Kinsley: 312 Steps

Even though I love to work out, running and I don't get along.  I just hate it.  I would much rather spend my time in a spin class or lifting weights, or doing something that's actually fun outside like kayaking, or hiking, or skiing.  I actually want to like running, but I've tried a few times and I just can't get into it.

When I decided, right after our Labor Day camping trip, that I wanted to try again, Damien offered to run with me.  I'd rolled my eyes and basically said "thanks, but no thanks."  Damien was one of those people that loved running, and there was no way I'd keep up with him.  But he prodded me a little, promising to go at my speed and help me come up with a workout plan that didn't suck.  Finally I agreed, and it turns out that when you turn running into a social activity, I like it a lot better.

It had now been a little over a month and I was running two miles without stopping, which was pretty good since if I was running by myself, I'd huff and puff for about 2 minutes and call it good.  He even had me getting up and running on Sunday mornings with him.  He'd go out and run for awhile, then come get me and we'd run together for a little bit.  It's actually pretty disgusting in that "couple that does all the things together" way.

Today when we got back from our run, Damien told me to go ahead and shower first.  I refuse to share the shower, so he was used to that by now.  I took a little longer than I had planned because once I got in the shower I realized I desperately needed to shave.  By the time I got out, Damien was sitting on my bed.  "Sorry," I said, "I didn't mean to take so long.  It's all yours."  Then I turned and saw the serious look on his face and instantly got nervous.  It was the same look he always got when I was freaking out about something stupid. "What?  What's wrong?"

"While you were in the shower, your phone rang.  I didn't answer it, but it was right there, so I saw it was your dad calling.  He called back again as soon as your voicemail picked up.  I thought it might be an emergency, so I answered."  I shifted nervously, wishing he'd get to the point.  "Kinsley, your mom is in the hospital; it sounds like an overdose.  Right now she's not conscious.  Do you want to go to the hospital?"

I stared at him, processing this information in my mind.  I was so surprised by what he said that all I could register is that he asked me if I wanted to go, he didn't assume.  I felt like he finally understood how I felt about my family.  He waited patiently while all this went through my head.  Then the weight of what he said hit me, and I nodded mutely.

"Okay," he said.  "Why don't you put some clothes on, and then we'll go."

"But you didn't take a shower yet," I pointed out.

"I can shower later," he replied calmly.

I stood there in my towel and shook my head stubbornly.  "No, you gave me the shower first, and I took forever.  You should shower."

"Kinsley--" he started, looking confused.

"Would you just take a goddamned shower?!" I snapped.  I had no idea why I was so upset about a fucking shower, but right now it seemed like a reasonable thing to be upset about.  I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath so my next statement could come out more calmly.  "Please.  Please just take a shower.  I need a minute to get dressed anyway.  You shouldn't have to not shower because my mom is crazy."  Then I turned away and dug in a drawer for a pair of jeans.  I heard him stand and seconds later, the shower started.

By the time I was dressed, he was out of the shower and drying off.  I wasn't in a hurry, so I slipped into the bathroom to brush my teeth and comb my hair, and by the time I was ready to go, he was too.  I almost said "I told you so," but what would it have accomplished?  Not a damn thing.  So I kept my mouth shut for once.

"Do you want me to drive?" Damien asked at the bottom of the stairs.  I took my keys out of my purse and handed them to him wordlessly.  He locked the house behind us and opened my car door for me.  I got in, put on my seatbelt, and rested my head against the cool window.  Damien got in and started towards the hospital.  He glanced at me once or twice, but he didn't speak, and I was grateful.  I didn't want to talk.  I don't know what I'd say.

We got lucky and Damien found a really good, recently vacated parking spot.  He led me through the doors, into the elevator, and pressed a button.  I didn't even see which floor he'd hit.  I didn't really care.  I briefly wondered how he knew where to go, then realized he probably got the information from my dad.  I wouldn't have thought to do that, but of course he did, because he functions perfectly when things are going wrong.

Damien led me to a small waiting area and I was pretty sure I couldn't get myself out of here on my own if I tried.  I looked up and saw that my dad and his fiancée, Christina.  I wondered why she was here.  She didn't give a fuck about my mom--obviously, since she didn't mind fucking him while he was still married to her.  Though, to be fair, my dad was here and neither did he.  And my fuck-giving about my mom was questionable on a good day, and here I was.  My dad rushed over to me and hugged me tightly, despite me trying to shy away from it.  I didn't want to be touched.  "What took you so long?" he asked, looking from me to Damien.  "Was traffic bad?"

"Dad, it's Sunday morning," I said, rolling my eyes.

He glared at me.  "You could show a little respect, with your mother in the state she's in."

I almost laughed.  Almost.  I also considered asking my dad why he cared about the state my mother was in, but managed to keep my mouth shut.  That's twice in less than an hour...I hope nothing else super inappropriate pops into my head, because statistically I'm overdue to say something stupid and impulsive.  I didn't know what was wrong with me, but my mood did not match the situation at all.  Instead of any of those things, I gazed passively at my dad and nodded.  Christina smiled sympathetically at me and I picked a seat as far away from her and my dad as I could and sat down heavily.  Damien and my dad spoke quietly for a minute, then my dad glanced my way and went and sat down next to Christina.

"Do you need anything?" Damien asked me, sitting down next me.  "Something to drink?  To eat?"  I shook my head, then leaned against the wall.  He brushed his fingertips lightly over my knee, then withdrew his hand and settled back in his uncomfortable chair.  "Your dad said that they're working on waking her up and someone will come out to talk to us when she's awake."  I nodded again.

Damien didn't try to touch me or talk to me anymore, and I was glad.  I didn't want to talk, and I definitely didn't want to be touched.  I shut my eyes and considered my feelings.  I was pretty sure that I should be scared, anxious, sad, or some manner of "upset" at the very least.  I was none of those things.  I was actually more concerned about not feeling those things than I was for my mom's wellbeing.   My mom had never been a big part of my life (at least as far as actual parenting was concerned) and I'd felt ambivalent about her since before I even knew the word "ambivalent."  I didn't want anything bad to happen to her, of course, so I didn't understand why I didn't feel anything.

I sat in my chair with my head against the wall and my eyes closed. It's weird what kind of memories go through your head when someone might be dying.  I watched them play out across the back of my eyelids like I was having a dissociative episode.

I was...6?  I rode the bus home from school.  I'd get off on the random corner that had been my assigned bus stop with 4 other kids.  Their moms and dads always met them there.  Mine didn't.  The moms usually gave me a worried look.  The dads ushered their precious offspring away from me quickly, as though deadbeat parenting was contagious.  I'd always walked home.  It was three and a half blocks.  I had to cross the busy street once.  I always counted my steps, and it took me 312 tiny 6 year old steps to get there.  Always 312.  I made sure of it.

That day, when I'd gotten home, the door was locked.  I'd panicked for a second until I remembered the key.  The key on the chain around my neck, tucked safely under my shirt.  I'd pulled it out and fit it into the lock.  It had been hard to turn.  I remember that.  I had been near tears from frustration by the time it turned, sliding the lock back easily, like it had been taunting me.

"Mom?" I'd called when I got myself in.  "Mommy?"  No answer.  I'd crept towards her bedroom.  The door had been open a crack, and I'd pushed it open further.  Of course it had creaked as it opened.

"What?" she'd snapped.  It was so dark in her room, I had barely been able to make out her outline, lying beneath the blankets on her bed.

"I'm home," I had said, softly.  

"Yes, I'm aware.  You make a lot of noise," she'd replied.

"Sorry," I had apologized, feeling the tears welling up again.  I had waited by the door, hoping she'd get up.

"What do you want?" she'd asked eventually.  

I had taken a deep, shaky breath.  "I- I'm hungry," I'd told her, regretting the words the second they'd come out of my mouth.

She'd sighed heavily, and I'd sniffled, trying desperately not to cry.  "You're a big girl, make yourself a snack."

"Is daddy coming home tonight?" I'd asked, ignoring her clear dismissal.

"No."  With that, she'd rolled over, presenting her back to me.

As I'd turned, she'd suddenly said, "Kinsley, sweetheart?"

"Yes?" I'd answered, turning quickly back around, hopeful.

"Be a good girl and get mommy her pills.  The little round ones that start with an X."

I had deflated immediately.  "Okay," I'd said dutifully.  

When I'd returned with the pill bottle, she'd rolled over and instantly sighed.  "And how am I supposed to swallow them?" she'd asked coldly.

"Uh...I'll go get you some water," I'd offered.

"No, I'll just take them.  It's fine.  Go."

I'd walked back into the kitchen, silent tears rolling down my face.  I hadn't been sure why I was crying, but I understood now.  I'd found an orange in the fridge and had peeled it carefully.  A couple hours later, my 14 year old brother Kaleb had come home, dropped off by a friend after a sports practice.  "Hey Kinsy-bug," he'd greeted me cheerfully, using the nickname I hadn't let anyone else call me.  "Where's mom?"

"Sleeping," I'd told him.

"Is dad coming home tonight?"  I'd shaken my head silently.  He'd put his bag in his room, made me some mac and cheese, kissed me on the forehead, and left.  Off to go hang out with some friends, I'm sure.  I'm still not sure if he came back at night or not.

Then there was the time when I was 8 and social services knocked on our door because I'd come to school without a lunch or lunch money and wearing the same clothes for over a week.  Kaleb had answered the door and let them in, because dad hadn't been home and mom had been in bed.  Mom came out while the social worker was talking to us, and she'd put on quite a show of being a loving parent.

After the social worker left, she had screamed at us for opening the door and talking to the social worker.  Then she'd promptly taught me how to do laundry.  I've been doing my own laundry ever since.

Not even two years after that, on his 18th birthday, Kaleb had stolen a car.  A teacher's car, right out of the parking lot in the middle of the school day.  He'd been caught later that day after he hit a little kid on a bike, seriously injuring the little boy.  He'd been charged with the theft and vehicular assault.  He'd ended up in prison for 6 years, and I'd never heard from him again after that.

Despite it all, I'd made it.  I'd turned out pretty well actually, I think.  I had always been smart.  I'd always done well in school.  My teachers had always liked me, though looking back, I wonder if it was because they felt sorry for me.  I had never been allowed to just be smart, though.  There was always an "even though" attached.  "Kinsley won the spelling bee, even though her brother just got arrested."  "Kinsley read the most books over the summer, even though her parents wouldn't ever take her to the library."  "Kinsley got a scholarship to DU, even though she was one absence away from having to go to truancy court."  "Kinsley is Salutatorian, even though she showed up to her physics final drunk."

I opened my eyes, not wanting to sit still anymore.  I guessed it had been over an hour, but when I looked at the clock, I saw it had barely been 20 minutes.  I sighed and stood.  Damien looked up at me.  "I need to move," I said softly.  "I'm going to go walk in the hall a little."

"Do you want company?" he asked.  I shook my head, hoping he'd understand.  I felt bad that he was here when I didn't really want anything to do with anyone, but I also didn't want him to leave.  He gave me a reassuring smile and said, "I'm going to go grab something to eat then, okay?  I'm getting hungry."

"Sure," I said, returning his smile with a small one of my own.  He stood and walked with me towards the hallway.  Before he walked to the right, away from where I was going, I grabbed his hand.  He looked back at me, surprised, and I stood on my toes to kiss him lightly on the cheek.  "Thank you," I said softly.

He squeezed my hand, then brushed a wayward piece of hair off my forehead.  His hand rested briefly on the side of my face, then he was gone.  I paced up and down the hallway.  As I walked, I counted my steps.  I'd count up to 312, then start over. I felt restless and I was starting to get nervous.  I was almost relieved that I was feeling an emotion typical of this situation.

When Damien returned, my eyes met his but I continued to pace, so he went back into the waiting area.  I wandered up and down the hallway, trailing my hand along the wall, trying not to think about how many germs I was picking up by doing so. When I was done pacing, I went back and sat down next to Damien again.  There was a sandwich, a bag of chips, a banana, and a bottle of water on my seat.  "For when you get hungry," he said.

"Thank you," I said.  I picked them up and set them down on the small table wedged into the corner.  "Damien..." I started.  He looked up.  "Um, if you have things to do you don't have to stay here," I said.  "I don't know how long we'll be here, and..."  I trailed off.  I wanted him here, but I didn't know how to tell him without making him feel obligated.  Because I didn't want him here if he was only here because he felt obligated.

"I'm okay," he said.  "I think I'll stay."  I tried not to let the relief show on my face.

"Thank you," I said softly.  I was starting to feel like a broken record.  At least I was a broken record with manners.  I reached for the sandwich and unwrapped it.  Ham, cheese, and tomato.  Perfect.  I took a bite and chewed.  It was kind of dry, and a little tasteless.  I opened the water and took a drink.  I managed half the sandwich, then wrapped the rest up and set it back down on the table.  I eyed the banana but I was starting to feel a little bit nauseated so I left it.

I shivered a little.  Why was the hospital so fucking cold?  I had just put on a long sleeved shirt, because it was a perfectly reasonable temperature outside.  Without a word, Damien pulled off his sweatshirt and handed it to me.  I started to protest but realized that that would just leave me cold, so I took it gratefully and pulled it over my head.  When I settled back into my seat, I was warmer, but I felt like I was going to randomly just explode with something stupid and impulsive.  I was restless, but more in my head than physically.  I readjusted and rested my forearm against Damien's.  He shifted so our arms ran parallel and were pressed together along the length of the armrest.  I sighed and shut my eyes, feeling grounded by the contact.  It was just enough.

We sat silently for what felt like another hour, but was really just 15 minutes.  I opened my eyes and looked at Damien.  "Will you walk with me?" I asked.

"Of course," he said.  He stood and offered me a hand.  I took it and stood, and we headed out to the hallway.  My dad was on his phone, probably doing work.  Christina was leisurely reading a book.  Seriously?  You go to the hospital and think, "Oh, hold on, let me just grab my book"?  No.  People don't fucking do that.  Then again, I practically forced Damien to take a shower, so who am I to judge?

"I don't think I can sit in there anymore," I said, once we were moving down the hallway.  I let my fingers dangle from his, so our hands were attached but we weren't quite holding hands.  "He's pissing me off, pretending to be concerned.  And I don't know why he dragged his tramp girlfriend along with him.  Or fiancée, or whatever the fuck she is."  I was moving out of "numb" and into "angry", though I wasn't sure exactly what my anger was directed at.

"We don't have to sit in there," Damien replied calmly.

"You must think I'm crazy," I said suddenly, stopping and looking at him.  He cocked his head curiously and gave me a questioning look.  "You're so involved with your family, and I can't even stand to be around mine."  I bit my lip and said, "I'm not even worried about my mom, just mad at everyone.  I don't know why we're here."

He shrugged.  "I stopped trying to understand the way you process your feelings a long time ago.  I won't pretend that I understand your relationship with your family either, but if you're okay with it, then that's enough for me."  Coming from someone else, that might have sounded condescending.  But right now, from Damien, it was honest and validating and exactly what I needed from him.  I sagged against him and he wrapped his arms around me, the only thing keeping me from slumping onto the floor.

"Damien?  I want to go home," I said, after several seconds of standing in the hallway in his arms.

"Okay," he said.  He didn't question me.  He didn't argue.  He just agreed.  He couldn't possibly be more perfect than he was in this moment.  We turned and walked back towards the waiting area so I could grab my purse.  I was sliding the straps onto my shoulder when a doctor walked into the waiting area.  I stood and watched as my dad and Christina both jumped up. Damien looked at me, waiting to see what I wanted to do.  After hesitating, I walked over towards the doctor to find out what was happening.