A Life Apart
Chapter 3: Billy Paxton (pg. 19)
“Mr. Paxton, your
sister will see you in the common area. She will be out shortly.” The attendant
pointed to the large open space at the center of the surrounding private rooms.
Billy rose and walked towards the various couches, tables and side chairs
dispersed around this common area. Before he could find a place apart from
others, he saw his sister emerging from one of the private rooms. It seemed odd
to Billy that another attendant accompanied his sister, who motioned him to
join her at a table against the far wall.
The attendant spoke
softly to Mirabelle. “I will be at the front desk if you need me.”
Billy watched with
curiosity as the woman excused herself. Then he sat down across from his
sister. She seemed amused by something and said, “I guess you can call her part
of my suicide watch.”
Billy could think of
nothing to say. He fidgeted in his seat. Mirabelle stared at him. She was not
going to make it easy for him. Finally, he asked her, “Do you know what
happened to you?”
Mirabelle smiled.
Obviously, she did not find his uneasiness discomforting to her. “Do you think
I tried to kill myself?”
“I only know what
they told me.”
“Do you always
believe what you’re told?” Her expression changed: she had that big sister
frown of disapproval that he hated so much. After a disquieting moment, she
continued. “Well, I have no memory of the dire act. The doctors think I have
some kind of self-induced memory loss, the result of ‘post-traumatic stress’
they call it. You see, they’re expected to diagnose every symptom they think
they recognize. I think they’re quite happy that I present them with the
opportunity to do so.”
Billy stopped
squirming. Perhaps, he thought, this might be a good time to ask her. “Are you
going to tell mom about the cocaine?”
“Is that why you
came, to ask that question?”
“No, I came because
mom asked me to.”
“I see.” Once again,
Jill showed that knowing smile that Billy hated so much.
“You think I would
come on my own accord?”
“No, I have learned
you do very little these days—perhaps nothing—‘on your own accord.’ If you
could see that about yourself, you wouldn’t be into drugs or any of the other
unproductive activities you and your sycophantic friends engage in.”
Billy rose brusquely
from his chair, which slammed into the vacant table behind them. “I knew I
shouldn’t have come here. All I get from you is shit!” He glared at his sister.
“You can’t judge me. You know nothing about me. I do what I want!”
“Rather
than what you should. What does it mean to
you to act ‘on your own accord’? With whom are you in agreement? You self, your
social persona, or more likely any need or want that suits your fancy in the
moment.” She paused, arresting her brother with a steady gaze. “Billy, I
wouldn’t say these things if I didn’t care about you. You’re my little brother
and . . .”
“Right! I’m the ‘little’ brother. When is my family going to
see me for who I am?”
“When you
begin to see who you are.”
“What the fuck does
that mean, big sister?” Billy turned to leave.
But Mirabelle quickly
reached out and grabbed his arm. “Billy, I told you I wouldn’t say anything
about your use of cocaine if you promised me you would give it up.”
Billy tried to pull
away from her grasp, but she held on, even though her chair slid partly away
from the table. “Let go, dammit!” On the periphery of his vision, Billy could
see attendants stirring at the front desk. One of them appeared to be heading
towards their table. “Ok, I promise. Now let go.”
Mirabelle released
him. At the same time, she raised a hand and waved the attendant away. There
was an aura of calm about her: her facial expression revealed an underlying
detachment from this confrontation with her brother.
Billy stared as if
hypnotized by her. She was truly a mystery to him. Somehow, he felt an urge to
apologize. Instead, he said, “This,” with the wave of his arm he encompassed
the whole Ward, “should not have happened to you.” Resolutely, he turned his
back on his sister and walked away. Mirabelle, meanwhile, did not remove her
eyes from the place Billy had occupied just moments before.
Billy did not have to
reflect on the matter: intuitively he knew she would not follow his exit with
that penetrating gaze of hers. Maybe she
does belong here, he told himself as he fumbled with the unyielding door
knob. Finally, the woman behind the front desk buzzed the door open. Without
acknowledging her action, he yanked the door open and gladly left the premises.
Now that the last
game of the season, the regional championship, was just a week away, he had
already decided to stay clean for at least this last week of practice. So, he
rationalized, his promise to his sister was not a lie. It was just not quite
what she wanted of him. But, then, that was the problem with women, at least in
Billy’s estimate. They always seemed to want more of Billy. He could never do
enough for his mother. Mirabelle had her expectations—the
only word that came to his mind to describe his sister’s weird interest in him.
And Jane . . . well, she just left him breathless half of the time.
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