“Daddy . . . Help me.”
His eyes squint in pain and he bows his head, unable to bear my words. I know if he could, he would make the sun orbit the earth, make the waves crash against the horizon, unravel a miracle from a strand of DNA. The train thunders closer. I push my fingers through my hair and pull hard against the roots. I need to feel something to keep my mind present. My nails claw into my forearm and vermillion specks rise to the surface of my skin. This is real. This is now. Isn’t it?
Dad watches me tear at myself to stay present and his eyes fill with tears. “Grace, there will be new advances. There will be more they can do. You have to keep fighting. Keep faith.”
Hannah takes another step and faces me. We are the same height. We have the same hair. We have the same angel’s-kiss birthmark on the side of our neck.
A trilling sound floats into the air.
“Answer it, Grace,” Dad says. “It’s Will. Let him help you.”
“Just like Dave?” Hannah says. “He said he loved her.”
“You said you loved us!” Dad argues. “And you left.”
Hannah’s face crumples as though he has punched her. “I did what I thought was best for you and Grace. It was the hardest decision I ever made. But it was my choice.” Hannah looks at the coffee cup. “This is a choice.”
“That is not an option.” Dad walks up behind me.
I stand between my parents. Caught in their love for each other and for me. The beat of the train tracks drums into my veins. The heavy clanking grows louder and louder. I lift the coffee cup from the counter. Inside this murky darkness is my truth. Hannah steps even closer until our noses are almost touching. The shadows creep into the corners of my eyes.
“Drink it now. The train is coming. Your life will not be yours. You will always be at the mercy of the disease and the drugs.”
The faint trilling fills the air again.
“Will knows what to do. Trust him,” Dad says.
The train whistle slices through my mind and I grimace as I absorb the pain. I must do this now if I want to keep the train from taking me, and I can no longer control my thoughts or my actions.
“No, Grace,” Dad cries. “Please, bug. Put down the cup. Call Will. Do this for me.”
The clanking sound of wheels against tracks grows louder, unrelenting as sliver by sliver I begin to dissolve. It takes every ounce of concentration to move my unsteady hand, inch by inch, raising the cup to my lips. A bead of sweat slides down the side of my face. I see the cliff’s edge drawing nearer. I must jump or I will fall.
“Daddy, I can’t live this way. I don’t want to live this way. Forgive me.”
I tip back the cup, but my quivering hand sloshes the liquid down the front of my shirt. It burns sharp, the etching rawness silencing the train for a moment, and I tear away the fabric from the skin of my stomach. And there. There. The evidence. There is a taut swelling. A soft curve pushing forward. I gasp and raise my eyes to Hannah’s. All the seasons of her life in those eyes.
“Mama.”
Her form fades slowly like mist in sunlight.
I set the cup back down on the counter and rip off my shirt. Pulling the phone from my back pocket, I call Will, but before I can speak, the shrieking howl of the whistle strikes me, lances through me.
The train explodes my mind. The skittering insects crawl inside and out, over my body, and I scream, tearing, ripping, scratching at them. Worthless. Disgusting. The Moirai. Come to me. Clotho. Lachesis. Atropos. Playing god now, are you? No. Yes. Stop.
I fail.
I fall.
Fall.
Forward.
Over the bridge.
Spring slips into summer.
Summer smolders down for autumn.
Autumn kneels to winter.
Winter yields. Spring.
Spring Slips into Summer
I watch the seasons pass from the window of a large cavernous room filled with other bodies. Hear the click of the clock’s hand turning and turning. Time moves forward, but all I know is that the present becomes past. The future has become my reality. And the past, the past, a history that will repeat itself, clone itself, coded into the genomes of our lives, living and waiting to be birthed into the future.
I take my pills when I am told to. I sleep when I am told to. I eat when I am told to. And when no one is telling me what to do, I claw the walls for answers. Where is my name? I search every day to find my name. I know it is hidden behind the walls. I try to carefully tear apart the seams when no one is watching.
There are no more straps on my bed. The nurses smile and say I am making progress. The doctors nod. Nine pills become eight. Eight become seven. Seven become six. But still, I cannot find my name.
If I press my ears to the walls, I hear the faintest call from the other side. I know my name lives beyond what I can see.
Until one day, as I am walking by the television room, I hear a voice.
“Ma-ma.”
I run to the sound. A child moves in the square of the picture.
The soft, wet, gurgling coos come back. “Ma-ma.”
My name. My name. Out from the walls. Into my ears. Inside my body. I claim it. I clutch it like a lifeline. Hand over hand I struggle to stop the moving train. It slows. The whistle quiets. I listen again. “Mama.”
The white light above my head beats into my skull as I sit in a line with all the others. The nurse goes down the row. She hands out the pills and small cups of water. Some will swallow them quickly and leave. Others
