Episode 7 - The Toolkit

(Static fades in. Static cuts.)

Why do I always expect theatrics from you? Why did I first look at that bundle like it was going to have the actual Holy Grail in it?

(Music fades in)

Or, I guess, there’s a better way of asking that. Like why it is that I like theatrics full stop. Because that’s always been my problem, right? I just love show and drama and… Or at least, I remember being accused of such. But the first person to ever say as much was Dad, so who knows. But I… I remember that. Now. Clear as day.

Or I think that I remember one time when Dad said that to me. Or actually it was a series of related times. It was back when I still believed we could work things out somehow. As father and daughter. Which might have been dumb to think. Okay I know it was dumb, objectively, to think and feel that way. But I would prefer to call it naive frankly. Given the stakes of the situation, that might not be fair, I know. It just stings to think about it so aggressively.

On the other hand, I do understand that I’m largely still making these mistakes. So maybe a harsher rebuke would be better. But there’s still part of me that still wants to believe him. That wants to accept these not so small gestures of care from him as genuine gestures. (soft breathing) I want to believe he’s trying to be a new person. The new computer. The new car. All of these gifts. It never would have happened before this supposed change of heart he’s had. He never would have considered it back then. For a while, I thought he loved money above all things. Now, I don’t know what he loves as this sort of ultimate good. But it’s been a while, since I realized that there was no way money could be his ultimate goal. I just couldn’t tell you what goal was for him. And I still can’t. 

Despite logic or reason, there’s part of me that wants it to be me. Or the family, as a whole, I guess. That’s what’s fair, I mean, I have siblings, so fairness is a requirement. (softer but grown)But there’s a part of me that doesn’t even want fairness. After all I’ve done. Even before all I’ve done. There’s this… Well, it was a lingering desire when I was younger. A lingering desire in my heart to have him actually care about me like a father should. And I can’t seem to get rid of it. Now it’s feeding off of his actions. Off of these gifts. These small pieces of hope. And it should not. I should not let it. I should know better. But I’m still holding onto hope.

Because maybe I’m being dramatic. Maybe… Maybe I like theatrics. Like he said.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

I was thirteen when he said this to me. I remember what happened. Dr. Alexson’s health wasn’t great. Okay, I should explain. Well, I know people think doctors always have their act together and stay healthy. They’re on top of the latest discovery on longevity, etc, etc, but speaking from experience, I can tell you that this is not always true. Like, you think they have the guide for the perfectly healthy life and utilize it perfectly, no matter their speciality because that’s what they learned in medical school and after, but it seems to me like the main thing you learn from being knee deep in medical research is to make a subjective choice. 

It’s like a cost-benefit analysis comes up with every healthy lifestyle change, and those costs are completely subjective. Like maybe going for a five mile run every day of your adult life could add an extra year onto the end, but the feeling of lying in bed with the covers pulled close is just too good to pass up. And so you give up that extra year for a lifetime of breathless sighs beneath a duvet.

Of course, there’s something wrong with that analogy. Because the trade off is never so clearly defined.

It was a well-known fact around the practice that Dr. Alexson had high blood pressure. And sometimes it was dangerously high and sometimes it wasn’t. But even on the days it wasn’t so high, it was still concerningly high. I was young, but I still knew what the risk was to him. I knew he could die. And I was scared he would. Now is it a direct link? No, not exactly. There are usually more steps involved. But that was typically the domino that got tapped and causing the rest of the set to fall. 

The second domino was a heart attack Dr. Alexson had. In the office, thankfully, you could say. I mean, if you are going to essentially guarantee yourself a heart attack, try to have it around a bunch of medical professionals, which is what he essentially did. A bunch of doctors and me. Then he was taken away. Completely out of sight. And to the hospital where he needed to be but where I could not be sure he was okay. And I needed to be sure.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

I cried for hours every day after it happened. I was completely inconsolable. Not that my dad tried. He just kept belittling me, said I was being difficult and dramatic. Followed by that comment about me loving theatrics. Which was then was followed by his hand against my cheek. The shock got me to stop crying, to stop the outpouring of emotion that started when Dr. Alexson’s heart was shocked. And I’m sure you as an artist can see something profound in that. But to me, it’s just pain. It was the stabbing pain of the heartbreak of realizing that this man who might as well put the sun in the sky every morning was a mere mortal and on the verge of dying. And it was the burning pain of a hand’s imprint against my cheek. 

Dad could have erased that memory, and I’m sure he thinks he did. Because for years afterwards whenever it came up or whenever the act of striking your child came up or whenever Dr. Alexson’s heart attack came up, Dad would twist the story. And it was always the same one. That never in my life had he hit me. That I was never so devastated. That I never saw them resuscitate him. That I never even knew about the heart attack until many years after it happened. It didn’t matter that people remembered me being in the room. They were mistaken. And they wrote me into the story because I was always underfoot.

He preached that like it was gospel, and when I pulled back, he would push back. He would degrade me. A smoldering fire would be burning in his eyes, and it would awaken the pain in my cheek. It was that pain that kept the memory alive. I still feel it.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

It’s hard for me to think about this. Especially now. Do I really have to be the one to tell you. 

Dr. Alexson had a stroke. And no, Dad was not the one to tell me. If he was, I would not have believed him. The medical facility called me directly. They said it was according to his instructions. To Dr. Alexson’s instructions. He wanted me to know if something happened to him. Not as an order to go seek justice or vengeance. Or at least, that’s not what I thought. It was because I was practically his daughter. I was the closest thing he had to a daughter. And someone had to be called. He once said, if my memory serves, that there is something particularly sad about not having a family to call when a patient worsens. Yes, the whole situation is sad, but in the notification, that touch of humanity gave you the assurance that at least that person knew what love was before they met this misfortune.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

And putting it that way added a deadweight to the call. A worsening of an already bad situation. A situation that maybe is a rock bottom in and of itself but also could always be made worse. Like an anchor is being hung around my neck and I am being dropped into the sea. Yes, I will drown, but the pulling is incredibly unbearable too. It’s just salt in what would classify the fatal wound.

(more emotional, soft but growing) And I know it’s not fatal. I know it’s not fatal, though. I know that. Like, losing a parent figure, doesn’t it doesn’t literally kill you, but it just hurts. It really, really hurts. And it feels like you’re dying. And it, maybe there’s something… Maybe there’s something not really appealing about about dyingBut at least you aren’t in this much pain anymore.

But I can’t do that. I can’t crawl into some hole until it’s over. I have to keep going. That’s what Dr. Alexson wanted. And… Maybe that’s, Maybe that’s what he died for. I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. There’s no good reason for him to get dizzy. There’s no reason for him to have been on the floor for so long. And there’s no good reason for him to have had a stroke. I promise he’s been doing better lately about his health and his blood pressure hasn’t been high for years.

But those are all things that happen without reason all the time. And maybe I’m just being a dramatic fool for trying to find some reason or some meaning. But--

(Pause for Zaneta to take several deep breaths.)  

I’m sorry but I need a break.

(Button click as Zaneta shuts the machine off. Static cuts in. Static fades out. Static fades in and then out again.)

On the whole, I’m not in a great head space. 

(Music fades in)

Mother’s day wasn’t that long ago was it. It was a while ago but not long enough for me to feel distance from it. 

The kids actually got me gifts for Mother’s Day this year, which all felt a little odd, I’ll admit. Not just because Dad took them to the mall and let them go shopping for me. It’s… I mean, I’m not their mom, you know. I just do the work. But I’m genuinely the only mother-type figure they have ever known. And maybe there is some sort of impulse in every human soul to give some handmade trinkets or thought-out gifts to the people who raise us as a token of appreciation or gratitude that we did not just let them die. And Dad’s out of the question for so many reasons. So it’s just me: pseudo-mom. And maybe one day, the sitter who is still currently non-existent.

(exhale). On that note, I should admit that I was the one to veto the last candidate. The last candidate we were seriously considering. I thought it would be good to have a nanny who was first aid certified, which is a very easy thing to get and we were happy to reimburse the expenses, but you would think I asked her for one of her kidneys. Just from her reaction. No thank you, ma’am. You can keep your kidneys. And your inexperience with very basic medical-adjacent procedures since apparently this is the hill you’ve decided to die on. The whole thing was just so bizarre. And that just did it. I could not hire that woman. I could not have her around these kids.

(Pause)

Even if I tried to justify it by pointing at her reaction, maybe I was being unreasonable. I don’t know. Despite the front I put up, I actually do find it hard to stick to my convictions sometimes. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

But I do want a nanny who could take care of them in an emergency. Or a small, low level emergency. We all have our limits. I get it. But if I could, I would get the kids personal bodyguards. 

It’s a little extreme, but, I swear, if he--If Dad ever hit them, I would kill him then and there. And I mean it. Before, he’s never been around them enough for this to be an issue, but it could become an issue. And I refuse to let that happen. Not to them.

Maybe I could have fought back when I was thirteen I don’t know. But I was so weak from all the crying and dehydrated from all the crying, and I couldn’t eat because of all the crying and-- and I know it wasn’t my fault. But I still feel it in my cheek. It’s like a phantom pain now. And I try to ignore it. I don’t want to believe it’s there, but it is there. It won’t go away.

(with an unnatural chuckle) Maybe, Maybe you could have put some sort of ice pack in that bundle, huh? (inhale, exhale). I know, I know. You couldn’t have known, and it was kind of stupid for me to even joke about it. But I’m sad. I’m just sad, and when I’m broadcasting to you, I’m not going to hide my emotions. I shouldn’t have to. Also if I do try to stifle myself on what is my last outlet for emotional catharsis, this is all going to get very unsustainable very quickly.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

But I did get the bundle. Once everyone who worked at the practice was notified about the call from the medical facility, I took the opportunity to go into Dr. Alexson’s office under the pretense that I was going to do a cursory search for anything… unflattering that he may not want found. 

It was just implied, at first, to the other office workers, and they really didn’t care enough to stop me. But I ran into Dad in the hallway on my way there. We passed each other in a relatively narrow corridor. My heart raced. I was scared, but I had my plan. So I kept my eyes straight ahead, trying to ignore him the best I could, but Dad would have none of that. His fingers brushed against the inside of my arm. What started off as a touch became a grab. It was a grab and he turned me to face him. And he asked me what I was doing. Louder, so everyone in the office could hear, he asked me why I wasn’t doing my actual work. It wasn’t fair to my coworkers to dump my responsibilities onto them just because I could claim to be sad about Dr. Alexson.

Was I even sad about Dr. Alexson, he asked in so many words. So many pointed and specially picked words.

I did not flinch. I asked him, point-blank, if he could guarantee that there was nothing inappropriate or… or adult in Dr. Alexson’s office that no one else should know about.

Of course he couldn’t guarantee that.

Dad let me go with a little shove and loudly told me that I was being crazy. 

To that, I responded that I was willing to accept that, but I wanted to be sure on top of crazy. I wanted to be certain that if someone else went in there, there would be no nasty surprises.

And then I walked away. We had gathered quite a bit of attention before that, and I could feel so many eyes staring into me. I could hear the whispers and the judgment of everyone in the office but frankly, I couldn’t be bothered to care. This wasn’t all that new. It was just an old thing painted a new color. And that color was only a few shades off of the old one. Because I’ve always been alone. And I’ve always had these burdens crushing me. On one shoulder, it’s being the de facto parent of so many young kids, and on the other is the fact that I did not live up to expectations. All of that judgement, all of that disdain, all of that isolation: it did not necessarily make me stronger. But it means that there is nothing Dad can take away from me. Not now. Not with Dr. Alexson being so ill.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

At that point, I was able to sneak the bundle home. Since then, Dad has been giving me the cold shoulder a bit. He didn’t not even apologize for what he said to me in the hallway. And he doesn’t criticize me directly. But every now and then, he points out every supposedly idle moment I’m having in the office. Not doing work. Not contributing. Adding a workload to everyone else in the office. 

“I guess no one’s leaving on time today.” 

Dude, nobody leaves on time. 

Those weren’t objectively idle moments, but he calls them such. To everyone who will listen. But I still don’t care.

I grabbed a few other things out of Dr. Alexson’s office before I left it for what will probably be the last time, but there was no time for nostalgia. Those things are for me, and there for me alone to know about. But more importantly, I got the bundle. I tucked it away in the maid’s quarters until I could open it. And what did I find? (sigh) A burning hope that this is everything because I cannot go back there. Regardless, I think I know what you mean by these items. More specifically, what you mean for me to do.

There’s a map. That’s the first thing. Then a compass. Then a small, four inch by six inch canvas painted in a single color. The same shade of green that my portrait hid beneath. I’d never forget that color. 

We both know that’s not really what it is, though, right? It’s not just a piece of modern artwork made up of a single color. There’s more hidden beneath the surface I just have to find the right lighting trick to bring out the secret message. But that’s… That is not something I’m ready for right now. I can’t. 

Why do I feel like I stood on this ledge before and backed out? Is it just the color? Because I don’t think it’s just the color. 

I know I tried to leave once before. Was there a second time? Is this my third attempt? And then there’s Roslyn. And her fear that I wouldn’t come home. And I guess it has happened before. Frick. (inhale) Frick, I promised her I wouldn’t leave again. I promised, but… I can’t stay, can I? That shouldn’t be so hard to answer.

Maybe it’s just the season. Maybe it’s just the sadness. And I can’t think straight anymore. And I shouldn’t do anything until I can. What choice do I have? Really.

Just a few more days. A week or two more like it, but Lucent, please give me time. Please You’ve waited so long already. What’s a few more days?

Finally in that bundle is a stack of paperwork. Maybe to pad out the shape of the bundle, I don’t know. But I think I know. But I’m not sure, and on the off-chance, I’m right I need to keep this to myself. But I will say I recognize the names on those pages. 

For now, there’s… Well, Dad thinks we should start planning Dr. Alexson’s funeral. (more emotional) And when, And when he said that to me, (exhale), when he said that to me, part of my soul just left my body. And I know part of being a prestigious scholar is having your funeral planned out before you die and when you’re at your weakest. That doesn’t make it hurt any less for me.

(Inhale and almost crying)

I want to see him, though. I have to see him. I don’t care. I… I have to. Somehow. Oh goodness, what if I screw this up? (inhale)

(Static starts. Music cuts. Static fades out).

This has been a production of Miscellany Media Studios with music licensed from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. It was written, performed, edited, and produced by MJ Bailey. If you like the show, please consider leaving a review and-or telling many friends about it. Thanks.