? Timing our showers and sorting through the bathroom trash?”
“It kind of evened out.”
“Shouldn’t she be doing something tonight? I mean what kid wants to lounge at home on a Friday?”
Carla pushed their little son, Lucas, in the stroller. “We’re the party animals, going for a walk.”
“Hey, it’s better than the couch.”
They came to a fork and picked the path to the left, which led them past some wild rose bushes and crabapple trees. There was the clicking sound of a bicycle chain ahead. Three cyclists leisurely rolled toward Carla and Zack, nodding and smiling as they passed. The last, an older man in a recumbent bike, donned a small rainbow flag on a tall wire. Zack averted his eyes. They walked in silence to the edge of the brook. Carla unbuckled Lucas, who collected pebbles and tossed them in the river.
“So,” Carla said, “what are we going to do?”
“I don’t want to talk about it or even think about it.”
“C’mon. We can’t just dance around.”
“The whole thing. It’s sick. And it’s my fault.”
“What?”
Zack took off his shoes and waded in the river with Lucas. “She says something is wrong with her body, that it doesn’t match her mind. Well, I gave her that body and that mind. And even though I tried my best, I screwed up. I must’ve screwed her up somehow.”
“Do you know if anyone in your extended family has anything like this going on? Any of your cousins’ kids?”
“I haven’t heard anything, not that we talk much.”
“What about Penny’s side?”
“Not in her immediate family, at least. I’ve no idea about her cousins either.”
“Maybe we should call her.”
“I don’t want any more to do with her than the court mandated.”
“Then maybe I should call her.”
“No. Please. If she gets involved…” Zack grimaced.
Lucas complained that his feet were cold, so Carla brought him back to the stroller and replaced his tiny socks and shoes. They continued along the path. This time Lucas’s father pushed the stroller.
“I’m just relieved she’s told us,” Carla said. “What if she bottled all that up? Or told some friend instead?”
“I feel sick.”
“We could find a therapist.”
Zack snorted. “Yeah, have you heard how they treat it? They don’t even know what causes it.”
Carla wiped her face with her hand. They paused on the bridge over the shallow, rushing water. The bridge was hardly more than a boardwalk, but they all looked down over the railing. Lucas came out of the stroller again to throw leaves and watch them float downstream.
“I read that even after all that ‘therapy,’ the suicide rate is still high,” Zack said. “It’s almost for nothing.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Carla trembled.
When they came to the hill, they took turns pushing the stroller. At one point, Carla extended herself, aligning her shoulders and back to her arms, bringing herself to a position almost parallel to the slope.
“So what are we going to do?” Carla repeated, catching her breath at the top of the hill.
Zack shook his head and took a swig from his water bottle. They viewed the reservoir, where a man and boy fished from a canoe. The golf course was busy with visitors yet crisp and clean. There was the neighborhood and, beyond that, the mountain range with snowy peaks.
“What if…” Carla began, fixing her ponytail. “What if we trust her?”
“Trust? We can hardly trust her to make her bed.”
“So? What if you and I go to her and say we trust her and love her and have no idea what to do?”
“Then what?”
“Then I don’t know yet. Then she takes it from there, I guess. We work as a team.”
Zack wiped his sweat with the inside of his T-shirt, and he welcomed the light breeze. The boy in the canoe snagged a fish on his line. And overhead, a flock of geese flew to the north.
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