But Inside I'm Screaming

“So now it’s a triumph simply to arrive at my destination?” she sniffs.

“Yes. For today, for what you’ve been through these past few weeks—it’s a triumph.” Mona motions to the Kleenex, which Isabel dutifully uses.

“Do you want to talk about Three Breezes?”

Isabel vehemently shakes her head as she blows her nose.

“Well, we have to start somewhere—so I wonder, have you been able to think about the Alex question? Why you’ve stayed with him?”

They had worked on it nearly every session for months before Three Breezes as if it were a riddle: why— how—does someone stay with someone who hurts her?

Isabel looks up from the balled-up Kleenex in her hand. She remembers her mother’s words: you have to love yourself, Isabel. Suddenly it is clear.

“Because I hated myself…” She trails off for a moment and then begins again. “I didn’t hate myself because I stayed with him. I stayed with him because I hated myself. How could I have expected anyone to treat me well when I wasn’t treating myself well?”

Isabel let the words wrap around her like a fluffy hotel robe. For a brief flash she sees her life as an outsider would see it.

“That’s it.” Isabel hears a rushing sound in her ears. “I figured it out. It’s so simple.”

“It’s a beginning, that’s for certain,” Mona smiles. “The big question is do you still hate yourself?”

She looks Mona straight in the eye. “No. I don’t believe I do.”

The sound of a breakthrough.

Forty-Eight

“Can you tell me where to find the information booth?”

“Huh?” Isabel turns her head to the voice.

The tall German college student is standing too close to Isabel and is speaking loudly.

It’s like two Seinfeld episodes in one: a close talker and a loud talker. Who was the close talker again? Come on, you know this. Close talker. Close talker. Judge Reinhold!

“The information counter. Can you tell me where to find it?”

Isabel stares at him.

“You do not know.” The German answers for her and moves toward a commuter smoking just outside the entrance to Grand Central.

Isabel snaps awake.

“In there,” she calls after him. “Down the steps, in the middle of the room. You’ll see a round clock on top of it.”

“Thank you,” the German replies as he pushes through the heavy doors into the terminal.

Isabel waits a beat and follows him in, scanning the huge departure board on her way down the steps.

Once onboard the train she collapses into a vacant seat by the window and closes her eyes until the conductor enters the car collecting fares. Without hesitation Isabel pays with exact change.

She sleeps the entire ride.

“Where to?”

“Three Breezes Hospital, please,” Isabel answers the cabdriver.

“Going to visit someone?”

“Yeah,” Isabel replies, embarrassed to admit her connection to the place.

“You got it,” the driver says, turning onto the road that leads to the hospital. “To the Nut Hut.”

Forty-Nine

Isabel pulls the folding chair up to the phone in the unit kitchen.

“Hi, Isabel. Goodman here. I’m calling to see how you’re doing. Haven’t talked to you in a while. I don’t know if you’re checking your messages, but in case you are I wanted you to know that we handled the, uh, situation so you don’t have to worry. I’m still not sure whether you got the message I left a couple of weeks ago, but in case you didn’t, I wanted to let you know everything’s fine. I spoke with HR to make sure your leave of absence forms got through. They got them so it shouldn’t be a problem. Call me, though, if you can. Bye.”

“Isabel? Hi, it’s me. I know I’m not at the top of your list to call back but I wanted you to know how sorry I am. I’ve been calling you and I keep getting the machine. Are you out of town? I thought this time I’d leave a message in case you’re picking them up. Um, I want you to know I’m getting help. Just like you said to do. I’m getting help. Don’t write me off, okay? Please?”

“Damn. The machine cut me off. It’s me again. I know you don’t believe this but I love you, Isabel.”

“Isabel, this is Ted Sargent. We would like to have a meeting with you at your earliest convenience. Call my assistant, if you would, to set up a time. Her name is Deborah and she’s at extension 5421. Thank you.”

“Isabel? Hi, it’s Michele from work. Um, I just wanted to give you a heads-up that Sargent was up here looking for you. Not to worry you but he looked pissed. After I told him you were on sick leave he went into John’s office and they shut the door for, like, ten minutes. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, Isabel, this is Deborah, Ted Sargent’s assistant. He asked me to call you to set up an appointment to meet with him and someone from Human Resources. Please call me at 5421. Thank you.”

Isabel hangs up the pay phone and fixates on the square metal numbers on the keypad. The longer she stares the fuzzier the numbers become.

Fifty

“It happened again.”

“What happened again?”

“I had an episode on my trip to the city,” Isabel says. Please don’t tell me this means I’m back to square one.

“Was this one like the time at work. When Diana died?”

“Yeah, kind of. Actually, not as bad.”

“Not as bad?”

“No. Well, I don’t know.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Isabel is fighting to stay focused on the session.

“What are you thinking right now? Can you tell me?”

“I’m really trying [focus]…I’m trying not to blur everything together. It’s so comfortable [focus] to stare at one spot. I just want to think for a second.” Isabel is mesmerized by the floor in front of Dr. Seidler’s feet. She is silent for five minutes.

“I feel numb again.”

At least I’m saying this out loud. That’s got to count for something, right?

“Was that what happened in New York? You felt numb?”

“Kind of—” still staring “—it was kind of like I was in a coma or a trance or something. I heard everything going on around me but I couldn’t move a muscle.”

“Before that did you feel panicked? Worried at all? I spoke to Mona this morning and she told me that you were disoriented when you got to her office. You had gotten lost. Can you tell me what happened?”