Shooting Stars 01 Cinnamon (5 page)

All these events and discussions passed through my mind when Clarence asked me if I believed my father when he told me he would visit Mommy at the mental hospital after his dinner meeting.

"No." I finally replied. "I don't believe things he tells me these days. Lately. I keep finding his lies scattered all around the house."

"Never mind." I said. "I have other things on my mind at the moment."
After school I got into my car and headed for the Chester Alton Psychiatric Hospital, a privately run institution outside of Yonkers where Mammy had been placed that morning. It was just far enough to be a good long ride. The car was really Mommy's car, but even before she had become pregnant and had her aches and pains, she had hardly used it. I already had logged twice as many miles on it than she had.
It wasn't just hard to believe I was on my way to visit my mother in a mental clinic: it was painful and actually very frightening. I could feel the trembling start in my legs and slowly vibrate up into my spine as I drew closer and closer to the clinic.
When I parked and got out, the building looked intimidating. It was so white that with the afternoon sun slipping out from under clouds, the reflection made me reach for my sunglasses. The moment I saw my image in the car window, a whole new persona came over me and helped me face what I had to do: visit my mother in a mental hospital. It was just too difficult to do it as her daughter.
I brushed back my hair, took a deep breath and moved forward like an actress about to step on a stage.
It
felt good, liberating. I walked differently, held my head differently and stepped up to the front entrance. Pretending was like wearing a mask and when I wore a mask, no one could see how terrible and how frightened I felt inside.
The lobby was deceiving. It wasn't that it was too immaculate-- the tile floor gleaming, the furniture looking brand new. It was too cozy, too warm. I was expecting almost as much security as a prison with bars on all the windows and patients wandering about in house gowns, babbling or just staring vacantly at their own empty minds and sterile walls.
However, these walls had many pretty pictures, oils of pleasant country scenes, people with happy faces, bright flowers. There were fresh flowers in vases on tables and magazines neatly organized in a rack on the right wall. On the left was a small area with a television set. Three people sat on a sofa, all nicely dressed. I had the sense that one of them might be a patient, but there was no way to tell who were the visitors and who was the patient. Maybe they were all patients.
I thought the place resembled an upscale hotel lobby more than it did a psychiatric clinic.
A pretty young nurse sat behind a reception counter. She looked up and smiled at me as I approached.
"May I help you?" she asked. For some reason she reminded me of my dentist's assistant, her teeth glittering through that Colgate smile. I was almost expecting her to follow with. "Do you floss?"
"Yes," I said. "I'm here to see Amber Carlson.'"
"Amber Carlson?" She looked down at a large book and turned the page. reading. "Immediate family only," she muttered.
"I'm her younger sister," I said. "I've just flown in from Los Angeles and driven here directly from the airport."
"Oh."
"How is she?"
"Well. I don't have updates as to patients' conditions, but let me call the nurse's station and advise them of your arrival."
"Thank you." I lazed around as she dialed and informed the head nurse. She listened a moment and then thanked her and hung up.
"Mrs, Mendelson asked if you could please give them a few minutes. Your sister has just had a therapeutic bath and they're getting her back to bed," she said.
"Oh, fine."
"Los Angeles. How was your trip?"
"Smooth." I said. "I had forgotten how beautiful the foliage is here in the fall. Living in southern California," I said "you just forget the dramatic changes of season."
"Oh. What do you do in Los Angeles?"
"I work for a television production company. I'm a P.A."
"P.A.?"
"Production assistant. It's a way to get yourself into the business."
"What do you want to be?"
"An actress." I said as if it was the dumbest question she could ask.
"Oh, of course. You're pretty enough to be an actress. I bet you're good."
"I hope I am," I said. "My grandmother has such faith in me. She's the one who sends me enough money to keep trying. You don't make all that much money as a P.A., and it's so expensive to live out there.
You need someone to be your patron, to support and believe in you."
"I bet."
"I auditioned for the part of a nurse recently," I said. "For a soap opera."
"Really? Which one?" she asked excitedly.
"I follow one religiously."
"It's a new one, just starting. It's called Transfusions."
"Transfusions?"
"It's set in a hospital."
"Oh, right."
"I don't know if it will get on the air, but I tried out anyway. I'll hear next week. It's very nerveracking."
"I bet," she said nodding.
"I was very upset when I heard about my sister. I know she wanted that baby very much.
It
doesn't surprise me that she's had this reaction to the disaster."
I
held my breath, waiting for her to tell me that what happened to my mother was not all that unusual.
"I'm sure she'll get well soon," she said with little emotion. She
obviously didn't know my mother's condition. The phone rang. She said hello and then nodded at me. 'Take the elevator to the fifth floor and turn left. She's in the first room on your left," she instructed.
"Thank you."
I took out my compact mirror and glanced at myself. It seemed to me that would be a thing my mother's actress sister would do. When I looked at the receptionist, she smiled and nodded. I smiled back and sauntered over to the elevator.
When I stepped out of it on the fifth floor and turned left. I saw a nurse come around the desk and approach me. quickly.
"I'm Mrs. Mendelson." she said. "She's still somewhat medicated. but I'm sure she'll be happy to see a familiar face."
"Thank you," I said.
"I
won't stay too long this first visit. Jet lag," I added.
She smiled.
"I
understand.'"
She escorted me down to the room and paused at the door.
"She's still confused, suffering from traumatic amnesia. It's best you don't directly confront anything she says for the moment. She's like a patient with an open wound, but don't worry, she'll soon emerge from this and be fine."
"Thank you,." I said and I entered.
Mommy was lying with her eyes open, her head supported by a large white pillow. She seemed smaller, paler to me. It brought tears to my eyes.
There were flowers in a vase on the stand beside her bed. I thought Daddy had sent them. but I looked and saw there was no card. It was probably just something the hospital did.
Mommy looked at me as if she didn't recognize me for a moment and I wondered if I had done such a good job of changing my personality that even my mother was confused. Then she smiled.
"Cinnamon," she said reaching up for me.
"Hi. Mammy," I said. I quickly kissed her and pulled the chair closer to the bed. "How are you feeling now?"
"Very tired." she said. "Have you seen Sacha today?" she asked without taking a breath.
"No. I just came from school. Mommy."
"Oh, right. I've lost track of time." She smiled. "I don't even know what day it is. What day is it?"
"It's Thursday, Mommy."
"Good. good. That's how many days now?" Her eyes blinked rapidly.
"How many since her birth. Cinnamon? Three, four?"
"Three," I said.
"Three. Good. Every new day brings more hope. We've got to worry for a while, but she'll be fine, won't she?"
"Yes. Mammy, she'll be fine."
"Good." She closed her eyes. And then she opened them abruptly. "I want your father to get one of those baby monitors... you know, where you can hear if the baby cries? Of course. I'll have her sleep right beside us when we take her home, but even after she's out of danger, older. I want to have that. Too many babies die of crib death or choke on something. When you're that small and fragile... it's just a good idea, isn't it?"
"Yes," I said.
"Remind him, remind your father. He's so forgetful these days."
As if talking about him brought him to life, he called. I picked up the phone.
"Cinnamon. I'm glad you're there already. How's she doing?" he asked.
"The same," I said.
"Right. Don't worry though. The doctor assures me she's going to
make a full recovery."
"What time are you arriving. Daddy?"
"I'm not sure at the moment. I just found out I've got to go to Brooklyn for this meeting. I was under the impression it was here in Manhattan. That's going to add at least an hour to my travel time."
"Can't you get out of it?"
"It's pretty important. Heavy hitters," he added.
"Mammy's been hit pretty heavy," I responded. He was silent a moment.
"She doesn't even remember if I'm there or not at the moment. Cinnamon."
"That doesn't matter. You'll remember you were here," I said sharply.
"Okay. Let me speak to her. Let's see what she says to me," he said and I handed Mommy the phone.
"It's Daddy," I said.
"Hello, Taylor?"
She listened.
"I need you to get something," she said and then she put the phone
aside and looked at me. "What do I need? I forget."
"I'll tell him later. Mommy. Don't worry."
"Oh. Good. It's all right. Taylor. Cinnamon knows and will tell you. Is everything all right?"
She listened and nodded as if she thought he could see her through the wire, and then she handed me the phone.
"Hello?"
"I'll try to get there," he promised me.
"Whatever," I said.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm terrific. Matter of fact. Daddy. I think I'm going to win the Academy Award this year for the best all-around performance as a loving
granddaughter. She was rearranging the living room when I left this morning. The bathrooms might be next, if she can pull up the toilets and tubs."
"All right, all right," he said in a tired voice. "I'll have a talk with her this week. I promise."
"You know what promises are. Daddy? Lies with pretty ribbons tied on them. I'll see you later." I added quickly and hung up.
Mommy stared at me and for a long moment. I thought she realized what was really happening and was coming out of it, crawling up from the dark pit of her temporary madness into the light of day like a restored heroine about to do battle
^,
with all the forces of evil. We'd be a team again.
Then she smiled that strange, distant smile.
"You know what I want you to do?" she asked. I shook my head. "I want you to sneak a camera into the prenatal intensive care unit and take Sacha's picture for me. Bring it here next time, okay. Will you?"
I took a deep breath to keep my throat from completely closing and nodded.
"Good." she said. "Good." She closed her eyes again. I reached for her hand and held it and sat there for nearly half an hour, waiting for her to open her eyes again.
She didn't and when the nurse looked in. I rose and smiling at her told her I was tired, too. I'd be back tomorrow,
"She'll be better in a matter of days," she promised.
Another lie wrapped in a pretty ribbon. I thought and went to the elevator.
There was a different receptionist behind the desk in the lobby when I stepped out. She looked up at me. but I didn't feel like performing anymore.
I hurried out and to the car where I sat for a while, catching my breath. I dreaded going home, not only because of what else I might find my
grandmother had changed but because Mommy's absence, the heavy silence in light of where she now was, would be hard to face. Instead, on the way. I stopped at a pizza place and bought myself a couple of slices. I sat in a quiet corner and ate them watching some younger kids talk animatedly, a pretty girl of about fourteen at the center, wearing headphones and listening to a portable CD player while the boys vied for her attention.
I envied their innocence, their wick-eyed fascination with everything they saw, touched and did. How had I grown so old so fast? I wondered.
After I ate. I decided to call Clarence. I needed to talk to someone.
He came out of his house to meet me in my car when I drove up. I told him what I had done when I arrived at the psychiatric hospital.
"And she believed you? You're so much younger than your mother," he remarked.
"She never doubted it." He laughed.
"I
guess you are good."
"It helped me go in and up to my mother's room, but it didn't do me any good when
I
was with her. There are some things you can't pretend away." I told him.
He nodded.
"What about your father?"
I described the conversation,
"Maybe he just had to go to the meeting," he said.
"Maybe. Would you?" I quickly asked.
"I don't know. I guess I would like to get out of it. People should understand why and excuse him." "Exactly," I said.
"Well, what are you going to do?" "I don't know," I said.
"Miss Hamilton pulled me aside at the end of the day today. I was on my way out of the building. She wanted to talk about you. She said. 'I know you and Cinnamon are close friends.'"
He looked at me.
"I guess we are," he said.
"Of course we are-- so? What did she want? To tell you how she'll be there for me or something?"
"No, she wanted me to try to talk you into going out for the play. She said you'd need something like being in a play more now."
"I'm already in a play," I said.
"What? Where?"
"At home. It's called, A Happy Fmnily," I said.
Clarence laughed.
I started the engine.
"I'd better get home." I said. "I haven't even begun any homework vet and who knows?
Grandmother Beverly might have moved my room into the pantry or something by now."
He shook his head and opened the door. For a moment he just looked at me as if he were making a big decision. Then he leaned over and kissed me an the left cheek.
"Good night," he said quickly. I touched my cheek.
Even that. I thought, even a kiss was a ritual for him and had to be done from left to right.
I laughed.
It was the only laugh I had had all day.