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Emma took a look at her Assploitation, and decided it was best removed. More when she writes a new one.
We'd been dating for a month when it happened. Jack
and I made a surprise visit. Shelby was home alone. In
her room she sat, gazing out the window, white
zinfandel in one hand, burning cigarette in the other.
With empty, glassy eyes, she humored us for several
minutes before muttering, "I think you guys better
take me to the hospital."I was confused, though Jack seemed to understand. I drove to the emergency room. When we pulled up, I asked her, "What are we doing here? What's going on?"
"She swallowed her bottle of Prozac," Jack answered.
Shelby was growing giddy. I grew nervous. The ten-inch vertical scar down her sternum told of a weak heart. One that couldn't handle six-thousand milligrams of antidepressant.
I sat in a tiny office, her hand in mine, answering the questions she could not. How many hours a night does she sleep? Nine. Does she snore? No, she grinds her teeth though. How is her diet? Vegetables only, no meat. Lots of alcohol.
They pulled her away from me, walked her behind the swinging doors, jammed a tube down her throat and pumped the charcoal in.
We stayed two hours -- just long enough to visit her afterward. Witness her red, watery eyes. The black flecks around her mouth and nose. Witness the beautiful 19-year-old contort into a twisted train wreck.
Although I felt I loved her from the beginning, I was unsure of whether I was prepared (or capable) of handling a lover's mental illness in addition to my own. If spending the last month with me made her so miserable, should we just split up? Was she really even trying to off herself, or did she just want attention? Do I want to be with someone who would do that? Do I even want to be friends with someone like that?
Four days I waited while they held her in intensive care. I didn't visit. I didn't call. I didn't know which way to turn - toward or away from Shelby. She clearly needed someone. Was it me?
I finally went back to the hospital, and they agreed to release her into my care. We spent the next three days together, and she seemed okay. She was thankful for my company.
Shelby and I had a gorgeous relationship after that. We lived together, celebrated birthdays, indulged in late nights and profound discussions. We had nicknames for one another. Her name for me was "Sunshine". She still addresses me that way when she wants to remind me of our special relationship. It makes me happy.
She's an adult now, ready for the world, and taking it on beautifully. Though we rarely see one another, she's a huge part of my life, and always will be. I'm so glad I didn't waste the chance to be there for her, and to witness the special bond between two women in love.
Names have been changed to fool the innocent.
Write me an asspolitation. Let me know how you have more ass than a toilet seat. Anything goes. Best place, worst place, best time, best inanimate objects. Let 'er rip and send it by the link below.
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