Scars from a Memoir (19 page)

There was a knock on the door, and the doctor walked in. She introduced herself and briefly explained the procedure. “Do you have any questions?” the doctor asked.

Tiffany hadn't made eye contact when the doctor spoke. She doodled on the paper that covered the table, and her humming turned into a nursery rhyme. The doctor looked at me and I shrugged.

“Are you sure you're ready for this?” the doctor asked.

“Yesssss,” Tiffany said.

“Well, then, if you don't have any questions,” the doctor said, “why don't you lean back, and we'll get started.”

Tiffany put her feet in the stirrups. “Burr-y, cold-y.” Her butt went to the end of the table and she flopped back, bouncing because she had hit it so hard.

Resting against the wall, I had a view of Tiffany's leg, the doctor's tray filled with instruments, and her hands moving between Tiffany's thighs.

“This is going to feel a little cold, too,” the doctor said.

I could almost feel the hard stirrups pressing into her feet, the doctor's gloves brushing over her skin, the coolness of the tongs she used to open her up. This was all too familiar. I closed my eyes, and a flashback of the last time I'd been at this exact clinic began to appear behind my lids.

*   *   *

After I filled out the paperwork, I sat in the waiting room and pictured myself coming back here to take the baby class with Claire in three months, with a big belly and swollen ankles. She would come to the hospital when I was ready to give birth, and she'd wipe cold washcloths over my face. She'd cut the umbilical cord.

“Change into this.” The nurse had handed me a gown as she brought me into the exam room. “The doctor will be in shortly.”

The doctor walked in and took a seat on the stool in front of me. She had a little teddy bear clipped to her stethoscope and a gold band around her ring finger. She was probably someone's mom, too.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

I had lain back on the table as the doctor moved around the room, getting the tools she needed.

“This is going to feel a little cold,” she said.

There were posters all over the walls, but the one by the bed stood out the most. It showed a mom at a park, sitting on a bench, and her daughter playing in a sandbox. The park looked like the one I had always gone to with Eric. The mom was reading a magazine but kept it low on her lap so she could watch her daughter at the same time.

This was my chance, I'd suddenly thought. A chance to change my life and live like a normal twenty-four-year-old girl. A chance to get heroin out of my life.

But could I do it—raise a child, be a mother, and be responsible for something other than myself?

The voice in my head kept saying, “You're not alone.” I had Claire, my parents, and Michael. I had people who loved me and would help me raise my baby. I could do this. And I could stop using. Not for me, but for my baby.

“Stop,” I shouted.

I sat up on the table and pulled my feet out of the stirrups. “I've changed my mind.”

“Are you sure?”

I was sure—I wasn't going to kill for heroin. Everything else, I'd figure out.

*   *   *

My eyes opened, and I looked around, trying to remember where I was.

“Nicole?” Tiffany said.

The images in my head were gone, but the questions weren't. What if those bags of dope hadn't been waiting for me on Sunshine's coffee table and I hadn't shot them into my arm? Would I have gone to
my dealer's place to re-up, or would I have gotten clean? For my baby? And if I had stayed sober, would Michael and Claire still be alive?

“Nicole!” Tiffany yelled.

I shook my head. Both Tiffany and the doctor were staring at me.

“Hand,” Tiffany said. She was reaching out toward me. “Ouchies.”

I slowly walked to her and clasped her fingers within mine.

*   *   *

I kept my arm around Tiffany's waist while we climbed up the stairs to our apartment. Once we were inside, she pushed me away and rushed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. I soaked a washcloth in warm water, made a cup of tea and toast, and brought the items into her bedroom. She was under the covers, her back to me, cuddling a pillow.

“You should eat something,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

She tossed the plate as though it were a Frisbee. The glass smashed as it hit the wall, and the buttered toast left a streak as it traveled down to the floor. “I'm not hungry.”

“The food would have made you feel better.”

“I don't want to feel better.” She sat up. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets, and her teeth pressed together like she was going to snarl. “I feel just fine.”

“I want to help you.”

“I don't want your goddamn help.”

“You need to talk to someone. If that person isn't me, at least agree to speak to a professional.”

She laughed, but it was more of a cackle. “You're a joke. You're all a joke.”

“Who is…?” But I stopped. She wasn't making sense, and her answer wouldn't either. She had just killed her baby; I had to remember that. “The way you're feeling is normal; you're grieving —”

“Get the hell out.”

“Tiffany, I'm sorry, I just—”

She stood and bumped her body against me. Her eyes bore into mine. “We're not friends. We were never friends. So why don't you get the hell out of my room before I hurt you.”

“You don't mean that.” I took a step back. “This is your pain talking.”

Her fingers clenched into fists. “I've never been more serious. One call to the rehab center, and they'll send your ass out of here. Stay away from me, or I promise you'll be on the street by morning.”

Tiffany had that kind of power. She could call Dr. Cohen, the head of the rehab center; even though I'd always tested clean, a confrontation with my housemother would get me kicked out. I had only about a month left; I wasn't going to ruin that.

The Tiffany I knew wasn't the woman standing in front of me, and nothing I said would bring her back. I didn't bother saying anything else, and I didn't make eye contact before I left her room.

The fresh air outside didn't stop my heart from pounding. Neither did the deep breaths I took while sitting on the front steps of our apartment. There was something building inside me, and I needed to let it out. I called Asher, but it went straight to voicemail. I remembered him saying he had a meeting with his editor that would last most of the day. My NA group wasn't the right place to discuss my feelings. They all knew Tiffany, and it wasn't right to talk behind her back. I dialed Mark's number, and he answered after the second ring.

“I was just thinking about you.” His voice was deep and a little scratchy. It wasn't even ten yet, and Mark worked nights. He'd probably just gotten out of bed or was in someone else's.

“Are you home?” I asked.

“Come over; you don't sound good.”

I told him I'd be there soon and started walking to the train.

I couldn't imagine what Tiffany was going through—the emotions running through her body while having a sentence of death weighing on her. If that were me, I would want everyone I loved close by so I could spend my remaining time in their presence. I wasn't her. I had beaten my addiction, and according to my doctor, I was a healthy twenty-eight year old. But now I knew how fast that could change.

Mark came to the door in a pair of holey jeans and a wifebeater; his hair was flat, and he hadn't shaved since the bar opening. He looked like the morning after a hot night of sex. And it looked good on him.

I followed him into the kitchen and took a seat on one of the barstools. After he handed me a cup of coffee, I told him about
my morning. While I spoke, he moved between the stovetop and fridge, filling one of the frying pans with beaten eggs and the other with vegetables. I didn't think I'd be eating for a while, not after witnessing Tiffany's procedure, but my stomach growled for the sautéed mushrooms.

“Do you think she meant everything she said to me?” I asked.

“A diagnosis like hers can change a person. The abortion made her even more emotional. Just get through the next month, and speak to her only at curfew.”

“So you don't think I should try to fix things?”

“You've done enough. It's now on her to respond. She should thank you for all your support and apologize for the way she acted.”

“I don't want her to go through this alone.”

He slid one of the omelets on a plate and stuck it in front of me with a fork and napkin. Once he was done cooking, he joined me on the other side of the island. But he didn't sit down. He stood next to me, and his hand touched my arm. “You can't heal everyone, Nicole. Not Sunshine, Tiffany, or anyone else who comes your way.”

He was right, which was usually the case, and that was why I'd called him. Mark wasn't that much older than I was, but he had so much wisdom. I had been so focused on Sunshine and Tiffany that I'd forgotten about my own healing.

“Eat your breakfast because we're going to do something fun today,” he said.

“I'm not really in the mood—”

“Whether you're hungry or not, you need to eat up. My eggs don't taste as good when they're cold. And you need to get your mind off what happened, so you better get in the mood.”

I had taken the day off from work so I could be with Tiffany, but she didn't want me. Mark did, and he had the biggest grin on his face. I never wanted his smile to disappear.

“So what do you think?” he asked.

I picked up the fork and took a mouthful. “These are the best eggs I've ever had.”

“I wasn't asking about the eggs.”

“Are you giving me a choice?”

He picked up his plate and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Give me fifteen minutes. I promise you're going to have a blast.”

-22-

WHEN MARK PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT of the aquarium, I thought we were going whale watching. How could he think spending the day with a bunch of fish was going to be fun? He'd mentioned taking me here before, but he'd been joking. He had to be.

“You're going to love this,” he said.

“I hope you brought Dramamine.”

“You only need Dramamine if you're going on a boat.”

“Isn't that what we're doing?”

“Will you just trust me?”

It was sunny and humid outside, but once we got inside the aquarium, that all changed. The only light came from the fish tanks that lined the walls, and the temperature was as cold as the ocean.

“We're going to start with the rays,” he said, grabbing my hand and leading me through the long hallway.

I checked out each of the tanks as we passed them; there were sharks with hammer-like noses and seals with long whiskers. The little penguins stood on boulders, their eyes following me before they dove into the water.

We stopped in front of a shallow tank, completely open on the top with just a short edge separating us from the pool. The sign said Cownose rays and Bonnethead sharks, and there were lots of them. They were swimming around in a circle, weaving between rocks, stirring up the sand on the bottom. Mark leaned over the ledge and dipped his hand in the water.

I rushed up behind him and pulled his arm. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“This is a touch tank,” he said, “so you're allowed to touch them.”

“What if they sting you? Isn't that how they got their name?”

I was a huge fan of dogs; you could train them, and they cuddled and licked your face. But these weren't Boston terriers or bulldogs who snorted when you petted them. These were giant fish that ate things probably the size of me, and they had massive stingers coming out of their butts. There was nothing safe about petting them.

He took my hand, but when it got close to the water, I tried to pull away. “No way! I'm not touching those things.”

“Do you really think I'm going to let anything hurt you?” He shook my arm, trying to relax the tension in my wrist. “Don't be scared; it's going to be fine.”

The water was only at my fingertips, but a chill ran though me. I slid closer to him, feeling his warmth through his clothes. It was his smile that was holding my attention. As I watched his lips spread, I felt the water up to my knuckles.

A few seconds passed, and nothing bit me. He sank my hand in a little deeper, and the rays swam by, grazing under my nails. They didn't stop, sniff my fingers, or attempt to eat them. Mark's grip didn't soften; he continued to move me in until the water was up to my elbow. Their skin was slimy and almost like rubber. The spongy wetness tickled, causing me to laugh.

Mark released me, and my hand bounced under the waves. Almost like being in the middle of the ocean, I was floating in the free water. It felt dangerous. I didn't know whether my fingers were suddenly going to piss them off or they would feel the urge to feed. The unknown was like a high. Not a heroin high—a high with no threshold.

Mark's hand was no longer in the water. He had turned sideways on the ledge, facing me with the same look he'd had over breakfast: a protective and caring expression. “It's movie time.”

“We're going to watch a movie? Here?”

“It's not just any movie.” He pulled me to my feet, and we walked to the back of the aquarium, where he purchased tickets for the shark show. We took a seat in the middle of the theater, wearing our 3D glasses, and I leaned back and rested my feet against the chair in front of me.

“Have you seen a 3D movie before?” he asked as the lights dimmed.

I shook my head. “But I think I can handle it.”

He laughed when, seconds later, I jumped in my chair. A giant shark was inches from my face, teeth the length of my hands, with a stare that penetrated my whole body. I knew it was just a movie, but I felt like I was in the ocean wearing scuba gear and getting whipped by his splashing tail. From the corner of my eye, I saw an orange fish swim toward us; the shark turned, opening his mouth and snapping his teeth down on the fish. I wrapped around Mark's arm, clinging to it as the shark moved around me and acted as though I were going to be his next catch.

Mark's fingers covered mine, and he leaned into my ear. “Wait until you meet the whale shark.”