Prelude to Nine
BY MICHELLE T. TAN I DECEMBER 5, 2010
I do not know if it is the same for other people, but there are days when I feel most certainly that I am insane, days when I am possessed by an inexplicable lunacy. Like today, for example. I woke up before six this morning, fixed breakfast for the kids—my sister’s, not mine, never mine—and sent three of them off to school before sitting by myself in the kitchen and letting the waves pass. Insanity, it’s like a migraine, it washes over you like a tidal wave and forces you to bend under the surge of its will. So I sat there, for maybe twenty, thirty minutes, watching the curtains tremble in the wind, trying to keep still, hands folded neatly on my lap.
I have been through this many times before, and know how to deal with it. I suspect that this—illness—has occupied the better part of my life and I like to think that by now, thirty-seven years and counting, I’ve grown familiar with it. But always, it surprises me, comes crashing down in the most unwanted proportions during the most unwanted of moments. Like this morning, for example. I had been sitting at the kitchen table—I told you this, I remember—calmly, calmly waiting for the storm to cease, for this madness to end. I had been counting off the minutes, but: 8:53, my watch said for the longest time—I knew, I checked every so often—until I was quite certain that it was broken, but there was no other timepiece nearby and I did not want to stand up just then, feeling myself not quite yet ready for it. I knew it would be foolish, extremely so, to rise against the oncoming waves, and so I waited some more, an hour, maybe more, hardly moving, just—waiting, waiting. But it never seemed to end, 8:53, and I was beginning to feel feverish, and from experience I knew that was not a good sign. My vision blurred around the edges, acquired a reddish hue. For a moment I could see only in shades of red, and—fear, it pooled together at the base of my throat; I swallowed, and the redness faded, but not entirely, and not for long. Before I could stand it rose up again, this time weaker than before, but still palpably present. My watch said 8:53, but it was probably closer to noon by then, and there were many things I had to take care of. My sister—my lovely, lovely sister—had gone south and left me in charge of the house for a couple of days. It was insane, really, for her to trust me this much. After all, I did have a history—does she know about that? I don’t remember—but what else was I supposed to say? Of course I accepted.
Today, today, let’s see. Today I was supposed to take Abbie to the doctor’s for a checkup, at two, I think, yes, two. I didn’t know what time it was then, but I knew I had to get a move on pretty soon. My head was still hurting—the waves kept coming—and I still couldn’t see properly but I managed to stand up, and well, I thought that was something. It took quite some effort, you can imagine, fetching the sleeping baby from upstairs and carrying her back down to the bathroom. I undressed her and laid her inside the tub, settling myself down on the floor, ever-vigilant, just like my sister said I should be. Abbie was wide-awake by then, but she didn’t make any noise, not even when the cold water started running down the sides of the tub and lapping at her pink skin. I reached over to turn the spigot so the water trickled more slowly; I didn’t want to upset the baby. For someone suspecting herself of insanity I was thinking quite clearly, wouldn’t you agree? But Abbie, Abbie kept looking at me like I was some kind of stranger, like I didn’t belong here or something, and that pissed me off. There I was, doing my best despite a buzzing head and a failing vision, and she was looking at me like that? There’s got to be something wrong with this world. She reached a hand out to me and tried grasping the air between us. She didn’t take my eyes off me, even after I told her to, and that’s what really, really got me riled. Don’t get me wrong—it’s not like I go around hating everybody who looks at me, but there was something in the way Abbie stared at me then, like she knew, like it was all she needed to know, and it was enough to merit that—that look from her. Don’t worry, it will be our little secret, her eyes seemed to say, and oh how I hated her then, hated her with a force so strong it actually swept away the headache for a minute, but it came back worse than before, and Abbie, she kept looking at me like she was enjoying it, like—
I notice that the water has reached up to her thighs now, and I feel something rise inside me. The waves seem to be coming down stronger than before, and my body feels possessed, and I no longer have any control over what I am doing. I am merely a spectator, watching myself, and as always it gives me a certain sense of freedom, this detachment. The water touches her navel now, and Abbie begins to cry. I nudge the bathroom door shut with my foot. Anger courses through me like blood, and I ask her, How does it feel now? How does it feel to have somebody else watch your pain? I dip my hand in the water and let a few drops graze her head, baptizing her. The buzzing in my head grows stronger. I think about how I will explain this to my sister, but I do not worry; it is not the first time. I hear the front door open just then, and the sound of footsteps echoing over the tiles in the living room. It is the children, I think, back from school. It is all too easy, now: I went into the kitchen, I was making lunch, and Timothy, that boy... I smile. It won’t be long now, the water is already up to her ears. I see Abbie panicking, her short arms flailing. Somebody knocks on the bathroom door, and I hear myself say, “Just a minute.” I turn back to see that the water has already reached up to her nose. I blink, hesitate for the briefest of moments. What is there left to think about? The tap is still running. I have the towel ready.
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