Depression: for many it's an illness with no cure.
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I Have to Ask
Sandra S. Corona
Depression: for many it's an illness with no cure.
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Before she’d been in this world three days, her breast-feeding mother rebuked her—held her as far from her breasts as she could to ‘make her work for it’---and her three-year-old sister (encouraged by the woman) held a feather pillow over her head. Too bad their dad walked in just then, spied the woman smiling as she looked into the master suite—the two girls on the bed—and streaked into the room to save the baby. Ah, it would’ve been so much easier than living.
“I have to ask,” the doctor repeated, “you’re depressed but, are you suicidal?”
The infant, an old woman now, smiled sweetly. “Goodness, gracious, doctor. I wouldn’t be here if I were now would I?” She’d learned long ago that the best way to answer questions was to turn them around. It wasn’t a lie that way … whatever you said was okay.
Her father, mother and sister were all dead. She, who didn’t care one way or another, was still lingering on earth. Why? She had no idea!
The middle-age, balding man leaned closer, “I can’t prescribe these unless you tell me ‘no’.”
She giggled. “I’m depressed, Doc. Do YOU think I’m suicidal?”
He shrugged, knowing her well enough to accept that as a ‘no’, “If you get to feeling TOO down, call me, my nurse, a friend. Don’t overdose, Sara. These will kill you!”
Sara, middle-aged and depressed, looked in her mid-forties and was as fit as a twenty-year old. She took medications for all that ailed her, exercised and appeared to be normal—married, with children and grandchildren, and more family due any day.
Yet, it was a façade, a dream, a figment of imagination.
The blue sky was gray, the sun, diffused, the ebony hues of night and its frights shadowed her consistently --- 24/7. Spoken for, ringed, but a door-stop for his temper, a mother but one who was disregarded time after time, a friend who had learned long ago to trust no one. She was a lisp of a whisper, barely hanging by a thread to humanity----tired of living but unable to do anything to cease her existence.
On the drive home, seeing a mother and her daughter in the park, Sara remembered the last time she and her ma stood by the swing set at home in their yard.
“You imbecile,” Maude thundered! “I’d just gotten the baby to sleep when you began yelling.” The weary new mother, newly widowed, brought her right hand down swiftly to slap the five-year-old across the face. “NOW you’ve got a reason to scream so scream all you want!”
Sara, flushed, hushed instantly as Maude swiveled to go back inside. “M.m.m.m.ma?” Dare she speak? “M.m.my foot is caught on a nail. I can’t pull it up!”
Huffing angrily, Maude swirled around, knelt down on the dirt beside the leg of the swing set, saw the child’s right foot was, indeed, caught on what appeared to be a rusty nail. Hastily the woman clasped the child’s heel and toe then, with all her strength, pushed the nail thru the child’s foot!
Sara gasped, astonished, and let a shrill squeak escape her pursed lips. “MOM!”
With a satisfied grin, ear-to-ear, Maude then slowly worked the child’s foot upward, off the nail, in the most painful way imaginable. “Is THAT what you wanted?”
Dashing off, leaving the sobbing child behind her, Maude let the door slam behind her. Sara, hobbling on the heel of her right foot, suddenly felt herself lifted up and snuggled in the arms of a neighbor teenager, Jimmy. He babysat them occasionally and, unbeknownst to Maude, had watched the entire scene.
“You know,” he whispered, “you’re the prettiest girl in the entire neighborhood.”
Sara, blood drizzling from her gaping wound, smiled. Jimmy always made her feel special.
Looking out the window, seeing Jimmy carrying Sara in his arms, Maude cursed under her breath but painted on a smile befitting company. “Now what brings you over here at this time of day, Jimmy? I thought you’d be out courting on a Saturday.”
“I was, ma’am,” Jimmy flushed beet-red, “but when I drove by and saw Sara hobbling, I had to help her.”
Maude, breast-feeding the baby, didn’t try too hard to cover up. She seemed to appreciate Jimmy’s attention. “Sit down and hold her foot up. I’ll be right back.”
With a little bottle in one hand and a sleeping babe in the other, Ma laid the infant down, covered her breast, came over to the sitting kids and leaned over. “You’d best hold her really tight. This may sting a bit!” With that said, Maude poured nearly all of the contents of the Merthiolate thru the hole in Sara’s foot.
The wound burnt, smelt, as if directly kissed by flames. There was no way Sara could hold the screams inside and the escaping sounds reverberated through the neighborhood. Sara, however, wasn’t the only one tearing up. One or two slid down Jimmy’s cheeks too.
“I think it’s burning rather than helping.” Jimmy thrust his hand out to stop Maude from pouring more. “She needs a tetanus shot! I’ll watch the other kids for you—no charge. Just go!”
Maude hadn’t expected that. “B-but.”
Jimmy scooped Sara up in his arms again and tried to kiss away some of the clear, streaming tears. “I’ll put her in the car for you.”
Unable to see a way out, especially now that Jimmy’s parents were coming up the driveway, Maude allowed Mr. Twiddleman to drive her to the doctor.
Sara shook her head, letting the cobwebs scatter. Jimmy and the Twiddleman’s were dead. Everybody was gone.
(to be continued)
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| Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado |
2/21/2006 |
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Sandy,
Powerful story; very well done! BRAVA!
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :( |
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| Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner |
2/21/2006 |
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Sandie,
An excellent peek into the insidious hold depression holds over people; compelling dialogue and writing; well done!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. |
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